Shoreditch, Clerkenwell and Hoxton, now home to a rash of boutique hotels, are great areas to stay in if you are a nightbird and fancy doing Friday bar battle with the City boys, but W9, north of Hyde Park and Marble Arch, is a genteel world away as I hop off the 98 bus on Edgware Road. I'm instantly walking alongside Regent's Canal, the water greenish and murky and lined with colourful houseboats.
It's sedate here, yet these streets of cream Victorian and Georgian townhouses are handy for Oxford Street. The Colonnade, two townhouses knocked together, blends in so well I almost walk past.
I like the worn leather-topped desk in reception, and the vibe - quiet but not stuffy. To the left is the red and cream sitting room. It has roomy well-used sofas with a decanter of wine at arm's reach, a grand marble fireplace and a basket (for the hotel cat, the receptionist tells me). I even like the lift, apparently the oldest in London. It has those metal gates which mean a claustrophobe like me can see out instead of panicking, and a seat (presumably in case guests overdo it at the sales). It clanks, in a comfortingly reliable way, up to the third floor.
My room is soothingly monochrome with little bolster cushions on the bed, architectural prints and tall windows overlooking Warrington Crescent below. Bathroom's a bit tired - and hot - the extractor doesn't seem to work and I can't turn off the heated towel rail.
As well as a flat-screen TV and mini-bar, I have a small ironing board and iron hidden in a cupboard and a useful book of local information which lists a cafe on Regent's Canal at which I instantly arrange to meet friends.
An evening of European pleasures ensues: gossip and crisp pinot grigio at Café Laville, watching boat trippers glide beneath the bridge (and us) on their evening cruises past London Zoo to Camden Lock, then alfresco tapas back at the hotel on its umbrella'd terrace - a seafood platter of sardines, smoked salmon and anchovies, pan tostado con tomate, tortilla and creamy gazpacho served by friendly and efficient staff.
What bliss - my bed has been turned down when I turn in. There's a copy of Time Out, the TV page bookmarked with the remote, and a breakfast card to hang on my door. There's little traffic noise, though I have turned off the air con and opened a window (another guest prefers real air too - I can see their window propped open with jars of nuts from the mini bar).
Bliss, too, to wake swathed in Frette linen. I like hotels that do things differently, but what happens next really is a first. Luxuriating's cut short by a knock, then someone opens the door to my room. He's even more surprised than I (just thankful, at this point, that I've managed to pull on a bathrobe) and is clutching my breakfast order card, but why is he half an hour early and, more importantly, where's the grub? Recovering my composure I realise he is new and confused. I explain that being told "to put this in the room" means: take breakfast at the time indicated (7.45am) and not the card itself at 7.15am.
It's a Fawlty Towers start to the day, which means that life improves slightly once tea, fruit and pastries arrive at the appointed time, and immeasurably when I remember that Selfridges is only a bus ride away.
· 2 Warrington Crescent, Little Venice (020-7286 1052, theetoncollection.com/colonnade). Special summer weekend rate July 23-September 2, £135.13 B&B. Tapas from £2-£5, or £19.50 for a large meat or seafood platter.
