Drakes

Making the dash from London to Brighton on a Friday evening is never an entertaining experience, and much less so on a boiling-hot, busy train. So with jangled nerves and weary bodies we pulled up at Drakes Hotel in Brighton each with every intention of satisfying our respective cravings immediately. Where many of the fairer sex (my girlfriend included) may often judge a hotel (or restaurant/nightclub/pub) by the standard of its lavatories and the lavishness of its toiletries, as a professional drinks connoisseur, I prefer to pass sentence by heading straight for the bar; the sooner the better. And there it was, the Thai-tinged reception/bar. Or was it a bar/reception? It made no difference – with a lovingly created mixture of rum, lime and sugar in hand, we checked in smoothly.

As we headed up the twisting staircase to the rooms I made a mental note to leave ten minutes early for dinner: so many full-length mirrors on each landing wreak havoc on tight restaurant reservations, especially with a birthday girl brandishing a suitcase full of new clothes. Our large airy room (surprisingly spacious for a Regency building) made full advantage of its seafront location, and glorious windows promised to let the light beat in as soon as the BST had made up its mind.

Luckily for us, we could batten down the hatches, ignore the tropical storm outside, and run a bath in one of the largest free-standing tubs I’ve seen, in the cove of the bay windows. (Note to reader: if you are staying in room 301 and you feel like a daytime splash, be aware of the balcony on the guesthouse next door. Unless, of course, being seen is your thing.) With its heated floor and gently changing coloured lighting, the wet room lived up to the highest of expectations, and we jumped from bath to shower and steam. Cocooned in our robes, we were contented that we’d booked dinner at the Gingerman, the hotel’s restaurant, and wouldn’t need to venture out into the rain.

Nestled in the basement, and intimate without being whispery, we discovered the Gingerman is a top-carat jewel in Drakes’ crown. The menu couldn’t have been more apposite for two peoples’ tastes and as a result we had to pick our delightful waitress’ brains to the bone to determine which dishes to go for. What she didn’t know she happily asked Ben McKlellar, who uncharacteristically for a chef, seemed relaxed enough to give her an answer without reducing her to tears. Seafood and more seafood was the order of the evening – which, I’m guessing, was all taken from local fishing boats, with the exception of the superb Colchester oysters.

We sank into bed that night enjoying the strangely comforting patter of rain against the shutters, relieved to be out of the city for the weekend and soothed by the prospect of a late-morning wake-up in a bed that ticked a big box on our how-much-do-we-like-this-hotel criteria sheet. Seemingly safe in the knowledge of a morning of wide-screen cricket (Mr) and a two-hour massage (Mrs) we felt no need to rush, and carried over the previous night’s piscinetheme, opting for kippers as our breakfast in bed, only to discover the massage was to occur in the room itself.

After much flapping to remove fishy aromas from room (not conducive to aromatherapy apparently, along with cricket commentary as I was also informed), I removed myself to the bar for the newspapers, the Ashes on an even bigger screen and a great Virgin Mary. It’s not often a bartender will concede that his Mary mix could do with a little coaxing, but after a brief chat, the barkeep and I shaved the ratio of celery salt, upped the amount of ground black pepper and lemon juice, and dolloped in a little creamed horseradish. The sun started shining and all looked rosy, until the inevitable happened, and England's middle order collapsed faster than a piña colada poolside.

Fragrantly glowing and disgusted with the cricket respectively, we avoided the madness of the Lanes to enjoy a gentle stroll along the prom; only to bump into half a million families from across the south-east with the same idea. So, retreating to our hotel, we flung open the huge windows, to enjoy a sea breeze, sunshine and tranquillity – a rare combination in seaside towns these days – all in the comfort of our very own room.