Mr & Mrs Smith

‘I’m taking us away for a romantic weekend,’ says pregnant Mrs Smith to her (not-pregnant) Mrs Smith. ‘Excellent, where?’ she replies, Parisian hideaways and Moroccan oases virtually visible in her thought bubble. ‘Regents Park!’ I say as quickly and enthusiastically as I can, watching her face crumple ever so slightly before regaining its usual glow. But Mrs Smith and I have indulged in away weekends in our hometown before and there are serious plus points... 20 minutes to pack, doing door-to-door in under half an hour, and locals who speak the same language.

Let me set the scene. We rock up at York & Albany about 7ish on Friday evening; it isn’t a spirit of adventure that prevails, more a couple of broken spirits the result of brutal work weeks for both. Opening the door to this boutique boozer, we’re bombasted by Camden trendies on their Friday night out. Mrs Smith’s eyes light up in a way that I’ve learnt means ‘martini!’. This worn-out preghead is more tempted to spray venom on the assembled crowd. Not the ideal start to a romantic escape.

As the bar and restaurant is all that most people know about Y&A, it’s with great delight that I'd like to nudge you beyond the Gordon Ramsay-polished front of house to the demure hotel part of this beautiful Regency building. Like Dorothy and Toto post-twister, we pass through to the other side, an entirely contrasting setting. Chatter is replaced by calm; where we saw trendies we see trees; and in place of rowdy comes roomy. Cue these Mrs Smiths find the ticket to their dreamy weekend away.

Food, as you can imagine, is important at this stylish London stay. So it is after regrouping in our attic room, we head eagerly down to supper. A table-booking tip: I say, book a table downstairs. The ground floor is a dining room in the usual Gordon group get-up (not that noteworthy, more indiscriminately posh); in the burgundy bordelloey space below diners can eat next to an open kitchen. Bringing colour and life to the dining experience, we think we’d have preferred the subterranean option. The culinary highlights for us? A raviolo with garlic potato puree and a poached hen’s egg inside. Silky spuds + oozy yolk = sexy plate of food. Other memorables are a great lamb dish with a prize-winning salsa verde – well, I’d have given it a prize if I’d had one to hand – and a salted caramel parfait accompanied by a pear sorbet that brings clarity to all senses.

Flanked by Grade-I listed buildings, Regents Park and a pretty canal, the York & Albany is situated on the crossroads of a somewhat sprawling London junction. So we’re not expecting such peace to greet us as we breakfast downstairs on Saturday morning. It is as though we’ve been transported from a corner of NW1 to a private lodge in the country thanks to leafy park views, minimal traffic and a wonderful sense of space afforded by the fine Regency architecture and its huge windows. Reading the hotel’s literature, I glean that this fine John Nash building was a 1820s coaching inn and for a moment I feel a world away from modern-day London. Over home-made yoghurt with seasonal fruit – for once, this word that’s lost meaning through overuse, applies to our strawberries and raspberries – and we plot the rest of our day in NW1.

Camden Market, with all of its bustle and people-watching, is a 10-minute walk away – perfect for those after the full-on London experience. Having done it to death as a teenager, I have different plans. A weekend this close to London Zoo surely has to incorporate a some gorilla gawping. So we stroll to one of my favourite foodie pubs the Lansdowne in Primrose Hill for some pre-primate Bloody Marys (for the missus) and a spot of lunch. Our afternoon of animal ogling is rounded off perfectly with tea and cakes back at our lodgings. This has honestly been one of our best Saturday afternoons in the city in a long time.

Now, a confession: we move room for our second night. The first was in a smallish boudoir right at the top of the building where we enjoyed gorgeous park views. And a game of ‘How on earth did they ever get that huge wardrobe into the room?' Also a round of ‘How many variations on beige can the decor include? (From walls to curtain, all trims are differently textured hessian hues.) Still, it isn’t taupe overload that drives us out, but the lack of a bath. This hippo-sized Mrs Smith (with nearly complete baby hippo inside) needs somewhere to wallow. And the move proves a good one: although we’ve lost the treetops, they’re adequately replaced with tub enough for a bloat of hippos – my new favourite collective noun. Plus the original Regency details in the ceiling and the four-poster bed win top marks. A bed that ends up playing a bigger role in our Saturday-night story than we were expecting.

I’ve made reservations at nearby restaurant Market on Parkway, but after the excitement of the day and the calming cake, a nap seems in order. You know where this is (or isn’t) going… Several hours later we come to. Befuddled by the fact it’s nearly 9pm, we apologise to the restaurant and order room service and a movie. This is no club sandwich scenario. Picture a full-on gastronomic experience thanks to an excellent bar menu; exemplary polpette and a stunning pinot noir from the cellar – all without leaving our bed. Lying under the canopy of our four-poster, I’m the antithesis of the person I was 24 hours earlier. I can’t remember being this happy and chilled – and certainly not in the Capital. So, in the words of Gordon himself… job done!