Britain’s country resorts may not be as glitzy as America’s, but the best meld traditional luxury with a refreshing lack of golf, as we discover

America is definitely the place not to play golf. Yes, the country is awash with courses designed by Tom-this or Jack-that, but such is the ampleness of its resort thinking that you and a golf-mad partner can easily go to the same place and have two entirely satisfying holidays. They play golf, you spa, tennis, hike, surf, eat, drink, fly or do any of a thousand other things that any self-respecting golf resort offers.

Here in Blighty it’s not quite the same. Golfing friends of mine disappear for a day to country clubs where the only alternative activity is sitting in the 19th hole being glared at by elderly gentlemen who drive Jaguars, because you’re wearing the wrong kind of trousers. So when I needed to escape, figuratively, from the golfing glories of the rest of this magazine, I headed out of London to some traditional country house hotels.

First stop: Chewton Glen. This name might ring a bell with readers of a certain age, for Chewton Glen was one of the first luxury country house hotels in the UK when it opened four decades ago. Just recently, though, its original owners sold up. What would the new owner, a super-wealthy London property developer, do with this landmark?

On arrival, the augurs were good. Chewton Glen was always one of the pinnacles of any budding hotelier’s traineeship: whether they were British, French or Italian, hotel staff saw the place as a badge of CV honour and acted accordingly. The welcome was just as professional and slick as ever, and just a little bit less formal.

Our room was on the first floor of the original country house, facing the lawn which slopes steeply down towards a little wood. Gone was the chintz and colourful floral fabric of old, replaced by carpets and furnishings in restrained, modern green and grey. It could have been a bit too green but in fact worked brilliantly, setting a soothing country tone without reverting to clichéd floral fabric. The bed was in a raised area with a view outside to the trees. It was luxurious, restful and distinctive, which is what you expect of such an English country hotel.

The spa has not been renovated since the new owner took over. There’s a 17-metre swimming pool which is perfect for laps, and a hydrotherapy centre with every type of gushing tap; a light orangery restaurant overlooks it all.

What is new, though, is the facialist, Linda Meredith. Meredith is to celebrity facials what Salon is to champagne: a connoisseur’s name treasured by the extremely discerning. My wife tested out a Vtox facial and reported that it was perfect in every way. The products used no parabens or alcohol, and are naturally effective. This might be the start of an expensive habit, but full marks to the new owners for drafting Meredith in, putting Chewton Glen at the very top of the British spa treatment ladder.

By contrast, my massage used Molton Brown, ubiquitous pseudo-luxe products: these have all the parabens and other chemicals Meredith so laudably steers clear of. There are dozens of better bathroom product manufacturers, so here’s a job for the new owners…

In the evening we decided to eat ‘in’, room service being a much-underrated phenomenon in hotels. A salad of asparagus and Parmesan cheese was delicately delicious; beef carpaccio was nutty, juicy and accompanied by an evocative rosemary dressing; watercress and spinach soup was rich and textured; and my rare steak sandwich featured tender meat, cooked perfectly. Only the chips, which looked and tasted generic, disappointed in what was an otherwise fabulous ensuite meal, impeccably served.

We never even touched on the indoor tennis or other facilities, but the overall experience was a perfect non-golf break. Oh, and did I mention Chewton Glen does actually have its own ninehole golf course? The great thing is that one doesn’t even notice it…

Just 45 minutes north of Chewton is another notable country hotel, Tylney Hall. While it doesn’t rate as high for pure luxury, what impressed on the approach to Tylney were its beautiful landscaped gardens and the historic nature of the house itself, a Victorian country pile. (There’s an admirable lack of golf, too). Our room had a balcony overlooking an arboretum in the gardens: it was so quiet, so rich in nature, one couldn’t believe it was just 45 minutes from London.

Tylney is famous for its food, so to work up an appetite we went for a stroll in the grounds. We started in an avenue of giant redwoods, moved on through a grove to a peaceful lake, and carried on to a rose garden, all immaculately kept and with enough shade and peace to feel utterly secluded.

Too often the food in English country hotels tries a little too hard, as if making up in ingredients for what the country’s cuisine lacks in natural flair. Tylney’s menu was just right, though, and the execution was even better than the description. Celeriac and parsnip soup was made with stupendous, local ingredients; fillet of sea bass with baby vegetables was cooked exactly right: not too mushy, as fish so often is, and with crisp vegetables that were bursting with flavour.

Tylney was an excellent gastronomic minibreak, we reflected, as we headed down the beautiful driveway. But wait, what was that just there, through the trees? Was it… a golf fairway? There’s no escape. – Darius Sanai