COWERING at the foot of the eerie Folly Tower, having spied a crow with its wings spread ready to dive for prey, I was filled with frightful visions of an avian raid of Hitchcockian fury.

Crouched by a heap sodden leaves, hands raised above my head for protection, was not quite how I pictured spending the first minutes of our peaceful getaway just over the Wiltshire border in the sleepy Oxfordshire countryside.

It soon turned out (my partner’s annoying guffaws were the first clue) that my would-be attacker was a harmless replica glued to a tree branch in the same spirit of tomfoolery which prompted the impish Lord Berners to erect his outrageous gothic folly at the top of Faringdon Hill.

Intrigued by the imposing keep looming over Sudbury House Hotel we had set off up the hill to take a closer look.

The last major folly ever built in Britain, the baron’s vanity project was not welcomed with open arms by locals. To ‘appease’ his fuming neighbours, he proceeded to inaugurate the tower with a spectacular fireworks display.

Never one for convention, Faringdon House’s chief resident, Lord Berners indulged his every whim – he had a pet giraffe, counted Dali among his coterie of eccentric pals and dabbled in the arts, eventually penning his own epitaph: Here lies Lord Berners One of the learners His great love of learning May earn him a burning But, Praise the Lord!

He seldom was bored.

I imagine his penchant for playing practical jokes on impressionable souls went a long way to keeping boredom at bay, as did treating guests’ horses to afternoon tea.

Crow-gate soon forgotten, we abandoned ourselves to his peculiar sense of humour, soaking in the oddball atmosphere under the cover of his wildest extravagance.

This trip was not going to be another dull, uneventful ‘staycation’, we decided. Following Lord Berners’s lead, we were ready to make our own fun, experience the world through his kaleidoscopic goggles. Our expectations were raised, boredom thresholds lowered, for better or for worse.

It was just as well we were about to spend the night at Sudbury House Hotel, a suitably incongruous blend of old and new quarters rescued from years of neglect by businessman Roger Hancox.

Of course there was no trace of dyed doves or jungle animals roaming the grounds but Sudbury House has had its fair share of tribulations over the years – and our dear old aesthete would have been partial to a juicy rags-to-riches story.

The 18th century Grade II listed building was once a boys’ boarding school, run by one Joseph Bowles, before becoming a seminary for young ladies. It changed hands multiple times and was eventually flanked by a modern extension and joined the Best Western hotel chain.

The restaurant did not fare well, until thankfully Mr Hancox saw its potential and embarked on a two-year rescue mission which saw the place gutted, revamped and made fit for discerning guests.

The scaffolding finally came down earlier this summer and we were there to sample the delights of the resurrected Sudbury House.

Crisp interiors dominated by muted tones create a distinctly contemporary style in the hotel’s modern extension. This is in stark contrast with the old boarding school – now home to Restaurant 56 – and its luxurious manorial surroundings complete with ornate antiques and period features. We were snooping around despite the restaurant being clearly closed when a kind employee offered to give us an impromptu tour.

After such attention to detail and timeless elegance, our room’s minimalistic decor was a slight disappointment. The plain furnishings retained something of the cold, corporate Best Western days. My misgivings were brushed off by my partner who was never one for modish boutique hotels, country manor chic, or chocolate-box warmth. Each to their own; but I think Lord Berners would have sided with me on that one.

The old-fashioned gentleman’s club oak bar, with its inviting charcoal sofas and vintage racing car pictures, showed much more flair and was quirky enough for my taste.

After a few libations we headed to the Magnolia Brasserie. Having tackled the hotel and unveiled the high-end Restaurant 56 18 months ago, the owner and executive chef Andrew Scott embarked on the herculean task of transforming the uninviting carvery in the modern annexe into a trendy brasserie designed around a large open-plan kitchen and imposing wood oven.

Colour is subtly injected in the contemporary bistro’s soft grey decor with the addition of eye-catching, orange, red and purple chairs. Design kudos aside, it is the menu which stands out at the Magnolia Brasserie. In keeping with the old meets new theme, it offers an enticing blend of pub classics like burgers and steaks and more inventive and decidedly modern concoctions. Making good use of the wood oven, head chef Ben Bullen has also devised a selection of pizzas. Never a fan of the doughy rich dish myself, I was assured that the pizzas were anything but doughy.

Taking our cue from Lord Berners’s lavish dinner parties, we set out to play around and assemble a copious banquet, starting with a make-your-own sharing board of delicately spiced harissa hummus, curried nuts, Serrano ham and olives.

A crispy thin fennel burrata and anchovy pizza reminiscent of the Alsatian Flammekuechle of my childhood was promptly placed in front of us, as well as a plateful of Juniper cured salmon with a refreshing and surprisingly light lime potato mousse.

Ready to throw in the towel, we soon perked up again as a rare steak drenched in tarragon and mustard butter and rich Venison pie appeared from the kitchen.

A deliciously snappy key-lime pie served with sweet blueberry compote and sorbet was soon proffered to me. My partner’s chocolate and banana millionaires’ shortbread, ingeniously heaped in a rustic jam jar, was greedily gulped down.

Close to delirious as we headed very slowly to our room after such epicurean delights, my initial pang of disappointment at the sparse decor was completely forgotten.

Morning came much too soon and we prepared to take our leave. But not before one last pilgrimage to the Folly Tower to bid the late Baron farewell.

This may sound silly, and it certainly was, but after all it was Lord Berners himself who said: “Mistrust a man who never has an occasional flash of silliness.”

Add woman to that statement and you had a pair of idiots circling a brick tower on a deserted hilltop. It seemed about right.