The recession, logistics and the low pay in local journalism all conspired to make a trip overseas for my girlfriend and I's fifth anniversary yesterday next to impossible.
For our first, we went to Riga in Latvia, our second was spent in Krakow in Poland, our third in Seattle (from our temporary home at the time in Whistler - we weren't feeling particularly flush that year or anything), and last year we were away skiing in Valmorel, France.
But what could have been a let-down was actually a fantastic trip, and all no further away than zone 1 of the tube.
We stayed for the evening at the Dean Street Townhouse in Soho. It started well, as on arrival we were told that our special web-rate booking had been upgraded to their second largest room (which would otherwise have cost more than three times what we paid). Mildly self-satisfied smiles all round.
The hotel itself is decorated in a classic style (even down to the decades-old furniture and fittings) but with a contemporary twist, although not with anything so smug and off-putting as irony. The reception area is all leatherbound books and - yes, you saw it coming - rich mahogany, while the rooms are painted in muted tones. I'd pin the furniture down to the period if I didn't find Antiques Roadshow so consistently dull.
Oh and the following should almost be mentioned: Flatscreen LCD telly? Check. Sky HD? Check. Blu-ray player? Check. Retro-styled DAB radio? Check. Bose SoundDock? Check. Softest bed-sheets ever? Check. Bloody great big bathtub in the room itself? Checkity check-check...check.
We ate at the hotel's restaurant downstairs and that didn't disappoint either. My starter of haddock souffle with a creamy mustard sauce was light but substantial, while my monkfish main with fennel was moist and flavoursome. Treacle tart with marmalade ice cream: every bit as good as it sounds.
The only slightly underwhelming part was our brief trip to Soho House, the exclusive members club on nearby Greek Street. Our hotel and the club are owned by the same group and they rang ahead so we could nip inside for a cheeky aperitif.
Our anticipation of something achingly hip fell by the wayside as the only area open was the rather bland House Kitchen room on the third floor - it was a Sunday night, after all. Still, the service was great and my bottle of Bombardier slipped down a treat
All in all, thoroughly recommended - particularly if you can get in on a quiet night and pick yourself up a bargain.
For our first, we went to Riga in Latvia, our second was spent in Krakow in Poland, our third in Seattle (from our temporary home at the time in Whistler - we weren't feeling particularly flush that year or anything), and last year we were away skiing in Valmorel, France.
But what could have been a let-down was actually a fantastic trip, and all no further away than zone 1 of the tube.
We stayed for the evening at the Dean Street Townhouse in Soho. It started well, as on arrival we were told that our special web-rate booking had been upgraded to their second largest room (which would otherwise have cost more than three times what we paid). Mildly self-satisfied smiles all round.
The hotel itself is decorated in a classic style (even down to the decades-old furniture and fittings) but with a contemporary twist, although not with anything so smug and off-putting as irony. The reception area is all leatherbound books and - yes, you saw it coming - rich mahogany, while the rooms are painted in muted tones. I'd pin the furniture down to the period if I didn't find Antiques Roadshow so consistently dull.
Oh and the following should almost be mentioned: Flatscreen LCD telly? Check. Sky HD? Check. Blu-ray player? Check. Retro-styled DAB radio? Check. Bose SoundDock? Check. Softest bed-sheets ever? Check. Bloody great big bathtub in the room itself? Checkity check-check...check.
We ate at the hotel's restaurant downstairs and that didn't disappoint either. My starter of haddock souffle with a creamy mustard sauce was light but substantial, while my monkfish main with fennel was moist and flavoursome. Treacle tart with marmalade ice cream: every bit as good as it sounds.
The only slightly underwhelming part was our brief trip to Soho House, the exclusive members club on nearby Greek Street. Our hotel and the club are owned by the same group and they rang ahead so we could nip inside for a cheeky aperitif.
Our anticipation of something achingly hip fell by the wayside as the only area open was the rather bland House Kitchen room on the third floor - it was a Sunday night, after all. Still, the service was great and my bottle of Bombardier slipped down a treat
All in all, thoroughly recommended - particularly if you can get in on a quiet night and pick yourself up a bargain.
