There is no reception area, no menus and no uniformed staff MARY KILLEN takes husband Giles to stay at the UKs most luxurious all

Time was, there was something naff about the words ‘all inclusive’: it was the lack of bespokeness as much as the idea of people gorging to excess to get their money’s worth.

No longer. A high-end version of the ‘all inclusive’ is now on offer, and what people like is that you can leave not just your brain at the door, but your wallettoo. And the most relaxing aspect of all? No tipping.

No one minds handing out a fiver if someone has brought your cases to the room, but what if you need to keep summoning the staff back – to fix the air-con or show you how to use Chromecast or how to turn on the Krups Nespresso machine, which has a concealed activation point? Do you tip again each time? Much better to have the tips factored in to the overall bill you are going to pay. As you do at Foxhill Manor in the Cotswolds.

What could be nicer than to sit by a crackling log fire in an arts-and-crafts honey-coloured stone Cotswolds country house, its leaded windows overlooking the glorious rolling landscape of the Vale of Evesham? With only eight bedrooms, Foxhill Manor could be the country house of the late Jilly Cooper or, indeed, her friend and inspiration (for Rupert Campbell-Black) Brigadier Andrew Parker Bowles.

Foxhill Manor is part of the Small Luxury Hotels Of The World group. It presents as a private house, rather than a hotel, and for that reason there is no reception area, there are no menus and no uniformed staff. Instead two cosily dressed 30-somethings, Ed and Rebecca, hover nearby to do your bidding. They remind me of houseparents at a boarding school. There are racks of raincoats, wellingtons and umbrellas and, best of all, dog baskets by Barc London.

Yes, dogs are more than welcome and they know it instinctively, soon settling down and sprawling happily beside their owners.

In the 1980s there were pretentious country-house hotels trying to recreate the Upstairs, Downstairs scenario. I remember going to Horsted Place in Sussex, which had become a country-house hotel. It was the former home of Lady Rupert Nevill, friend to Elizabeth II, who visited frequently. How silly were the new owners to change the loo in the Queen’s bathroom – I had so wanted to use the same one. But they didn’t really understand the welcoming country-house spirit. Indeed, Lady Rupert’s son, Guy Nevill, dropped by one day and introduced himself as the former owner. Could he look around at the transformations? In the library he asked if he and his friends could order a bottle of champagne. ‘I’m sorry sir, we only serve residents,’ came the reply.

Meanwhile, at the Waterside Inn at Bray, I remember the actor Edward Fox actually dressing up as Edward VIII to authenticate the experience of a paying group of Americans.

At Foxhill Manor in 2025, that sense of being an imposter has gone. You are not pretending to be an aristocrat. You don’t have to turn up in tweeds or look like Sherlock Holmes. Even at dinner no one was formally dressed, not even in velvet smoking jackets and kilim slippers.

Unlike at a real country house, there is no dining room. Clearly they have thought this through.

It would be difficult to decide who – out of the maximum 16 guests – would sit next to whom. Instead three couples can dine at bow-window tables in each of the two drawing rooms and two at tables in the bar. We ate calves’ liver and bacon and the most exquisite pana cotta I could imagine, with apricot ice cream. We exchanged pleasantries with other guests but there was no pressure to become friends. The manor approaches the conviviality of a real country house without the excesses of behaviour seen in Saltburn.

We arrived for a late lunch – mussels and chips for my husband Giles, steak and chips for me. They had asked in advance for our preferences and had got in a nice bottle of real ale for Giles, Hooky Gold, plus a Clarkson’s Hawkstone brew, and Thomson & Scott Noughty alcohol-free wine for me. Oenophiles will find plenty to enjoy, as the staff are keen to show off the well-stocked wine cellar. And we were urged to help ourselves to anything from the cocktail cabinet in each drawing room – whisky, gin, tequila, wine – as well as snacks from the Pantry.

Books are everywhere, in shelves and on coffee tables, and clearly carefully selected, including quite a few Taschen coffee-table tomes. My husband immediately alighted on one called Secret Gardens Of The Cotswolds with photographs by Hugo Rittson Thomas. In our room, which featured a sitting area with a leather sofa and chairs, was a selection of books of the homely sort that might easily have been in such a family residence already, including Heidi by Johanna Spyri.

The vibe is one of deep comfort and even though hundreds of dogs must have stayed over (the manor runs at a 90 per cent occupancy rate), none had left any calling cards. Charmingly, there is a stone trough in which your dog can be hosed down with warm water before he re-enters the manor. The place is pristine.

The 500-acre Farncombe estate, where Foxhill Manor is located, also houses two sister hotels, Dormy House and The Fish. Dormy, to which I was driven by Rebecca so I could use the spa, has a sporty but cosy and friendly vibe. Indeed, driving me back, the front-of-house manager told me Dormy is known as the ‘hotel that hugs – metaphorically, of course!’ Exercise is clearly king to a lot of its guests or just local members of the spa – a bit like the Hurlingham Club in London.

In short, it was bliss to stay at Foxhill Manor – at £1,195 a night (prices vary according to room) it was costly, but worth it. We felt about four years younger as we left – and it was a joy not to have to tip as we did so.

The Full Fox all-inclusive starts from £920 for two sharing a double room; foxhillmanor.com