Fine on the vine in Newbury

As it is the holiday season, I thought readers might appreciate a hotel for those of us who like a tipple or two. The Vineyard near Newbury is owned by Sir Peter Michael, who produces wine in California.

My friend Mary and I arrived to find a modern building painted light grey, with shutters to give it the look of a French wine chateau. The railings were carved like vines, and pictures of wine jugs adorned the reception hall.

We were greeted by a charming receptionist who showed us to our room past racks of bottles. The room - surprise, surprise - was decorated in wine reds and yellows. There was no escaping the feeling of being in some vast winery. The large, well-appointed bathroom was covered in green marble. Even the drawings without grapes had a connection with alcoholism.

They were painted by the Russian artist Boris Smirnoff, who was a friend of Errol Flynn, a boozer par excellence.

Feeling a little listless, I decided to have a swim in the indoor pool. This resembled one of those terracotta Tuscan wine jugs, with more grape motifs at each end. Mary and I wandered downstairs. The bar was three-quarters full. Many present looked like honeymoon couples enjoying a splurge. A pianist crooned in a corner.

A glass of house champagne was £8.50. A little pricy, but it came in a huge glass, was ice cold, and turned out to be Ruinart, a great label. The sommelier then appeared with two books as thick as the King James's Bible: the wine lists. The sommelier said that the food in the restaurant was designed to complement the wine.

This sounded pretentious; something they do only at the famous French wine ch?teaux. Sniffily I asked how many bottles of wine they had. His answer of 23,000 put me in my place.

The cheapest bottle I could find was £24, an average rate was around £70 - for Californian wine. I ordered the £24 white, then was permitted to see the slim menu. Smoking was not allowed as cigarettes are supposed to interfere with the bouquet of the wine.

Pressed chicken and foie gras terrine was perfect, held together by aspic that was soft, not chewy. My steamed sea bass with prawn ravioli and a shellfish bouillon was tender and tasty. I was too full for a pudding but Mary had chocolate fondant with malt ice cream and pronounced it delicious, though it made her feel like lying down with an anti-indigestion pill.

Breakfast arrived on a silver tray: warm croissants, chocolate brioche and those twirly confections with raisins. When we had finished, we began to pack gingerly, holding our heads.

We held our heads again when we received the bill. The hotel had slapped £70 VAT on the room rate quoted over the phone - breakfast not included. There had been nothing to complain of with regard to the rooms, food or service, but one could stay in a French ch?teau for half the price. The Vineyard is certainly for those who want to splash out. As I say of gin martinis, one is enough but two is too much. The same could be said of visiting The Vineyard.

The Vineyard at Stockcross, Newbury, Berkshire (01635 528770); 31 rooms, £190/£340. Dinner: three courses £49.