We've noticed people have very strong opinions about which bedroom they'd choose. So, we've analysed precisely nothing, polled exactly nobody and based the following entirely on vibes. And remember, as Oscar Wilde once said, ‘In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.’
State Bedroom: you’re the host
You're the sort of person who says ‘don't bring anything’, then secretly hopes someone ignores you and turns up with a decent bottle of Bordeaux. You've got a favourite serving spoon. You own monogrammed linen napkins. Your playlists are called things like “Songs to Play Between Pudding and Cheese (Part I)” and “Roast Chicken Jazz”.
You’re at your best in the thick of the action, so are beyond thrilled that your room, the State Bedroom, is on the ground floor. And close to the wine cellar, thank God. When your guests wobble upstairs long after midnight, you sink into a gloriously oversized bath, glass of claret in hand, replaying every compliment about the pudding.
Your worst nightmare: a last-minute RSVP. With a plus one. And a badly behaved dog with particular dietary requirements.
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The Queen’s Bedroom: you’re the old soul
You're the kind of person who, if walls could talk, would be sitting enraptured, taking notes in your Moleskine notebook and wondering whether there's a novel in all this. While everyone else is taking selfies or pilfering the martini trolley, you're photographing a tiny section of hand-painted wallpaper because ‘they just don't do detailing like this anymore’. You have seriously described a paint colour as “restrained”.
Someone mentions Queen Mary stayed here and you disappear down a Reddit rabbit hole about whether she really did take furniture with her wherever she went. If nobody can find you, it’s because you’re sat rapt, gazing out of the window and imagining everyone who has looked at that precise view before you.
Open browser tabs: 17. Six of them are Wikipedia.
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The Italian Bedroom: you’re the bon vivant
Your passport is permanently within arm's reach, and your camera roll is mostly seafood beside the sea, rooftop sunsets and cobblestoned Italian streets lined with lemon trees. You insist that tomatoes taste better in Italy (they do), espresso should be drunk standing up and lunch should never, ever be rushed. You have created, and forced your friends to sign, a petition to allow pets in the cabin on planes.
You approve wholeheartedly of the Italian Bedroom's sunshine-yellow and ocean-blue palette, and spend an embarrassingly long time trying to work out which gallery the paintings of Italy on the walls are from before someone gently points out the 3rd Earl painted them himself.
Most commonly found: sitting on your suitcase at the check-in desk. Those bottles of Sicilian white wine you bought as a souvenir WILL fit.
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Red Bedroom: you’re the main character
Subtlety has never been your strong suit. You gravitate towards bold colours, have an incredible roster of dinner-party stories, and can’t resist plonking out Piano Man in the Great Hall the moment you arrive (45 minutes late, obviously). You quote Oscar Wilde in your Instagram captions, own at least one thing in leopard print (it’s a neutral!), and have never met a cocktail cabinet you didn't immediately rifle through.
So the chaise longue in the Red Bedroom doesn’t just call to you, it performs a siren song, seducing you to lie down, martini in hand, and recount that time you accidentally ended up a Rolling Stones’ birthday.
Life motto: “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
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Turret Suite: you’re the hopeless romantic
You're the kind of person who could romanticise a stop at Bridgwater Services on the M5. You've had your wedding planned since you were five and made an unsuspecting classmate walk you down the aisle (sorry again, Thomas B). You cry at weddings where you barely know the couple. You’ve snapped a picture of the Red Hall with the caption “Finally found my knight in shining armour!!”.
Unsurprisingly, you're drawn to the Turret Suite, where countless brides have spent the morning getting ready. But you’re also obsessed with its mini library, which has you mentally cancelling your plans so you can spend the afternoon reading with a cup of tea and pretending you're the heroine in a mysterious big house novel.
Biggest fear: an unresolved ending.