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At first glance it seems crammed with furniture single bed as well as an ancient four-poster. Useful built-in white-painted cupboards and shelves line one wall. A washbasin with mirror above no space in the shower compartment for these reminds us that this is a very old building and compromises have had to be made. As for the radiator, what a bolshie beast it is, lukewarm and virtually useless. I also tell myself that the whole Sampsons hotel experience is likely to cost us half the price of a modernised hotel. What to wear? As it's all very cottagey, old-fashioned and simple, I'm tempted to keep on the clothes I've arrived in. |
"I'm putting on a jacket," says my husband, looking as if he wouldn't be seen dead with me dressed as I am. I've left dressy-up clothes in the car, so go down to get them. On the way back, I meet a member of staff who seems to think I am lost. After explaining that I feel I'm beginning to know my way around this hotel quite well, I then put the pertinent question: "I know you have a very good restaurant but what I'm wondering is: should one dress up?'' "Ah, my love," she says, "you just wear what you want.'' And she puts her arm round my shoulders. Downstairs, a peep into the comfortabe sitting room-cum-bar reveals a mind-your-head doorway, an inglenook fireplace with a copper hood and copper bellows, plus a couple of sofas and sink-into armchairs. But is there anywhere to sit? Only just it's full of people either waiting to go into the restaurant or drinking after-dinner coffee. |