Artist Residence London

Samuel Johnson once wrote: 'When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.'Had he ever enjoyed a stay at the Artist Residence London hotel in Pimlico, however, he surely would have written instead: 'When a man is tired of London, he should ensconce himself in a bubble bath to rejuvenate and bask in the city's wonders.' Less succinct, but certainly applicable to this hidden haven in the heart of town.

Blink and you might miss the discreet glass doorway marking the entrance, nestled neatly between a row of pretty Pimlico townhouses and the striped awning framing the hotel's all-day restaurant. Fortunately the postcode led us directly to the door to be greeted by some of the ever-accommodating, never-imposing staff… after helping ourselves to sweets from the glass jars lining the hallway, of course. It was just the first of many personal touches that made it feel more like staying in the house of a particularly hospitable friend, with impeccable taste and a flair for design, than a hotel. 

We were delighted to hear on arrival that we’d been upgraded to the Grand Suite. With floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed brick walls, a freestanding cast-iron bath big enough for two, a double marble sink, squashy armchairs and the kind of four-poster bed in which lazy Sunday mornings were invented, it’s the epitome of understated opulence. The open-plan design makes the suite simultaneously intimate and spacious, and a few signature quirky features – log-filled fireplaces, Pop Art on the walls, a retro radio and reclaimed parquet flooring straight from a school gym – make it a showstopper.

As is the trend at the moment, the art lies in combining shabby chic with the upmost attention to detail. There was an array of sweet-smelling bath salts and body lotions displayed on a wooden stepladder, a well-stocked mini bar tucked inside one of the ornate armoires and, a personal favourite, the chocolates-on-pillow turndown service. 

Having nosed thoroughly through every nook and cranny, we tore ourselves away to briefly play tourist. A sanctuary in the middle of the Central London storm – it’s only a five-minute walk to bustling Victoria – the neighbourhood is peaceful and charming. Pimlico has plenty by way of independent shops and cafes, and we discovered that the river is reachable in only half an hour or so on foot… though we should have allowed extra time for debating whether or not it really was Battersea Power station that we were standing opposite (it was, temporarily minus a couple of chimneys). 

Exploring over, our evening began with drinks in the Clarendon Cocktail Cellar in the hotel's cool, cave-esque basement, illuminated by vintage marine lamps dotted around a corrugated iron bar and cosy candlelit tables. The relaxed vibe, soundtracked by unobtrusive music (comfortingly recognisable at a just-perfect decibel level), makes it ideal for drinks parties, date nights and pre-dinner tête-à-têtes alike. After seeking advice on the art-inspired cocktail list from the bar manager, we opted for 'A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte'. Much like its Neo-Impressionist namesake, it was unusual and memorable – a tantalising mix of gin, oleo saccharum, tea, sparkling wine and tapioca pearl. Art critics we are not, but we certainly know cocktails and these come highly recommended. 

Heading upstairs for dinner in the atmospheric Cambridge Street Kitchen, we were met with inviting smells and tempting sights. The menu is fashionably minimalist (though there’s almost certainly something for everyone), but the portions are generous and the food delicious, not to mention, again, the unfalteringly friendly service. Warm bread with smoked-sea-salt butter whetted our appetites for something hearty, so we were delighted with our choice of beautifully cooked lamb rump. The rhubarb-and-oat crumble that followed was, we agreed, even better than the one we make at home (not an accolade easily given). 

And how best to round off such an indulgent evening? With a soak in the tub, up to our ears in bubbles, gazing out at the London lights and marvelling at how it’s possible to feel quite so tranquil in the middle of the city. 

Though it was near impossible to surface after the most comfortable of sleeps, Desert Island Discs and the thought of the Cambridge Street Kitchen's unmissable breakfast roused us. We chose fluffy American-style pancakes drizzled with maple syrup and crisp bacon, and the house granola with creamy yoghurt, honey and fresh berries, and, to chuckles of approval, a side of sausages (the definition of a balanced diet, yes?) 

When we checked out an hour later, we felt geanuinely sad to say goodbye, not only to our luxurious room, but to the staff who obviously have a desire to get things just right for their guests and are very talented in doing so. We left feeling wonderfully pampered yet completely at home – via the sweet jars, of course.