In the few days running up to Christmas, my best beloved and I both had our birthdays, a family wedding, an early family Christmas and, of course, there was the Oxfam shop at the busiest time of the year.

So, we decided to abandon all thoughts of quiet meals out – inevitably we would have been joined by a Christmas office party or two – and treat ourselves to a night in a nice hotel in the relative peace of January.

Helpfully, The Guardian did a feature on the best places to stay with a dog, and one was not that far way in the New Forest.

So, I booked it, and at the time the owner told me they were doing a bit of a re-furb and though it would all be done by that date, the kitchen wouldn’t be fully open.

I asked if we could get a meal, if not the fine dinning they usually went in for, and he said yes, of course.

To be fair, I had forgotten that conversation, what with Christmas, weddings, the Oxfam shop etc etc.

So, after our walk along the beach, we went to a pub and had a sandwich one the basis that you don’t want two ‘proper’ meals in a day – certainly not with chips.

When we got to the hotel, it was apparent that the re-furb wasn’t quite finished, what with carpet layers and a lot of hoovering and mopping going on  – but our room was done.

The hotel is in the middle of a commuter village so it nestles in suburbia – not quite what we had in mind, though the views at the back, as per The Guardian photo, are very nice.

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So, what was on offer for supper.

‘Ah yes madam,’ I was told, ‘there is a complimentary bottle of wine and a sandwich.’

Really only a sandwich option? ‘Yes.’

OK so we could have gone off and found somewhere a drive away to eat, but we decided we would opt for the wine, a conversation about work which we never usually manage at home, and a dog happy to be entertained by domestic comings and goings.

Most of the staff and carpet layers left, leaving a nice young man in sole charge and some banging and crashing in the kitchen.

After a while we asked what the sandwich options were.

I was thinking nice crusty local bread, with local ham say, or today’s crab catch or even a BLT. 

The nice young man said, ‘I’ll go and have a look what is left in the fridge’

Really? ‘Yes.’

He came back and said he had found some cheese and smoked salmon and I probed for a few more details but he looked panicked

In the end I said, ‘Would you like me to make up the sandwiches?’

He looked relieved so I told him to get out what he had in the way of bread and potential sandwich fillers, and lead me to them.

Well, I refused the Bernard Matthews slices of chicken breast….

The bread was sliced and frozen so had to be de-frosted and it certainly wasn’t anybody’s finest.

The cheese was a half packet of Cathedral cheddar and the pickle came in a lidded bucket, so not all that local or homemade.

The butter was also pretty cold so spreading it was a challenge and the smoked salmon looked like it was a new year’s leftover.

I did what I could and asked if he had any greenery and he came back with a bag of spinach leaves and another bucketful of (actually rather nice) green olives.

I tried to make it look like a nice platter and he was very impressed. ‘So much better than I would have been able to do,’ he said – and I think he was probably right.

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(We thought nostalgically of the very, very good BLT a hotel in a mid-priced chain had managed to rustle up when we unexpectedly arrived at a Reading hotel late one evening. But that is another story and one I think I might have already told you.)

To be fair, we did get a cooked breakfast the next day but at least one of us, hoping for a bacon sandwich, was just a bit disappointed.

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I have to say that my TripAdvisor review for the Manor at Sway won’t be that great.