AN INSPECTOR CALLS

His mission: To test hotel hospitality to the limit

FEW hotels occupy such a commanding position as this, perched above Combesgate Beach in North Devon, where, on the night we’re here, the back-end of Hurricane Brian whips the Atlantic Ocean into a frothy frenzy.

All but three of the 29 rooms have sea views (most with balconies). There are two swimming pools (one indoor, one outdoor), a choice between a formal restaurant and buzzy bistro, helpful staff and it’s a ten-minute walk to Woolacombe Beach, a popular spot for surfers.

Once an Edwardian gentleman’s retreat, it’s privately owned and I would hazard a guess that couples and families return here year after year.

It’s not cheap. We’re paying £240 B&B out of season, and while our room has been spruced up with a new wooden floor and cheery wallpaper, the bathroom is defiantly dreary.

We’re booked into the fancy Pavillion restaurant (three courses for £45), but, with the head waiter just about to take our order, we ask to see the bistro menu and realise we would be happier there. He looks disappointed.

Competition between restaurants in a hotel is a good thing. Keeps everyone sharp. But there’s a coming together at breakfast where we can see Lundy Island in the distance. The storm has abated, just a little. The rollers are still huge.

Like everyone else, we finish our full English breakfast and end up staring at the sea. It’s grey, angry — and strangely therapeutic.