Good Samaritans advised us to drive slowly from London to the Cotswolds to prepare our minds and bodies for its unhurried pace.

Taking the M40 and A44, 90 minutes later we were in the Cotswolds and the hamlet of Chipping Camden. Locals said "Chipping" was old English for "market".

Around 1902 the influential School of Arts and Crafts left London permanently for the tranquil Cotswolds. The area boomed as result of the quality craftsmanship and is fast becoming Britain's rural capital of culture. Its shops are famed for antiques and treasure troves of gifts.

Green Cottage in Chipping Camden, where buildings are made of beautifully finished honey-coloured stone, became our stepping stone to exploring walks and cycling paradises.

Our cottage had a washing machine, stove and dish washer which cut daily costs nicely while the owner left a welcoming iced Madeira cake and insisted we use her fine bone china crockery.

Our wives promptly banned our son Shane and myself (both rugby players) from washing up. Out of sight we did a high-five before fleeing 200m away with his baby son, Finn, to the greenest farmland ever. It was populated with fluffy sheep and cows as dark as boot polish. Finn just loved it.

Next day we drew straws for baby sitting and Shane lost. His wife Janine and mine took a horse ride to the Blue Bells on Glebe Farm - while I preferred independently sprung wheels to hooves and dawdled behind on a spluttering quad bike.

Later in unspoilt countryside we passed ducks galore on gurgling rivers before phoning Shane to meet us at Bantam Tea Room, formerly the Guild House. It still has artistic window displays of lavish cakes that are scrumptious.

I was awoken at dawn to a din like strangled goats and shouted, "What the heck is that?" Then a cockrell stuck on the same ghastly note glared with malice at me while a clucking hen laid eggs so big the poor bird hardly coped. I staggered down for coffee. A van collected the cockrell and I never saw it again.

I hoped it kept its owner awake all night - but my fresh eggs and farm bacon family breakfast was five-star. They asked why I was up so early.

After the Spring Bank Holiday in May, the Cotswolds Olimpic (ancient spelling) Games are held. Four hundred years ago Robert Dover conceived them and it still occurs on Dover Hill, Chipping Camden.

In 2012 when Britain hosts the Olympic Games they will be linked, so you, as a visitor, could also become an Olimpic Champion. Events include shin kicking, tug of war, a five-mile run and climbing the unclimbable ladder.

We had been reading in our garden under a hot buttery yellow and salmon pink sun when a cool breeze jitterbugged by, brushing hedge clippings along like tiny brooms. I could see why the Cotswolds were used for making Harry Potter and James Bond films among others.

Do you remember the pantomime of Dick Whittington and his cat? The fable is based on Richard Whittington of Stroud in the Cotswolds. Dick in the fable sold his cat for "a great fortune" to a King overrun by rats.

Now rich, he moved to London, becoming mayor three times. But guess what? Richard Whittington also became Mayor of London - three times. He eventually owned most of Stroud and today is famous for huge fun food and drink festivals.

The Cotswolds' Stratford-On-Avon is the birthplace of Shakespeare, who married Anne Hathaway in 1582. Her ornate cottage is much-a-do-about something special and worth a visit. Nearby is Bourton-On-Water, known romantically as Little Venice. Its graceful bridges are perfect for a romantic pause.

Oxford is nearby and we stayed overnight. The pubs were full of fun, inexpensive food and beer-swilling erudite students - hurrah!

Next we strolled from Durham quadrangle around Trinity College but, limited in time, left after warming ourselves before a home fire roaring up its chimney.

Then we drove on to Chipping Sodbury to picnic in forests carpeted with bluebells (now protected). Invigorated by the different areas, we next looked forward to the mind-boggling characters of nearby Malmesbury.

First there was Monk Daniel who submerged himself daily in freezing water to "quell his fiery thoughts". Then in 1010 AD a daring Monk called Elmer attached wings to his arms and legs in an attempt to fly from Malmesbury Abbey's highest spire. As feasible, I thought, as sighting the Loch Ness Monster. But he did fly 210 metres before, well ... breaking both legs.

But that's not the end of the inimitable Malmesbury parables. The old Abbey House has large gardens that attracted Ian and Anne Pollard enough to recently buy it. They created something so popular that it became an annual event calling it "clothes optional day". The Cotswolds never stop intriguing.