Today is Husband’s and my 10th wedding anniversary. To celebrate we fled from work and the kids and headed to the bright lights of London.
When everything’s been about working and parenting, chores and not getting enough sleep by half, having a full 24 hours alone together and one of the world’s best cities at our feet was bliss, but guilt-inducing, an abundance of options, but a desire just to crash. Not really being able to drink solidly for a complete day and night and no distraction of the kids, would we have enough to talk about?
The guilt didn’t last long. About as long as it took to step across the threshold of Room 11 of the Zetter Townhouse, funnily enough. I swear luxury hotel rooms have magical properties. I suspect it may have something to do with marshmallow-soft pillows and pristine bathrooms.
Things to love about a city escape:
• A different view.
Looking out across the city, The Shard in the distance. The city at our feet. But the ability to do as much or as little as we want. Too exciting.
• The ability to visit the grown-up attractions.
Not that I necessarily always understand them, mind you. But we opted for some culture at Somerset House.
A fireplace of cushions may not have been Husband’s thing (he doesn’t understand the need for cushions on a sofa after all, let alone spilling across the floor as art)…
…but the Return of the Rudeboy exhibition was amazing.
• Getting dressed up
• Dining out
A Wednesday night is instantly transformed into fabulous when it includes a champagne.
Just bring on the booze!
• A blissful night’s sleep
I actually slept so deeply and well I’d recharged by 4am. Still, just being cocooned in crisp, clean cotton was heavenly.
• Breakfast in bed
Particularly as I rarely get breakfast let alone combined with a lie-in.
• Wallowing in a tub
Although why are the baths increasingly put in the bedroom? What’s that about? Maybe it’s sexy when it involves young, nubile, lithe bodies…but when middle-age is creeping up, better to keep it behind a closed door.
• REN miniatures
And yes, I did snaffle them into my suitcase. Obviously.
• Taxidermy boxing kangaroo in the hotel’s dining room
Ok, that was maybe a little odd.
And, as ever, it was all Husband’s fault. But in a good way this time. Miracles can happen. I blame the hotel room. Literally magical, I tell you.
Funnily enough, with a tiny, or as I prefer, ‘select’ readership, I was in no way bribed to share my enjoyment of the Zetter Townhouse. All opinions are my own. HOWEVER, I’m not above bribery if any luxury hotels ever fancy giving me a freebie stay in return for flattering comments.