There are villages in the Cotswolds that regularly change hands; Guiting Power is not really one of them.

Houses here do not so much come onto the market as quietly re-enter circulation. People wait for them, sometimes for years, not in the hopeful, weekly refreshing of Rightmove way of the modern buyer, but with the patience of someone who understands that certain places operate on their own terms. You don’t simply decide to move to Guiting Power. You are, eventually, allowed to.

It is not a place arranged for admiration, nor one that has been coaxed into prettiness by committee. Instead, it has carried on, through decades, through fashions, through the quiet churn of modern life, and in doing so has arrived at something far more convincing than charm. It feels intact. Neither preserved nor polished, just… working.

Guiting Power did not always appear so steadfast. The agricultural depression of the 1870s left the village reeling, and by the early 20th century many of its houses were in a sorry state. In the 1930s, Moya Davidson began quietly buying properties to ensure they remained homes for locals, and in 1958 Raymond Cochrane took on the estate, continuing the restorations she had begun. A slow, careful stewardship that still shapes the village today.

That sense of continuity is not accidental. Today, much of the village is held by the Guiting Manor Amenity Trust, which does something rather radical by modern standards: it looks after the place without trying to improve it beyond recognition. Houses rarely, if ever, come onto the open market, and many who live here have done so because their family have lived there for centuries, they've married someone in the village or by way of patience rather than purchase, joining waiting lists and taking their turn when it comes.

The Trust also runs the surrounding farm, employing locals and keeping the village tied, quite literally, to the land beneath it. There is something faintly old-fashioned in the arrangement, in the best possible sense; rents feeding into the estate, the estate sustaining the farm, the farm sustaining the village. It creates the impression, not entirely fanciful, that Guiting Power could carry on quite happily even if the rest of the world became a little less organised.

And then, at the end of harvest, the whole thing resolves itself in the most civilised way imaginable: a free supper at The Hollow Bottom for those who have worked the land. No speeches, no banners, just food, drink, and the quiet acknowledgement that effort has been made and appreciated.

The Hollow Bottom has, in recent months, remembered exactly what it is supposed to be. When Nathan Eades and Liam Goff took it over last July, they found, with a mixture of disbelief and opportunity, that much of the pub’s horse racing memorabilia had been unceremoniously discarded, sitting in a skip as though it were of no consequence whatsoever. They rescued it, returned it to the walls, and in doing so restored not just decoration but identity. No wonder, perhaps, that things had gone slightly off track before for its previous tenants.

Now, the pub feels entirely itself again. A free house in every sense, with beers named after horses and spirits that nod toward the village’s past without over doing it. During the Cheltenham Festival, it became something of an epicentre for the racing world, the bar packed as it was a couple of decades ago, this time celebrating local jockey Tom Bellamy's first Festival victory.

The pub also boasts six recently finished bedrooms that are all named after racecourses (of course they are), superb "double spud" Sunday roasts, and with summer on the horizon, a garden decking area with a boules pit and wonderful wooden shack bar. It is the sort of place where one drink becomes several, and several become an evening that just seems to have happened without anyone really noticing.

At the opposite end of the village, The Farmers Arms offers a slightly different proposition, but no less essential. Owned by Donnington Brewery, it is a proper pub in the most reassuring sense: honest food, good drink, and absolutely no desire to be anything other than what it is.

There is a piano in the corner, which is either charming or dangerous depending on who is playing it. There's a skittle alley that the village team uses with admirable seriousness, although standards fluctuate depending on the amount of beer consumed: for some, a sudden flourish; for others, a remarkable decline.  If a player scores zero with all three balls, they will have to wear a remarkably warm beaver hat as if to mark the occasion. When the first two balls inevitably register nothing, teammates break into the chant of “BEAVER",  hoping for the worst, cheering his failures as though they were triumphs.

If The Hollow Bottom hums with racing stories, The Farmers Arms anchors the everyday; steady, familiar, and exactly what you hope to find when you push open the door.

Village life, of course, is not sustained by pubs alone.

The Cotswold Guy has become something of a quiet success story, though not quite in the way outsiders imagine. Yes, it is occasionally mentioned in connection with David Beckham and his apparent fondness for the sausage rolls, but this is treated locally with a level of interest that might best be described as polite neutrality. One suspects there are residents who are either unimpressed or only vaguely aware of who David Beckham is.

​The shop itself is far more interesting than any passing celebrity endorsement with exceptional coffee and brunch and lots of outstanding produce, from meat, veg and jars full of everything delicious. It took over from the village bakery, which is remembered with genuine affection and only the gentlest caveat that the bread was not its strongest point. Still, residents continued buying a loaf each week, supporting the business in the quiet English way that keeps small communities alive.

When The Cotswold Guy first opened, someone chalked “go away” on the wall, a bold if slightly unnecessary piece of feedback. Another villager was later seen attempting to scrub this off before the owner arrived, which feels like a perfect summary of rural conflict resolution: disagreement, followed swiftly by tidying up.

These days, the shop does excellent breakfasts and lunches alongside its produce, and has settled into the village as though it had always been there; a place to pick up something for supper or linger over coffee.

The post office performs a similar role, quietly indispensable and slightly underestimated until you realise how often you rely on it. It serves very good breakfasts, draws a steady stream of locals, and on most mornings will feature at least one cyclist in Lycra sitting outside with coffee, their bicycle leaning nearby like a patient accomplice. No one comments. This is England. We observe everything and mention nothing.

Beyond the buildings, there are walks that require nothing more than sensible shoes. Circular routes thread along Castlett Street or Tally Ho in the other direction. Dogs are optional and polite hellos to fellow walkers mandatory as you wander through countryside that feels untouched, unspoiled, and very much unconcerned with the rest of the world.

Life here is not dramatic, which is precisely its appeal.

Even its brush with notoriety, the infamous 1962 summer camp, is remembered more with a wry shake of the head than alarm. The British neo-Nazi National Socialist Movement had chosen the village as a meeting point for fascists from Europe and the U.S. Around a hundred villagers, led by publican Walter Morley, armed themselves with pitchforks, shotguns, and the kind of moral impatience only a small village can muster, marched to confront the intruders and send them on their way.

And then, as ever, things returned to normal.

Normal, in Guiting Power, means the village calendar: music festival, pantomime (where opening night is a spectacle, with the hall packed with villagers, friends, and relatives, ready to cheer, boo, or groan at the traditional jokes, while a few seasoned performers take delight in flouting the script), fireworks, dog show, the festive light switch-on, and a steady stream of other events that make village life feel far more lively than it has any right to be.

Spend time here and you begin to notice what isn’t present. There is little urgency (unless you're running late for Happy Hour at The Hollow), no sense of performance, no need to prove anything to anyone. People are simply getting on with things; running the farm, opening the shop, pulling pints, walking dogs, waiting, perhaps, for a coffee, to pick a child up from the hugely popular nursery, or for a house that might one day become available.

And in that absence of noise, something else becomes clear, this is a village still shaped by the people who live within it rather than those passing through. 

With that you realise that what makes Guiting Power unique is not its beauty, though it has plenty of that, nor its history, though it has that too. It is the simple, increasingly rare fact that it works. Not loudly, not perfectly, but properly.

And in modern Britain, that is about as close to perfection as you are likely to find.

Let’s be honest, the Cotswolds isn't exactly short of some incredible places to eat in some of its most popular towns. There’s The Old Butchers in Stow-on-the-Wold, Smiths in Bourton-on-the-Water and Juliet in Stroud. All brilliant. But push a little further north, in and around Shipston on Stour (don't squint) and you will stumble upon some of the region’s most exciting food that seems to slip under the radar. Quietly brilliant, exactly where you least expect it.

Take The Bower House, the sort of place that makes you wonder why more people haven’t stumbled off the beaten track sooner. Set in a handsome Georgian townhouse in the heart of Shipston on Stour, it feels like a proper neighbourhood restaurant with rooms; warm, elegant, and surprisingly ambitious. Under Head Chef Leo Kattou, menus rotate with the seasons and celebrate British ingredients with ingenuity and restraint, earning AA Rosettes, Michelin Guide recommendations and plenty of local admiration along the way.

Now, cross the road, figuratively, if not literally, and you’ll find Bastardo’s Trattoria. Born from the same creative minds (Richard Craven) behind the Michelin‑starred Royal Oak at Whatcote, it wears its Italian inspiration with a distinctly British twist: seasonal produce treated with bold flavour and just the right amount of irreverence. The kitchen is led by John Broughton, formerly Head Chef at the Royal Oak, while the menu is shaped by Craven, whose love of Italian cooking was forged during the early years of his career. Warm, buzzy, and effortlessly confident.

The town seems to be staging a culinary coup.

And while we're on the subject, we should talk about The Royal Oak at Whatcote. A rarity for the Cotswolds; a village pub with a Michelin star and the quiet confidence to use it without preening. Run by chef‑owner Richard Craven and his wife Solanche, this is proper country cooking with brains and heart. The menu shifts with the micro‑seasons, rooted in wild ingredients and local foragers, from game shot on nearby hills to vegetables and rare breeds sourced from neighbouring estates, all celebrated in dishes pared down to their best possible selves. The service, warm and unpretentious, makes you feel you’re in the hands of friends rather than critics, and that’s part of the magic.

​Twelve minutes from Shipston is Whichford, one of those villages you could easily drive past without a second thought, which would be a mistake, because it is quietly blessed with not one but two reasons to stop. The Norman Knight (recently reopened under Matt and Katie Beamish of The Kingham Plough) sits comfortably on the village green, all low beams and flagstones, the reassuring heartbeat of a proper country pub and a good menu. Classic dishes are handled with care rather than fuss, making it the sort of place where you arrive for a pint and stay for supper without ever regretting the decision. 

A short stroll away, The Straw Kitchen at Whichford Pottery offers something more intimate and quietly distinctive. Tucked inside the garden of a working pottery, it's unique, small, brilliant and somewhere that laughs in the face of coordinated colour palettes. Head Chef Christne Bottine creates a menu that is creative without being complicated, the setting charming without trying too hard, and the whole experience feels personal rather than performed. 

Ten minutes in the other direction from Shipston, The Howard Arms in Ilmington feels like one of those places that has quietly mastered the art of being exactly what a Cotswold village pub should be. The food sits comfortably between classic British pub cooking and something a little more considered, with seasonal menus that avoid unnecessary complication. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and unhurried rather than showy especially with the fires roaring and a dog sitting by you feet in winter months.

​In addition to these and, again, all within 10 minutes of Shipston you will find The Cherington that offers the reassuring warmth of a proper country pub, honest cooking and long, relaxed lunches. The Fuzzy Duck at Armscote that offers polished seasonal dishes that sit neatly between rustic charm and modern confidence. Meanwhile, Pit Kitchen brings open-fire energy and bold, flavour-forward cooking, proving the countryside can handle a little urban culinary attitude. Herd at Todenham Manor is a quietly confident arrival. The menu leans on farm-sourced meat and locally inspired produce, driven by chef Christopher Ellis in a unique tented restaurant on the farm.

in the northern Cotswolds — a wine, produce and pantry concept that feels less like a shop and more like an invitation to savour the region’s best ingredients, with thoughtful selections and seasonal discoveries that reward curiosity rather than hurry.

And to wash it down? The Cotswolds Distillery in Stourton does rather lovely things with gin and whisky that reward slow, appreciative sipping rather than hurried drinking. You can lose a morning or afternoon here  with brunch or lunch in their Still House cafe. Beer wise, North Cotswold Brewery make proper country ales just outside Shipston that feel designed for worn wooden tables, late afternoon sunlight and conversations that wander pleasantly off topic. They don't offer tours, but you will find their ales behind the bar at many local pubs. Shagweaver is particularly good. 

And there you have it, this edge of the Cotswolds has been quietly getting rather good at this food and drink lark. While other parts chase crowds and postcards, this is the Cotswolds many people may not have heard about which, in some way, is still part of its charm. ​If you enjoy eating well, drinking properly, and quietly knowing you’ve found somewhere rather good before the crowds catch on, this is a corner of the Cotswolds worth remembering.

​Mentioned in this piece:

The Bower House
​bower.house

Bastardo’s Trattoria
www.bastardostrattoria.co.uk
​​
The Royal Oak, Whatcote
www.theroyaloakwhatcote.co.uk

​The Norman Knight
thenormanknight.co.uk

​The Straw Kitchen
www.whichfordpottery.com/visit/straw-kitchen

​The Howard Arms
​howardarms.com

​The Cherington
​thecherington.co.uk

​The Fuzzy Duck
​www.fuzzyduckarmscote.com

Pit Kitchen
www.pitkitchen.co.uk

Herd
todenhammanorfarm.co.uk/herd

Cotswolds Distillery
www.cotswoldsdistillery.com

North Cotswold Brewery
www.northcotswoldbrewery.co.uk

There was a time when the pub was where Britain happened. Arguments were settled in the car park or over a game of darts and spilled beer, lifelong friendships were forged and local legends born.

Yet, somewhere between lockdown number whatever and the first delivery of warm Sauvignon Blanc to your doorstep, you started gradually forgetting about that pub or bar that you once frequented every Friday or Saturday night. And that's it really, we've allowed the pub, the heartbeat of the town or village, the nation's living room to wither while we guzzle chicken wine in our pyjamas and half-watch the kind of telly that we used to go to the pub to avoid, while scrolling through TikTok and Instagram.

It’s been happening for years, of course. The spreadsheets will tell you it's the rise in cost of living, or healthier lifestyles, or the price of beer, or the rise of Deliveroo. And they’re all a bit right, but none of them are quite it. The truth is, we let it happen quietly, politely, as only the British can by choosing convenience over community. And yet, somehow, when these places have truly gone, we feel it. That big aching space where life used to happen.

And a pub, a real pub, is not about the drink. It never has been. It’s about people. It's the somewhere to go when you’ve nowhere else to be. It’s about knowing that the world still spins, that someone remembers how you like your pint, that someone will look up and nod when you walk in.

But here's the twist. Things are starting to change.

There’s a new kind of pub resurgence taking place. Not a PR campaign from the soulless arms of corporate chains who think that putting “Craft” in front of lager makes it a revolution, but in the hands of chefs and locals who get it. Yes, actual chefs. The ones who once did 90 hour weeks cooking rabbit saddle in Michelin-starred kitchens, now turning up in small villages and towns to bring the boozer back to life.

Let's take The Hollow Bottom in Guiting Power as an example. A racing hotspot. A local legend, in fact. A place where jockeys (on their days off), trainers, stable staff, gamblers, and gentry would stand side by side screaming at one of the two televisions showing the races. And then the lease changed and so did the pub. This was followed a big brewery not understanding its heritage and then in May, like so many pubs in the UK, it closed. 

A couple of months on it's back open, with top chefs Nathan Eades and Liam Goff at the helm, the duo responsible for bringing The Halfway in Kineton back to life in 2023 and more recently putting The Horse and Groom in Bourton on the Hill back on the culinary map with a Bib Gourmand in their first six months of opening. In fact it's just open, but singing, literally. There were over 400 locals there on the night of their "soft launch" last week enjoying the music from local heroes Andrew James and John Neild, the owner of Splash Of Ginge who has a lager named after him in the pub.

And all it needed was someone to give a damn, not just about the pub but its heritage and locals too. 

The horse racing memorabilia, some saved from the skip, has been reinstated to the walls. The food is comforting but clever. The drinks are local but lush with Deya Steady Rolling Man, Hook Norton and North Cotswold ales on the taps and a bar you lean on like an old friend. There's a two-hour happy hour every day for the farmers and stable staff that finish work at 4pm in the winter or are rained off in the summer and a TV showing live sport.

The Hollow Bottom isn’t just a comeback story. It’s a blueprint. Because the pub is not dead, it just needs people who care on both sides of the bar.

Just in the last couple of weeks, Cheltenham has seen two new openings too.

The Beehive, nestled into the pretty Montpellier quarter, was always a popular pub. It's where I, and many others who live far from Cornwall, discovered Rattler. Never again. And then it closed. 

Weeks later it flung its doors back open with new Executive Chef Tom Rains (formerly of The Daffodil and No.3 in town) and new General Manager Richard Shakeshaft (formerly of, oh, The Beehive and back for his second stint) and a bold new vision for what proper pub food should be. 

The Beehive isn’t reinventing the wheel. It’s about making sure the wheel has good tread, rolls smooth, and pairs beautifully with Chef Tom's Pie of the Day, mashed potato and gravy. They have kept the same previous soul with classics on the menu. Nothing too shouty or flashy, just a real kind of pub that feels like a pub, with hearty food, proper ales and decent wines.

You go to The Beehive and remember why pubs matter. Because everyone’s there from young to old, professionals to trades persons, all mix well in a friendly, relaxed atmosphere with a drink in hand.

Away from pubs but something equally important is Parler, Cheltenham's new high-fidelity listening bar. There are no pork scratchings or dart boards, but it plays the same role with community, atmosphere and connection at its heart.

Think turntables, vinyl and cocktails that feel like they've been stirred by Marvin Gaye himself. You walk in to Parler and the world goes quiet except for the music. It’s the kind of bar Tokyo has been perfecting for 30 years, and now we’ve now got one on our doorstep that offers beautiful beer brews from the awesome folk at Deya and flaky, golden pastries and small plates from La Boulangerie Artisan.

And all of this matters.

Because this isn’t just about pints, cocktails and "Chef Tom's" pies. It’s about community. It’s about having a place to go when you’re toasting another orbit around the sun, or celebrating a new job, or when you just want somewhere to sit quietly with a pint of Guinness and watch the rugby. It’s where you meet people you wouldn’t swipe right on. Where you talk to strangers. It's where life happens, unfiltered.

Even Jeremy Clarkson, he of farming and petrol gets it. His Farmer's Dog pub has been open for nearly a year and has been heaving since day one. He’s not doing it for kicks, he’s doing it to create a community of people coming to his pub, to support the locals who contribute to his menu and to sell his own Hawkstone beer, of course. 

We need to support them. Not once a year for a Christmas pint. But regularly. We take friends. We try the new place. Rain or shine. And we don't complain about the prices like it's still 1995. Because these pubs and bars can’t exist on sentiment alone. They need us, and we need them.