Live like a pop star in Gary Barlow’s old pad. The singer-songwriter owned Rosestone Estate until 2005. Grand, gorgeous and glorious, it sits in 117 acres of sprawling lawn and mature woodland, with a lime avenue leading to an obelisk. At the centre sits a six-acre lake teeming with wildlife that’s perfect for picnics.
Hens and happy family groups will love Rosestone Estate, at the heart of the Cheshire set in Cuddington. Inside, tastefully presented formal reception rooms cry out for butlers and footmen. From the windows, the southerly views stretch forever over the lake and daily living is comfortably cushy.
Take a tipple on the first-floor terrace, slice and dice your way to home-cooked heaven in the Acanthus fitted kitchen, open the doors from the dining area to the paved terrace. The staircase was made for the sashay, the helipad for grand entrances, the Bose system for a little Take That. You’ll want to come back for good.
Welcome to a world of woodland, meadows and lawns so manicured it’s practically illegal not to wield a croquet mallet. Through the wrought-iron electric gates, lime trees flank the brick-block driveway. The sweeping lawns wend their way down to a picnic-ready six-acre lake alive with wildlife. Mature woodland sits beyond.
Dotted around the 117 acres are a summerhouse and garden follies. Out front, you can sit with something refreshing and drink in the views from the elevated terrace of the folly, the lake and the wooded hills with the Romanesque pavilion linked to a distant obelisk. Get your rackets ready for the all-weather tennis court.
You’ll want to wander. On the eastern side, an attractive private garden comes with paved and gravelled areas dotted with shrubs. To the north and east, mature woodlands take you down to the lake and pump house, once Cuddington’s only source of water but now used for stabling.
Celebrate something special with a lawn marquee. Chill out in the courtyard orangery. Fire up a barbie on the terrace. Outdoor living here is expansive, elegant and oh-so English. It’s enough to bring out your inner songwriter.
If you can’t and won’t cook, you can and will here. You’ll be inspired to create pots of hearty, wholesome goodness in the contemporary bespoke Acanthus fitted kitchen. Burr walnut and oak cupboards, granite worktops and the Aga range could be enough to inspire culinary creativity but, if not, you have options.
Those options include Cheeky Chilli, offering anything from cold, tasty finger food to eight-course tasting menus. Book because it’s a special occasion, because you’re on holiday, or just because.
You’ll eat where Gary Barlow once ate. In the open-plan kitchen-diner on high bar stools for morning croissants and coffee, around the kitchen table, or beneath the glinting chandelier and the heavy curtains of the ornate dining room. For fresh-air dining, open up the French doors to the south-facing terrace.
Eating out? Will it be canard sauvage, faisan Brabançonne or perdrix au choux, Belgian-style at La Chouette? Maybe you’ll go Italian at Canaletto for anatra, nasello or fegato? Or perhaps you’ll head to the land of Michelin stars and AA rosettes, tucking into contemporary dining at Simon Radley at the Chester Grosvenor?
Bedrooms here are large, lavish and luxurious. There’s an easy elegance to the period detail, in the heavy curtains, the cornicing, the neutral tones and the French antique furniture that make a lie-in feel dangerously decadent.
In the master suite, set the Bose sound system to something seductive and climb into the cheeky double bath. In the morning, the furnished terrace is the perfect place for juice and toast, with a side order of lawn, lake and woodland views.
The guest suite comes with lounge area and full size bathroom, while four further doubles offer en-suites, with one a superking or twin. Extra beds in the larger rooms are possible, as are travel cots for smaller guests.
Sleep deeply, cossetted in luxurious Egyptian-cotton bedding from renowned Richard Haworth, and linen and towels stamped with the iconic manor logo. At night, the hush is absolute, apart from the breeze through the boughs and the twit-twoo of the tawny owls.