Lily Allen’s country house, hidden away down a deliciously long drive in the depths of the English Cotswolds, is the sort of place Mrs. Tiggy-winkle might have lived. The ancient front door, reached through a charming cobbled courtyard dripping with white hydrangeas, has the date 1660 carved in stone above it. The only indication that this is home to a 29-year-old singer-songwriter rather than a fictional hedgehog is a welcome mat that reads Chanel. “I begged them for it,” says Lily, who has a long-standing relationship with the house.
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