Quite a kerfuffle at check-in. We’ve booked a standard room but it has no view and no bath — and half the point of staying at this plush, revamped hotel overlooking Trafalgar Square is to admire the views and have a proper soak. Ideally at the same time.
‘I can upgrade you for an extra £100,’ says a neatly dressed man at reception in poor English.
‘I can’t do that,’ I tell him. ‘Best I can do is £80,’ he says.
We should be in a Marrakech souk. ‘How about £50?’ I tell him.
‘Just this once,’ he says, or words to that effect.
Then I have to sign a form confirming that we have asked an engineer to open the window, presumably in case we take a tumble and sue from beyond the grave. Exhausting.
The Trafalgar St James is part of the Hilton group, but keeps its distance by branding itself as within the Curio Collection. Its big selling point is the rooftop bar, where you’re almost on the same level as Nelson’s nose.
It’s a fabulous spot. So good that we huddle under blankets and eat up there (Asian with a meaty twist and some cheerless service on the side) rather than downstairs in the more formal restaurant.
There are 131 rooms, all with a picture of Mick Jagger above the bed. Ours has a raised area, where there’s a sofa and table. The finish is slick. Press a button to start the shower; tablet by the bed.
When visiting the city, you could hardly beat this location; within a skip of the National Gallery, Whitehall, The Mall, theatres et al.
And I suspect Londoners will start popping in for drinks on the roof.
That’s the plan, anyway. Hilton might have deep pockets, but it’ll be looking for a speedy return on this huge investment.