Mr & Mrs Smith

The Standard NY in New York is a great big bastard of a building, elevated above the Meatpacking District on the banks of the Hudson River. It’s an 18-storey sore thumb and I loved it the second I saw it. It straddles the High Line, an old train route that’s being ingeniously converted into a park on stilts – it stands over it like it’s about to either beat it up or make love to it.

The building sucks you in through a bright-yellow revolving door and pumps you out into the middle of a space-age atrium. Soft music and mesmerising lighting draws you towards check-in, which takes place over marble plinths shimmering in the light of Apple Macs.

I had been unsure about what to expect from the Standard NY. I was aware of its reputation as an über-cool hangout for white-toothed socialites in Los Angeles. I had also seen the logo, which was written upside down. Krazy! Added to that, the taxi driver on the way there had informed us that the hotel operates a voyeurism hour. Mrs Smith looked horrified; I asked him to elaborate. He said he was hazy about the details, but there was an hour every day when guests are required to open their rooms up to anybody who might care to watch. Quite why anyone would want to watch me unpacking my underpants and clipping my toenails is beyond me but, hey, it’s New York. Anything goes.

Within minutes of arriving, the building was so impressive that all my fears about the Standard NY had been assuaged – all except the voyeurism hour. So, after checking in, I nervously looked the manager in the eye and said, ‘I understand you operate a voyeurism hour.’ He stared back at me, I mumbled ‘You know… where we open our room up for people to watch.’ You could see his brain working; he was looking for any way of being polite and accommodating without appearing to be too scared. He politely informed me that this was not something the hotel offered. I realised the taxi driver had been lying. Suddenly Mrs Smith and I were a pair of sex people. Probably in town on some sort of shopping trip for leather harnesses and barbed wire.

The giggling porter led us to our room, making constant gags about our blunder. It was mortifying, but any embarrassment I had was soon forgotten the second we stepped into the room. It may have been tiny, but directly in front of us were floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the Hudson River and skyline that stretched the length of the space. We could even see the Statue of Liberty doing that wave you do when you spot somebody you haven’t seen for ages on the other side of the street.

It didn’t matter that the room was small. We kept using the word ‘pod’. It was a sort of cross between modern Japanese and 1950s European holiday villa. The selection of things in the room were wonderful. The toiletries were all designed like old-fashioned medical supplies and the minibar had trouble written all over it. The bathroom was open to the bedroom, and the full view of the city meant you could wave back to Lady Liberty while washing your pits and parts.

I’ve always felt men get a better deal with these open showers. We get a seductive, soapy view straight out of a 1970s porn movie. Women get to watch men feverishly scrubbing their crevices and picking pubic hairs out the soap.

The hotel is in a fantastic position. I love the Meatpacking District. It feels as though there’s a bit more space than further uptown. The Standard NY is within moseying distance of Pastis, everybody’s favourite French bistro. Likewise, you can literally crawl back from SoHo House, or roll back from the Spice Market after eating far too much. On the Saturday night I took Mrs Smith up the Gansevoort. Something I’d been intending to do for years. She didn’t enjoy it.

There is one anomaly in the area, a bar that sits opposite the hotel called Hogs And Heifers. It is the polar opposite of the Standard NY – it's an institution apparently. It’s looks like something out of Mad Max. There’s a row of motorbikes with skulls on them parked outside and, occasionally, a door will fling open as somebody is thrown out, accompanied by screaming and smashing glass. It's a world away from the Standard's own exclusive club – a penthouse cocktail lounge in the skies. Floor-to-ceiling windows allow full-circle views over Manhattan and the Hudson. Cream banquettes, gilded fireplaces and sparkly chandeliers comprise one half of this VIP paradise, the other black-tiled room has a triangular hot tub at its centre. Ladies and gents, welcome to the Top of the Standard.

At some point during our night out, however, somebody must have spiked my drink with a drug that made me think it was acceptable for Mrs Smith and I to go into Hogs and Heifers. It’s the only way I can rationalise that decision. As we walked in, a woman with a megaphone screamed at Mrs Smith to get up on the bar and take her bra off. Behind her hundreds of bras were hung on the wall, suggesting this woman doesn’t take no for an answer. I thought it would be rude to just walk out then and ordered two beers. It was as if I’d asked the barmaid to pour vinegar into her own eye. She hated me. I ran back to Mrs Smith just in time to watch the evening’s entertainment – a guy being beaten up and thrown out for asking for a piece of lime in his Corona (thank God I ordered Budweiser). We stayed for about 20 minutes, keeping as low a profile as possible. We finally left after a man with a beard down to his shins walked out the toilet cubicle and deliberately flicked liquid into my face. ‘Relax,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘It’s only water.’ I’d been in that cubicle earlier. There wasn’t a sink. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to leave that bar, look up and see the Standard NY and pine for martinis on its top floor. The thing is, it was like that every time we got back there from a day out. It felt like we were coming home.

On our final night, I finally plucked up the courage to strip off and draw back the curtains to give New York a proper eyeful. As I danced there naked, occasionally catching my own grinning reflection, I felt confident that nobody would be looking at me; they’d all be ogling the gorgeous hotel behind.