A week before my stay at Fowlescombe Farm, I had a phone call from the guest relations team. We commiserated over the dreary weather forecast for the coming weekend and then checked off some details. My dietary requirements were taken (none), milk preference noted (skimmed), itinerary sketched out (bit of hiking, bit of farm touring, lots of eating), and I was asked if I’d be happy with down bedding (sure). “Oh, and one last question: do you like scones?” (You bet. Fowlescombe, which opened last week on a 450-acre, centuries-old working farm in Ugborough, south Devon, is a hotel that’s more glam than gumboot — although wellies are available to borrow, should you want to get mucky.