The Laslett

It’s not often one gets to stay in a hotel in your own city, but a ‘staycation’ was in store for us as we ventured across London from east to west. Once we’d popped back up above ground from Notting Hill tube station, the five townhouses that have been merged effortlessly into the Laslett hotel were only a literal stone’s throw away.

Once beyond the grand Victorian facade, we were immediately greeted by smiles from the receptionist and the beaming enthusiasm of the manager. He showed us to our room, a Master Double on the top floor. After a quick once-round of what’s what, he was gone, leaving us to flop after our, er, terribly exhausting journey.

We undertook our usual arrival rituals, principally checking the comfort of the bed and the squish of the pillows and a quick scan of the bathroom products. The super-king-size bed met with our approval, tempting me into a pre-dinner slumber while Mrs Smith languished in the bath with various Neal’s Yard delights to hand. 

Once I managed to reopen my eyes, they darted around the room scanning the decor (when you work in the design industry, it’s hard to turn it off). This is a place that has sidestepped the urge to be ‘hip’ and ‘on trend’, favouring instead a style that you might call ‘classic contemporary’. Opting for a muted colour palette of various shades of grey (I couldn’t count fifty), the result is calming and decidedly non-confrontational. A few choice items of 20th-century British furniture grace the room, and colour is injected through various artworks by local artists adorning the walls.

After a quick spruce up, we were ready for a drink at the small bar downstairs; our twin glasses of champagne and assortment of nuts, olives, and so on provided welcome sustenance for the evening ahead. We flirted with the idea of dining in, but a quick glance at the menu suggested a rather casual affair – great if you’re exhausted or dining alone – but we used it as a stepping stone to explore the eateries nearby. 

There’s something rather romantic about strolling the back streets of Notting Hill, voyeuristically glancing through the windows of grand homes. We snaked through to Portobello Road about five minutes away and settled on the cosy French-American cuisine of Electric Diner, which was buzzing but not hectic on a Sunday night.

With that end-of-the-weekend feeling, we headed back to the hotel and skipped the nightcap; an early night beckoned. It was then that the true extent of the bed’s comfort became apparent as I tried and failed to read. Despite the steps-from-the-station location, it was surprisingly quiet – we both had a sound night’s sleep. 

Mrs Smith was up and out early, heading to work on a bright Monday morning; the hotel’s staff fixed her a quick breakfast for her as she made her way out into the bustle of rush hour. I, on the other hand, chose to languish a little longer in bed, being one of those self-employed ‘I can work anywhere with my laptop’ types, so I enjoyed the morning sun pouring into the room before getting up and heading to breakfast. I’m seldom firing on all cylinders first thing and often struggle with too-much-choice syndrome at a breakfast buffet but, thankfully, here the display was pleasingly minimal but had everything I might want – fruit, yoghurt, muesli, pastries and cooked dishes, all made from British-sourced ingredients of good quality.

Satisfied, I continued with my day, taking in a walk of the area and some of its shops, which are decidedly upmarket with an emphasis on fashion. It has to be said, in the bright sunshine, the local architecture comes alive – the painted white facades gleaming against the blue sky while others are awash with vivid colours. The area might have undergone major gentrification since the scruffy bohemian days when the Notting Hill Festival was started by Rhaune Laslett (after whom the hotel was named) but there’s no denying its inherent beauty today. 

I strolled back to the hotel in the afternoon and perched in the library by the lobby to attempt some work. Shortly after, Mrs Smith rejoined me and we repeated our drink/snack ritual before heading out for dinner at a friend’s nearby. 

Later on, flopping back into bed for our last night, we reflected. Here is a place that feels smart yet personal, is comfortable in scale, homely and calming in atmosphere, and offers everything a traveller is looking for without the fanfare and embellishment found elsewhere. Most importantly, the service is first class: personable but professional. Perhaps we should staycation more often…