Splish splash, I was taking a bath

This weekend’s adventure took me and Mike to Chepstow, where we stayed at the St Pierre Hotel & Country Club. The hotel is surrounded by a magnificent golf pitch, and the hotel itself is akin to a small castle or country estate.

Our room was a suite in the Lakeside Village, which was a small collection of purpose-built houses each containing three rooms. As you would expect from a suite, we had our own separate lounge, as well as a balcony and a super-massive bed.

The first thing we did upon arrival was crack open the fizzy pop we’d bought with us. Despite having a fridge in the room to chill our booze, due to covid we weren’t provided with any glasses so were forced to slurp our prosecco out of paper coffee cups. As anyone who knows me well will know, I’m not the most refined or sophisticated person, but even this was beneath my standards. We merrily drank our way through the first bottle regardless, then headed off in search of the pool.

Whilst the pool didn’t quite live up to the glamourous photos on the hotel’s website, it was nice enough. Unfortunately, it was full of young families with their screeching children, which put a slight dampener on our romantic swim in the jacuzzi.

Mike did a few lengths of the pool while I sat on the sidelines and watched, lest my hair get splashed and turn into a bouffant. We then decided to try out the steam room. I didn’t make it past the door before I realised what a stupid idea it was. During the 5 seconds I was in the doorway half my face had slipped off and I could feel my hair frizzing (all women out there will feel my pain). After another dip in the jacuzzi, we dried ourselves off and headed back to the room for more booze and to change for dinner.

Once back at the complex, we headed straight to the bar and sat outside in the glorious sunshine. Unsurprisingly for a golf resort, we were surrounded by golfists.

After downing a bottle of wine between us, we headed off to the restaurant for some tasty steak (Max, shut you ears). However, we were turned away from the restaurant as we hadn’t booked a table and there was no room at the Inn. We were forced to return to the bar and eat with the golfists. This enraged Mike, and was the first time I’d seen him genuinely sulk. He made his feelings known to the young lad who took our order from the bar menu, and the poor boy returned with the joyous news that despite not being allowed into the restaurant, we were able to order from the restaurant menu. Steak for everyone! While this went some way to appease Mike, he was still hufflepuff about not being allowed into the restaurant, and muttered something about him being a Marriott Platinum member and did they not know who he was.

After another bottle of vino and some wonderful steak, we headed back to the room where we promptly passed out (at 9pm). And so ended our night out at the St Pierre.

After we left in the morning we took a drive into Chepstow to explore some abandoned buildings I’d spotted from the road on a previous adventure with Max. We parked up on the outskirts of town and headed along a footpath into the woods, which ran alongside Chepstow Racecourse and eventually bought us to Piercefield House. What must of once been a very grand country house, was now a mere shell. And this is where our adventure ended.

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