AN INSPECTOR CALLS

ORESTONE Manor is a proper family business. Which lends itself to a game of spot-who’s- related- to-whom during a stay here on the once-posh English Riviera near Torquay, Devon.

The big boss is Neil D’Allen, assisted by his wife, Catherine. Their son, Craig, is front of house and daughter-in-law, Laura, is in charge of reception.

The result? A well-oiled machine but one that’s resolutely stuck in its old-fashioned ways.

We have a lie-in on Sunday morning and don’t make it down to breakfast until 9.56am, whereupon a stern Latvian waitress tells us we’ve got four minutes to order — and she means it.

Only one table remains laid for breakfast and it’s the exact same one we were given for dinner. I suspect we would eat at that table every day even if we were booked in for a month. The atmosphere feels pinched. We want to throw open the windows and let in some fresh ideas.

Ideally, if there was some money in the kitty, we would ditch the faded swirly-whirly carpets on the stairs, redesign the dingy conservatory, and cut back on the cheap clutter.

Our room is in the eaves of the house (built in 1830 by John Callcott Horsley, the painter who designed the first commercial Christmas card), with wonderful views of Lyme Bay.

The walls are lemon, the bathroom pokey, but we’re as snug as a bug in the proverbial rug.

‘There’s something of an old people’s home about this place,’ says my wife. I know what she means. But few old people’s homes would offer a ‘shrimp martini cocktail’, followed by perfectly cooked fillet steaks accompanied by mushrooms the size of saucers. The food is so good that we hardly notice the drab decor. Not until our just-in-time breakfast that is — with the sealed windows, derisory jars of cereal sitting on a plastic tablecloth and overly-loud muzak. Overall, we feel liberated on leaving Orestone Manor. And that is not a good sign. Orestone Manor Rock House Lane Maidencombe Devon TQ1 4SX Tel: 01803 897511, orestonemanor.com Doubles from £110