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This happened to me last Friday when I checked in to a hotel in Surrey that looked lovely on the website, but turned out to be like an NHS asylum fallen on bad times: all fire doors (there are no fire doors at the Mercer in So Ho, New York; I even spotted Meg Ryan in the lift!), rancid carpet and a room so hard to find I needed satnav.
Here is a world where you are collected from the airport by a vintage Rolls-Royce (The Peninsula, Hong Kong), there is no need to sign your name or hand over your passport (the Plaza Athenee, Paris), and the moment you sink into your waterbed in a marble spa suite, having been scrubbed naked from head to toe (the Es Saadi Hotel, Marrakech), you can escape all the troublesome baggage that will never be allowed to clutter your room (though your Vuitton trunk will make it safe and sound). However, the reality of most hotels, particularly provincial hotels in the UK, is very different indeed.
Her anxiety is a third wheel in her marriage, like a hyperactive, unreasonable toddler.
The climax is so chilling, if I wasn’t already a nervous wreck, I’d certainly be one now…
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There are singles cruises, adults-only cruises, interactive themed cruises, culinary bootcamps and signature event cruises, some with solo cabins, too.
Fancy splashing about in a £3.5 billion infinity pool that looks like a surfboard, perched atop three towers in Singapore?
Or a stay in an eco-lodge in Ecuador, where you can watch a hummingbird theatre, and a poor man with tired arms whose job it is to keep the moisture on the picture windows at bay?
Or a sojourn at the Royal Mansour in Marrakech, where 350 curtains are hand-pleated daily, and a room isn’t a room – it’s a riad, with private plunge pool, fireplace and Bedouin tent?
A week later, the £152 was still missing (stolen) from my account. It’s an intelligent study of what it’s like to live (as I do) with extreme anxiety.
The heroine envies drug addicts who are able to dry out in rehab, whereas she carries ‘an endless supply of adrenaline and cortisol’, produced at the slam of a door or the ping of an email.
You will require a microscope and tweezers to uncork the dolly-sized shampoo (why is there never, ever hair-conditioner in these beige prison cells?