I always think that staying in a hotel is like trying on a new life for size…
On Friday I stayed the night in a hotel in Manchester: a loft style hotel with decoration a million miles away from the dark little warren that is my cosy house.
For the first time in as long as I can remember I was all by myself in a hotel room. A huge room with a bed three pillows wide and industrial pipes cutting across each room in this former Victorian cotton mill. A room I had all day to lounge in before going for dinner that night. A room in which there wasn’t a Cath Kidstonesque flower in sight. Or a dog nibbling at everything I own.
As I always do in hotel rooms, I felt a little outside myself. As if I was busy playing the role of somebody else. I took a long bath in a bathroom with metal tiles on the floor. Sipped at raspberry lemonade, while chatting on the phone, and doing yoga on the bed. Then made myself a cup of tea because somehow I always feel obliged to remind myself how much I hate the kind of milk that comes in a tiny tube…
I played music and danced all by myself. Hobbling on a blister the size of a two pence coin after trotting around the shops all morning in search of shoes suitable to wear that evening. I sang at the top of my voice and imagined a gathering of people stood outside my door wondering whatever could be wrong with the crazy lady in room 208. I felt happy and free: free from the noise of my own belongings. The obligation to keep them tidy. Hushed by the kind of open space and decoration that does not demand attention. For yes… I do believe my house has too much to say for itself. And I sometimes wonder to what degree our surroundings shape our lives even when we truly believe we are shaping our surroundings…
That night I ate (or rather nibbled at) plates full of sea bass, sweet potatoes and other gorgeous little bits of nothing, in sparkling company. A gorgeous evening of fun, laughter, and gin. In a dress that is too big for me. And shoes I worried about falling over in. (Which obviously I did. Because a night out with me isn’t a night out unless I trip while I am trying to look elegant). And then it was over, and I was back in my room, curled up naked under crisp white linen, smiling at the ceiling and glad I had tried on a new life for the night even if it didn’t quite fit me, or couldn’t be mine for always…
So yep. I reckon this is going to be my new hobby. Hotel hopping around new cities. Deciding whether the loft apartment life is really for me or whether I will always prefer my own rose-sprinkled life here. If I do eventually decide that I enjoy loft apartments, I might even be tempted to get my own in the future! My friend was showing me some of the apartments on SPACE STATION the other day, they’re very similar to the sort of thing I’d probably like. However, moving out is completely different from staying in a hotel for a couple of nights, I’d have to be positive that I wanted my own apartment space. Perhaps a few more hotel visits will be essential before making any big decisions!
Preferably without the blister please.

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