I discovered one of my favourite delights as a result of an exciting love affair, which for complicated reasons (and I am aware of how dodgy this sounds) included a lot of one-night hotel stays.
My affection for the soul-resetting balm of a single-night hotel stay has long outlasted that relationship. To be clear, I am talking about expensive hotels – ones that would be unaffordable for more than a night. I have stayed in most of London’s ultra-luxurious hotels this way; sampling them as if I’m at a wine tasting.
I’m the first to espouse the mental health benefits of the natural world, so it pains me to admit that being brought dinner in a bed loaded with 80,000 pillows is hard to beat, in terms of a mood lift.
Do I want classical music lightly playing from a vintage-style radio every time I cross the threshold to my room? Yes – it’s no more than I deserve. Do I want a dressing gown arranged to look as though it were being worn by a hanger, as opposed to just, well, hanging on it? Yes. Am I excited to lounge around in a bar with a fantastic view, reading a book and knowing that when I’m done I have no journey home? You bet.
It isn’t just the facilities, but the staff who draw me to indulge in these wallet-busting resets. People who work in hospitality have often become astute readers of the human condition. Much of the time, I feel as safe and comfortable with hotel staff as I would in, say, a hospital or with friends. (You may well suffer the same affliction as me when staying in hotels for longer periods, which is to make friends with literally everyone who works there.)
When one has only a short time, however, one learns to make the most of things. (Obviously this is widely said about life, but it also applies to five-star hotel stays.) Specifically: getting up at sunrise to watch colour paint the sky while doing gentle laps in the heated rooftop pool, followed by eggs done every single way, accompanied by an array of complimentary newspapers.
Naturally, this all comes to an abrupt end; for Cinderella, it happened at midnight and for me it’s usually 11am sharp. But it’s money well, if infrequently, spent. I am excited for when the Rona times have receded, to hear the clattering of a receptionist’s keyboard once more, as I am told to enjoy my stay. I always do.
