I've always found there to be something a little mischievous about staying in a hotel in the city you live in. For whatever reason - an affair, no hot water at home or you simply just fancy a little change of scenery for the night - checking into a hotel when you're only fifteen minutes from home is, I think, one of life's little pleasures.
We’d normally associate hotels with travel. You've usually taken a train or plane, whether for business or pleasure, to somewhere abroad with passport and suitcase in hand. Somewhere you don't know. Somewhere alien. But a staycation means no passport, no stressful airport ordeals, nor (mercifully) the need to pack your toiletries into a clear plastic bag with liquids under 100ml.
Over the weekend, I checked into Soho House's Redchurch Townhouse for the night. I was cocooned in buzzing Shoreditch for just under 24 hours, not having to step foot outside, with all my needs under one roof. From enjoying an in-room martini before dinner at Cecconi's on the ground floor, to carrying the remains of a full-bodied bottle of Italian red back upstairs for a late night movie in bed, it was utter bliss.
A hotel offers comfort and security: the cosiness of the hotel lobby and it's people watching, chatting with the concierge for your dining needs, and the often awkward exchange with housekeeping when they want to turn down the room but you’re only half-dressed for dinner.
And, of course, who doesn't enjoy a hotel breakfast buffet? Platters of fruit, eggs, pastries and copious cups of freshly brewed coffee all enjoyed with a newspaper in hand.
In an age where AirBnb is often becoming the first port of call for travellers - especially younger ones – this was a reminder that hotels offer something magical that someone's rented out apartment simply can't. From room service in bed to clean Frette bedsheets and freshly laundered fluffy white towels, a stay in a hotel is good for the soul. An indulgence. We should all treat ourselves to the odd staycation. Just do not disturb.