An idyllic retreat is tucked away in a tourist destination rivalling The Lakes and Cornwall

Newcastle has held a special place in my heart since I went there in 1987 to study at its university. I vividly recall that warm feeling coming over me anytime I returned from the holidays on the train, cueing up Chis Rea’s On The Beach to play on my Walkman at the moment we crossed the Tyne Bridge.

That gravelly, unmistakable Middlesbrough voice seemed to be speaking only to me, taking me back to the place that I know. Even writing about it makes me glow inside.

Those carefree student days - helped of course by a full grant and all my fees paid - were wonderful and, far from dimming my recollection, the passing of the years have only served to imbue my memories with a golden hew, although I confess there really wasn’t very much in the way of studying. I know, you’re not in the slightest bit shocked.

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It’s a fine early autumn morning and, I'm heading north again, this time driving up the A1 more than three decades later. Those familiar feelings overwhelm me again, like the waves crashing on Chris Rea’s beach.

This time, there isn’t even the pretence of studying. My wife and I are on our way well north of the Toon, to deepest Northumberland, for a spot of R&R. Over the last decade, Northumberland has quietly become a magnet for tourists who have become fed up with the hordes visiting places like The Lakes and Cornwall.

The base for our weekend is The Tempus, a relatively new and award-winning boutique hotel just off the A1 not far from the market town of Alnwick. A winding track takes us through a forest and finally our hotel - in the middle of the Charlton Hall estate - reveals itself.

The hotel is impressive yet understated. We spy a vineyard and wonder whether the still young vines will ever be able to bear enough fruit so far north.

The real surprise, though, comes when we walk in. The decor is - how shall I say this? Well, gloriously nuts.

And totally at odds with the country manor vibe on the way in.

The theme, if there is one, seems to be a fantastical take on nature. All 33 bedrooms are different and ours has a magical forest theme judging by the unicorns dancing across the wallpaper. The room is spacious with a generous, very well appointed en suite bathroom.

That evening we dine in the hotel's restaurant, The Orangery. We walk by the enticing forest-themed booths of the adjacent bar to our table, a bit gutted we won't be eating in one of those.

I try the burrata, a cow's milk cheese I've never had before and it proves much too creamy for my taste. I taste the chicken parfait favoured by my wife: it's rich and salty and, with the toasted sour dough bread, hits the spot. I opt for the the lamb for my main. It's tender and cooked to perfection, alongside peas, asparagus and salsa verde. My wife raves about the chicken supreme.

Perhaps because of the bottle of pinot, once back in our room we struggle with the funky touch pad perched on the wall to control the lights, and for a few moments is like someone is repeatedly turning the Blackpool illuminations on and off. Like the old codgers we are becoming, we moan about the passing of the good old light switch.

Early the next morning, we have some fantastic beach choices nearby but we head instead to Holy Island, a must see for anyone visiting Northumberland. The weather is kind, again, and we head across the causeway, towards the ruins of the old abbey and the fort which is a short walk away.

There, our guide, Tone, explains a history stretching back more than a thousand years, and how pilgrims continue to visit. Then, something rather unsettling happens.

As we arrive at the pebbly beach at the very far tip of the island, Tone begins kicking over the cairns lovingly stacked up by previous visitors. These have become so tall and precarious, they are at risk of toppling onto passing children, he explains.

Then, he squats over a grassy promontory with his backside facing the North Sea and proceeds to scoop up into his hands stones which had been so neatly arranged there by other visitors to write loving messages. He flings these little rocks between his legs, propelling them at some speed through the air into the beach from whence they had been plucked.

It conjures, at least in my mind, an image of an oversized, demented dung beetle. He explains that, left in situ, the grass under these rocks would decay and would be washed away over time. All very reasonable.

It is all too much, however, for one young man, wearing a long rain coat, a vintage camera round his neck and Converse trainers on his feet. I'm calling him Guardian Reader. He seems a bit upset at the appearance of wanton vandalism happening in front of him. The reasons are explained to him, but he doesn't appear, at least to me, to be a man who is persuaded.

The tension finally subsides, and soon we are driving back along the causeway in time to avoid the swiftly returning tide. Our next stop on our whistle stop tour of Northumberland landmarks is the majestic Bamburgh Castle, which has been standing there proudly overlooking the beach of same name for 1,400 years. Bathed in warm autumn sunshine, our walk takes us down to a long white sand beach and back the other side of the castle, to the finely manicured cricket pitch at its foot. After a pint in neighbouring Seahouses, we head back to The Tempus for dinner.

Tone and his wife (long story) join us in The Orangery and we chortle endlessly about events on Holy Island, and whether Guardian Reader is over it yet. This time we squeeze in some pre-dinner drinks in one of the aforementioned booths before we're at our table.

This time I go local with the craster kipper and Northumberland cheese croquets, which are crispy on the outside and comforting on the inside, for my starter. My sirloin steak main course is perfectly cooked, medium rare. Mrs S goes for the garden salad and the sea bream, which she describes as 'stunning'.

Before I can blink, my rather lovely personal pilgrimage to the north east is nearing its conclusion. Fortified by a full English breakfast for my wife and smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for me back in The Orangery, there's still time to head back to the coast, to Beadnell Bay Beach which is nine miles away.

The weather has turned, and we have on our bobble hats. No matter, I strip down to my trunks and tip-toe with some trepidation towards the cold, grey surf where the waves are crashing, and I take the plunge, Chris Rea echoing through my head.

Travel factfile

John and his wife were guests of The Tempus where the price for a room in the hotel (for two) starts from £150, and from £180 with dinner and breakfast. There are other options aside from the hotel, including The Lookout which is a private dog-friendly cottage in the grounds with its own garden and hot tub. The starting price for any room with a hot tub is £295. For more details visit The Tempus website or call 01665 579173.