Last night I had a safe in my bed.
It wasn’t really under it, more built in to it. Not in the cupboard where you normally find them – somewhere between the trouser press and spare pillow.
But in the actual bed.
I had a wet room. The kind of wet room where you can do two of the three Ss at the same time – with the sink and toilet being so close to each other, that you could shave and, well, you know… at the same time. A small glass wall blocked off the chance of a simultaneous shower.
On Monday I had a mezzanine. An ornate bath on a wooden floor, perched high above the bed.
I also had a mini bar and a Nespresso machine. The former less likely, the latter becoming almost ubiquitous in hotels that like to think they are better than their mini kettle competitors.
Who knows what Monday will bring.
What I want is a comfy bed, which I know is subjective. I want a duvet that doesn’t pull out all of the bedding as you try to pull it up around you. I’m not that bothered by a kettle or a trouser press – but access to an iron would be nice.
Oh, and plugs by the bed and lights that don’t need a physics degree to turn off. Not much, just a clean room with a comfy bed that I can lay on as I stare at the ceiling unable to get to sleep.
A safe in the bed will always be considered an optional requirement.