Isles of Scilly

Scilly is where England keeps its own tropics, forty-odd kilometres past the last bus stop, and the daffodils come up before anyone on the mainland has forgiven winter. The place runs on flowers, birdwatchers and the quiet understanding that a house here is either owned by the Duchy, rented to a chef, or photographed for someone else's fortnight. Everything you can reach on foot at low tide is spectacular, and everything you need urgently is two hours and one cancelled ferry away. Beautiful, warm, and utterly unbothered by whether that suits you.