I love good hotels. Who doesn’t? Clean, crisp sheets, bath towels the size of sails, hot and cold running room service – what can possibly be bad? Well, quite a lot, as it happens.
My standards are simple and scrupulously fair. A hotel must be at least as comfortable as my own house, which is a pretty low bar since my house isn’t especially comfortable.
But even the shabbiest home has advantages over the grandest hotel. At home, you know where the light switches are. You know the direction to turn the taps to make the shower water hot. Plus you have the ability to fix yourself a drink or rustle up a sandwich, any time of the day or night, with the minimum of fuss and without it
