While the treehouse has a traditional aesthetic and feel (complete with information leaflets about the estate’s medieval history), our experience was elevated by the carefully chosen modern touches, including the superfast fibre internet connection, Bluetooth radio speaker, and, crucially, a coffee machine.
A King-size bed awaited us at nighttime – complete with ensuite toilet and shower room – but our favourite place was undoubtedly the balcony. Here, we enjoyed a beautiful BBQ – halloumi skewers, anyone? – with a view of the Atlantic Ocean through the pine trees. After a few glasses of wine, we headed to bed – via a quick dip in the hot tub.
At first, I found it difficult to fall asleep. Usually, I drift off to the sound of my neighbours’ music, complete with the occasional siren or a fox’s mating call. But in the Loft, there’s absolute silence – save my partner’s not-so-occasional snores. It’s an incredible feeling to wake up to the sounds of nature: the sea crashing against the rocks in the distance, the wind blowing a gentle breeze, and, erm, the pigs – who live opposite the treehouse – oinking at each other.
After we made breakfast in the kitchen – which is fitted out with a fridge, toaster, microwave, double oven and two-ring hob – we ventured out to explore the grounds, using a hand-drawn map our hosts had left out for us. Determined to meet the pigs who had stepped in for our alarm clocks, we set off on the “pixie trail”, a delightful path through Pickwell Manor’s grounds, starting at the hammock and hanging chairs (where I practiced spinning around as fast as I could), past the pine trees (some of which feature little doors on the trunks, presumably for the pixies to get in and out), all the way to the farm, where we met our beloved piggies.
The pigs – who live in their own mini-mansion, aptly named ‘Porkwell Manor’ – were like two puppies; they ran over to greet us and spend a good 20 mins squealing for our attention, which we were more than happy to indulge. After we’d left the pigs (and promised to return), we said hello to the chickens, baby rabbits, grown-up rabbits, guinea pigs, and goats. All the animals seemed to be obsessed with my boyfriend, which was absolutely fine – I wasn’t bitter about it in the slightest.
The treehouse is a five-minute drive from Georgeham, a picturesque village with a few pubs, a village shop and a Post Office. Putsborough beach is a 20-minute walk away, but we chose to load up the car with goodies from the on-site game room (including boogie boards, bucket and spade sets, and frisbees) and drive there instead – about a seven-minute drive through extremely narrow country roads.
Blessed with gorgeous sunny weather, we set up our stall at the beach, playing a few games of ping pong before braving the ocean for some surfing, AKA splashing around and accidentally swallowing a bucket load of sea water. My boyfriend eventually had to explain to me that if you insist on facing the waves, they’re gonna splash you in the face – lesson learned.