My favourite hotels

As a motoring journalist, I get to stay in some pretty swanky places. I’d have to mortgage my house and cats to afford one night in most, but I find it's a style of living to which I could easily become accustomed. And I'm so spoilt, if there was a pea under the mattress, I reckon I would feel it. So here are my thoughts on what separates a nice hotel to somewhere with a touch of class.

You know you’re in truly first class accommodation when:

the toilet seat is wood – but not pine, polished mahogany
the bath has feet, and a view
you get little white slippers to go with your big fluffy bathrobe
there are so many cushions on the bed and sofa there’s no room for you
a soft toy is provided
you lose something and realise you left it in the other room, of your room
never mind water, there's a decanter of booze by the bed
you have to decide which pool to use
you recognize the faces in the family photos around the place
the animals served up for dinner were more pampered than people at the hotel
you can have a stroll along the battlements
it’s raining and someone races you to the door in order to thrust an umbrella into your hand
you have to ask for the side of the hotel away from the noise of the helipad