The Celebration Room at the Perth County Inn in Stratford is not merely a room. It is a stage, a whispering chamber of memory and possibility, where the walls seem to lean in with their own stories. Rumour says that certain writers—well-known for sharpening their pens on the marrow of life—scribbled some pages here. I believe it. The window desk overlooks the river, and rivers, as every writer knows, carry not just water but ideas. The current drifts, and so does the mind.
In the morning, the room fills with the perfume of bread rising from the Painting Baker below—a small and delicious reminder that art and sustenance are not so different. Both require patience, both ask for heat. You write, you bake, you eat, you dream.
And then, there is the bath. Not hidden away in the shadows but standing boldly inside the room itself, like a chalice. It invites bubbles of every kind—soap, champagne, laughter. To lower yourself into its depths feels less like bathing and more like a declaration: that life is meant to be celebrated, not endured.
The location is perfect—close enough to the heart of Stratford to feel the hum of theatre and history, yet just apart enough that you can hear yourself think, or hear a story slipping into being.
Stay here, and you might find yourself writing too. Or at least, celebrating.