The Woolshed, Torquay review: Country comforts

Lisa Stones finds fresh eggs and happy kelpies during a stay at a converted woolshed.

As I slowly wake I'm thinking, "What is all that noise?" And then I remember we are on the rural fringe of Torquay and the noise is the morning birdsong. How quickly you forget that the country has its own noises and this is nature's alarm.

We are staying in a converted, century-old woolshed, on a small acreage that is now tourist accommodation, simply called The Woolshed.

There are two queen-size suites, the North Paddock and South Paddock, with their own bathrooms and a central living area that can also sleep two more guests on single beds. The area also has a small kitchenette with microwave and two hotplates.

Each suite has its own television and the main area has a larger-screen TV with DVD/CD player and radio amplified through speakers mounted high on the wall. There is a bar fridge in each suite, along with a small table and two chairs, a kettle and coffee and tea-making facilities.

Both suites have a double shower, toilet and handbasin. One has its own private deck with table and chairs. There is a large Esky provided on the west-facing deck, which also has a gas barbecue and outdoor seating.

The rural theme runs strongly through the decor and the collection of reading matter, reflecting the background of our host, Judy Beacham, who grew up on a Western District wool property. The interior features corrugated-iron walls in the main living area and the rustic, exposed beams of the woolshed.

In the tradition of a country stay we agree that a full breakfast is essential. We have brought provisions (bacon, tomatoes, watermelon, cheese and avocado) to go with those supplied by our generous host (bread, tea, coffee, orange juice, cereal, milk, margarine, peaches, jam, Vegemite and eggs). There is just one final thing to do: go outside to the hen house and see if the girls – Henny, Penny and Divine Brown – have delivered the goods.

To the delight of our six-year-old daughter they have: five eggs are awaiting us in the nest. We select two, as we already have three in the fridge, and with instructions on which one to use (the warm, large brown one – "I'm sure that's from Divine Brown," the smallest guest assures us) the cooking gets under way. After breakfast, we reward the hens with our edible scraps before we decide a game of petanque is in order.