Charlotte Street Hotel

There’s something very decadent about spending the night at a London hotel when you actually live in the city. And, when you’ve got a one-year-old at home, smearing banana into your sofa cushions and pushing fish fingers into your Jimmy Choos, you need to feel decadent from time to time. Our weekend at the Charlotte Street Hotel is all about celebration – Mr Smith is about to become another year older – so we’ve handed the tot over to his grandparents and are planning a night of unbridled hedonism. Well, as unbridled as two sleep-deprived parents can manage these days…

In our eagerness to get the weekend off to a flying start, we arrive too early at the hotel and, despite the reception desk’s best efforts to get us installed, our room isn’t quite ready for us. We pop down the road for a relaxing massage at Walk-in Backrub, followed by a steaming bowl of noodles at a nearby Japanese café. We then stroll down to Covent Garden for a pitstop at the Monmouth Coffee Company, which both Mr Smith and I agree serves the best coffee in London by a mile. We’re loving being toddler-free for the day, and even manage to indulge in a little shopping before Mr Smith starts sticking out his bottom lip and stamping his feet crossly.

Back at the hotel, our room is ready for us, so we head upstairs to settle in. Since we’re celebrating, we’ve gone for a Loft Suite  – a split-level chamber in which the bed sits on a mezzanine level above a stylish sitting area and en-suite bathroom – decorated in a wonderful mix of colours. I love that there’s nothing minimal about designer Kit Kemp's styling, and the shocking pinks and reds in the ornate curtains provide the polished and homely room with a splash of real personality. If that weren’t enough, there are also dressmakers’ busts, mood-lighting lamps and orchids dotted around to up the fun factor. A wrought-iron chandelier gives the whole room an air of grandeur.

Mr Smith particularly loves the huge cushioned shelf next to our personal library, and he spends an enjoyable 20 minutes or so lying down on its plush base and leafing through a few of the hundred or so volumes in there. Simple antique mirrors make the room feel bigger than it is, and an enormous painting of a cat on a footstool over the sofa manages to distort the proportions further. It’s bliss. There’s no child screaming for attention, no toys to trip over and no food being flung at me. If I had my way, we’d stay in this peaceful paradise all night.

But it’s Mr Smith’s birthday, so out we go. We’ve booked a table at Hakkasan – I know, I know; it’s been around for ages, but we both really like it – so, after quick showers in the stylish all-granite bathroom and some outfit experimentation, we make our way over to Hanway Place. For an eight-year-old restaurant, Hakkasan still looks and feels great. I love the dark basement feel, and the way it makes you feel in-the-know as you walk downstairs and the buzzing restaurant opens out in front of you. We thoroughly indulge ourselves with big platefuls of crispy chilli squid, super-fresh sea bass and the obligatory lump of meat for my non fish-eating husband. By the time we’ve finished our second bottle of wine, we’re feeling very decadent indeed; and we decide to end the evening at the Club Bar & Dining in Soho. It’s owned by a friend of ours, so we get a big welcome, free glasses of champagne and lots of lively chat. By the time we stagger out into the central London darkness, it’s well into the next day.

When we get back to the Charlotte Street Hotel, we’re surprised to find the lounge full of people. One family have obviously just arrived from abroad, and are sitting on a couple of the sofas eating a full meal. Nothing, it seems, is too much trouble for the staff. Mr Smith and I head straight for the well-stocked honesty bar – a lovely touch – and pour ourselves some seriously stiff drinks. Needless to say, I can’t remember much more about the evening. I don’t recall going back to our room, but that’s certainly where I wake up the next morning. I’d like to say I slept like a baby, but the only baby I’ve got experience of seems to emit blood-curdling screams whenever he’s put near a pillow and duvet.

In a world where hotels are getting overly complicated, and come with gizmos and gadgets, biometric recognition systems, showers you need a PHD to work and TV controls that would baffle a rocket scientist, the Charlotte Street Hotel is a breath of fresh air. It’s got the basics just right. The Frette bed linen is sumptuous and deliciously soft to sleep on, the TV has one simple remote, the bath fills in around two seconds flat and you definitely don’t need to run around to get wet in the shower. Everything is intuitive.

Mr Smith and I have now stayed in three of Kit Kemp’s hotels, and each time we’ve been really impressed. Each one has her personal sense of style ingrained into its make-up – they’re luxurious and comfortable, and the attention to detail is second to none – but each feels utterly unique. If only we could stay here forever. Unfortunately, somewhere in west London, there’s a toddler who’ll soon be wondering where his parents have got to. We’ll have to put the decadence on hold – well, till my birthday at least.