Why Tuscany always beats Provence for me

A family of peacocks is sunning itself in our villa garden. They all look extraordinarily happy and composed, especially the baby one, for whom (like us, come to think of it) this is a whole new experience.

But then, the 150 hens wandering in and out of their coops painted like beach huts don’t look exactly overburdened themselves; nor do the sheep, pigs and cows in their 220 acres of lush Tuscan terrain near the Merse river about 45 minutes southwest of Siena.

I can’t detect much discontent on the faces of the 60 staff either, here at Borgo Santo Pietro: whether the serene but remarkably strong young women in the spa with its outdoor treatment beds; the British florist; the American artist-in-residence; or the 15 gardeners who busy themselves in the herbaceous borders, rose-scented pathways and immaculate lawns.

‘We think it has always been a happy place,’ says the Danish owner Claus Thottrup who, with his wife Jeanette, came across what was a derelict 13th-century pile in 2001 and set about bringing it back to life in magnificent fashion.