On Thursday night, I treated myself to a last minute 36 hours in London.  It certainly was last minute in the extreme, as with less than that 24 hours before my intended day of travel, was when I was booking a hotel and a theatre ticket.  Due to the last minute-ness, I was able to grab a 5* star hotel at more than half price…

And as it turns out, I am not posh enough for 5* hotels.  First of all, I couldn’t work out how to even get into the room.  I was given on of those credit card-like things, which you usually insert into a reader of some sort, mounted onto the door.  NOT THIS TIME.  There is no reader.  I hold my little card and look at the door.  There are switches next to the door that do things like ask not to be disturbed, or call house-keeping.  I want none of those things.  I don’t want to sleep in the corridor.  But then my problem-solving-evolutionary-survival skill kicks in.  “What’s that black circle by the handle?”  Feeling slightly like a wizard, who isn’t sure if their magic is going to work…  I hold the card to the black circle.  The door makes a noise at me, and something in the depths clicks.  I give a push on the handle, and I’m in!  I mentally high-five my inner cave man for problem solving know-how.

Second of all, I find that I can’t turn the lights on.  It was rather dim in the room when I arrived, and every single switch I tried did nothing.  This was a room with an over-abundance of switches, none of which functioned.  Anyway, I told myself that I had a post-graduate qualification, and should not be defeated by the humble light switch.  I so came to the, not unreasonable, assumption that the switch was probably by the door.  As this was by far the dimmest part of the room anyway, I had to peer closely at the wall, pressing switches at random.  The first two did nothing.  The second flashed neon green at me, announcing that I had called a maid.  CANCEL CANCEL.  The third flashed red, appearing to indicate that a panel outside my door now said “Do Not Disturb”.  Again, not a light switch.  The final option was a different shape to the other, and had a faintly blueish glow.  It was shaped rather like those flip out cigarette extinguishers, so I pulled on that to see what would happen.  Nothing did.

Stumped, I wandered further into the room, now pressing more random switches by the desk, with a little disconsolate voice in my head saying “I guess we’ll just sit in the light of the telly all night then…”  But FINALLY the part of my brain that has a post-graduate qualification swung into action with something along the lines of “You hopeless human, you put your key card in that “cigarette extinguisher” and that turns the light on”.  It turns out I’ve done that in some other hotel room somewhere, at some point.  I pretty much skipped over there, insert the card, and… LO THERE WAS LIGHT.

Later that night I decided to explore the extremely futuristic shower.  I clearly come from a land of simpler showers, where there are two knobs.  One turns the water on, the other adjusts the temperature.  A shower needs nothing more.  This 5* shower had four knobs.  FOUR.  I am only equipped for two.  Four is beyond me.  Particularly when none of them say, or otherwise indicate in anyway, what they are for.  Now, I dislike having to wear my glasses into the shower to peer at controls.  Even more so, when they reveal themselves to be completely lacking in any instructions, no words, diagrams, zip.

So, I decide to start with the bottom knob.  I twist it.  Nothing happens.

I try the next one up, and a jet of water shoots out the wall.  Splashing at about hip height.

I try the next one up, and another jet of water emerges from the wall…  Straight into my face.

The next one up finally results in water coming from above in the traditionally showerly manner.  And another twist on the bottom knob adjusts the temperature.  FINALLY.

Having a shower should not be that hard.

Existing in an unfamiliar bedroom should also not be that hard.

Clearly, I am not posh enough for this.