Three snuffling pigs trot up to their fence to welcome me at Glebe House.
I should be gazing out over the rolling East Devon hills, admiring the tulips on the estate or gasping at the perfectly-clipped croquet lawn, but the pigs win my attention.
I spend more time than I’d like to admit cooing over them in their woodland pen, but something tells me they aren’t kept as pets.
Lucy Lovell checks into Glebe House, which sits in a picturesque