Hotels without room service? Whatever next? | telegraph.co.uk
One of the greatest experiences of my life was sampling the delights of Claridge’s butler service, aka The Most Astonishing Room Service of all Time. Michael Lynch, the genial Irishman who was the star of December’s BBC documentary, unpacked my La Perla, created a lobster club sandwich in my honour, unearthed me an Evelyn Waugh novel, and acted as champagne-supplying therapist for a lavish 24 hours. As he walked me out, I was bereft. How would I survive without his tender ministrations? Answer: badly. Room service of some sort has been a defining pleasure of my adult existence. From martinis in the bath at the Georges V and Sandy Lane, via intricate oriental breakfasts at Pretty Woman’s Beverly Wilshire, to cheese on toast and a bottle of pale ale in a Sheffield Travelodge, the beauty of a hotel is surely never leaving one’s room?
