No traffic wardens. No CCTV. No mood music. No sirens. No adverts for stuff. Just a crackling fire, a glass of red wine, and a host who makes you feel at home. Outside, a million stars. In the morning, a swan glides across the Mon and Brec canal and wanders up the garden for his breakfast. The chickens cluck and fuss and do their chicken-walks - each exudes a personality and sometimes even an egg. Less graceful, I stumble in to the conservatory for breakfast at 10 - this is not a problem (nothing is a problem). Peter serves me bacon and egg with 2 fried breads (specifically banned at home). A narrow boat chugs by. Glimpsed through the trees is the snow-capped peak of Pen-y-fan. Yet another pot of coffee magically appears. I mull over the maps and vaguely form a plan for my day - no need to drive anywhere - my walk starts right outside the Old Storehouse. Heaven.