Miller's Residence

Do you love the shock of the new? Pine for the avant-garde? Wish tomorrow were here today?

If this strikes a chord, a stay at Miller’s Residence might scare the life out of you. Simply opening the front door and mounting the steps to reception would have a die-hard minimalist gasping for breath. However, should you have always dreamt of an eccentric, dear uncle who lives in a mad old pile in London's Notting Hill where you can go and spend the odd night, then Miller’s Residence is absolute heaven.

To elaborate further, my own Uncle Howard is a fine, sensible individual. Always remembers birthdays. Lives in an orderly house on the south coast. But, but… a trip to visit Uncle H is always safe and predictable. You’re never in any danger of finding him at the right end of a gin and tonic before lunch. For all his qualities, he lacks adventure, spice, mystery. Miller’s Residence is an invitation from the eccentric uncle I had never had.

This boutique bed and breakfast is suitably located on the edge of Notting Hill, a district famed for its bohemian/cosmopolitan/liberal ways. Like the majority of exciting secrets, Miller’s Residence declares nothing much, façadewise: if you didn’t know where it was located, you’d never stumble on it. But its red door seems charged with promise – you do suspect it must hide something special behind it. And it does.

Once you are in, you quickly discover the USP of ‘the residence’. It is simply full of antiques. In fact, it is way beyond full of antiques. You get the impression that, without the paintings, mirrors, china, silverware, books and bric-a-brac clinging to every surface, both vertical and horizontal, the 18th-century townhouse might fall down. It can take 10 minutes to walk from floor to floor; so full of interesting things are the stairwells, you find yourself wanting to stop and ‘read’ them.

Mrs Smith arrived before me and is waiting in our room, the Keats suite. When I get there, the staff treat me in the way that kind cousins would – informal but caring. Yes, Mrs Smith was waiting upstairs. Could they take my bag? Would we be joining them for pre-dinner drinks in the drawing room? The Keats suite was a treat. Instead of walls, it had hundreds of pictures. It turned out to be a lovely home for the weekend – with a writing desk in the bathroom, and a bed so heavy in sheets you feel ever so slightly pinned down. I imagine it’s what Prince Philip’s bed would feel like.

Being on the edge of Notting Hill makes Miller’s Residence ideally placed for some of London’s best restaurants and bars. We had phoned earlier in the week to get a recommendation on where to go for dinner, and been directed to Casa Frattini, a lovely little Italian on Chepstow Road, where somehow tables and chairs for 30 people have been squeezed into the front room of an old house. It’s very much a local, where the staff treat you like a regular even if it’s your first time.

When we returned to Miller’s after dinner, the drawing room was abustle with folk, chitchatting and supping on drinks. It had been a long week for this Mr and Mrs Smith, so we retired to bed without lingering. We wondered whether we were sneaking off, and whether we’d be asked the next day why we hadn’t made it to drinks. Not a bit of it – guests are definitely left to their own devices here – but we did find out that the last guests only made it to bed at 5am, which at least explained why we were the only takers at the breakfast table. Compared with the baroque splendour of our surroundings, the breakfast itself was a comparatively weekday affair of toast and jam, but not unrespectable.

Like the rest of the house, the drawing room/dining room looks as though a stylist has been called in just before a Crimewatch report from a warehouse stockpiled with beautiful loot. At its epicentre is the bar, which captures the spirit of Miller’s Residence in two ways. First, it isn’t an honesty bar, but a free bar. This suggests an acknowledgement of our trustworthiness and responsibility – appreciated. Second, Miller’s residence has its own brand of gin. This, obviously, suggests a knowledge of and generosity with fine booze – likewise, appreciated.

To enjoy Miller’s, you don’t have to love antiques, or even recognise a French rococo commode. You must just be wanting to stay somewhere a bit different, somewhere slightly bonkers, where you can have fun without anyone keeping an eye on you or bothering you. Should you want to get involved, spending a night or two ‘at home’ among the owners’ arty curiosities is as warm and sociable as staying with family – and definitely a little more fun than a trip to Uncle Howard’s.