The Sunday Times February 13, 2022 5
Travel UK
regal — a four-poster, high
ceilings, windows looking out
across Hampton Court Bridge,
half a bottle of only-on-holiday
ginger liqueur and a copper
bath in which to drink it. If
you’re a copper-bath virgin
you’d be forgiven for assuming
that, while it might look good
in an aspirational lifestyle
magazine, it can’t possibly be
comfortable. But you’d be
wrong — it’s blissful.
Only one minor complaint
as evening arrived (and
something else young lovers
won’t understand): the room
is romantically lit; no ceiling
lights, just table lamps andPA IMAGES, PETER LANE/ALAMY; MATT RUDD; THOMAS SKOVSENDEsubdued wall lights. A decade
ago we would have found this
seductive; now we couldn’t
find anything. It’s a level of
lighting in which Henry VIII
might have married the wrong
woman — again. Floss was
happy, though, with her own
bed and fancy cheese biscuits,
and that’s the main thing.
Harriet was also happy,
mainly because I’d arranged
a surprise massage for her.
And here is another important
part of romance for the over-
40s: absence makes the heart
grow fonder. Off she went to
be deknotted, leaving me to
choose between a second
bath, a third ginger liqueur,
some bad telly — or all three.
“Can you take the dog for
a walk while I’m out?” Damn.
What do you do with the
dog at dinner? At the Mitre
you take it with you, and
when the food is excellent and
served in generous portions,
you have a willing under-table
recipient for the surplus to
avoid offending the chef.
Breakfast is a different
story — I can’t remember the
last time we had it in bed.
So, after finding the iPhone
torch and filling out the room-
service order, we settled in for
the night, giddy at the thought
of our impending lie-in.
And this is where the
concept of a romantic dog-
friendly hotel falls down: you
can’t put the dog out for its
dawn wee. I could have tried
to convince the charming
doorman to take her out, but
either would have refused.
So — and it pains me to say
this — I had to get up, get
dressed and go for a walk
along the beautiful misty
towpath before two waiters
brought in our breakfast. I
know — weekend ruined.
After two more copper
baths and a whole
uninterrupted conversation,
we decided there was just
time for a romantic stroll
through Bushy Park (which,
by the way, isn’t very bushy
at all). We were doing a good
job of pretending this was our
life now — a midlife couple
out with their late-life dog,
probably on their way to meet
friends for a leisurely lunch.
But then Harriet’s phone
beeped (teenagers never call):
“Mum, I’ve missed my lift
home and there aren’t any
buses.” And our great escape
was over.Matt Rudd was a guest of the
Mitre, which has B&B doubles
from £150, plus £20 per dog
(mitrehamptoncourt.com)Hampton
Court
PalaceBushy
ParkRiver
ThamesTHE MITRE
400ydWe drive through
suburbs then arrive
in the 16th century
buildings — some 18th-century,
some 17th, some who knows?
— to the riverbank. Its new
owners used the lockdowns
to refurbish it from a fading
hostelry into whatever is three
steps up from “boutique”. On
arrival it’s all dark wood and
fine upholstery, and “Please
take a seat and have a glass
of wine while we check you
in. And would she like some
water?” (“She”, in this
instance, being Floss.)
Young lovers won’t
understand, but the joy of
arriving in a hotel room with
only one seventh of your
usual entourage is pure and
unadulterated. Then quickly
followed by panic — we have
just 16 hours before my sister
turns into a pumpkin. We
must make up for many years
of interrupted conversation
(“Dad, where’s my other
shoe?”) and many more of
interrupted romance (“Dad,
the dog’s vomited in the
laundry basket”). Plus,
because we are not young
lovers any more, we must
leave the hotel and explore
like tourists from Des Moines.
It’s difficult to leave our
room, though, because we’re
in the Catherine Parr suite
(romantically, she’s the one
who survived), which
manages to be stylish andT
hree kids, two
cats, a dog and a
bearded dragon
are the first seven
reasons that my
wife, Harriet, and I have not
been away together for so long
— we’ve almost forgotten how.
Finding someone to feed
the cats is straightforward
enough, but to hand-feed
live locusts to a dragon? Most
people back out after “make
sure you keep your hand still —
Lizzie has razor-sharp teeth”.
Then there are the kids. It
was hard enough when they
were younger, but weekends
are now like Operation
Dynamo on WhatsApp — if
you take Child A to rugby, I’ll
take C to mountain biking,
then you’ll have 20 minutes
to get B back from wherever I
dropped him then at 8am...
phase two. And then my sister
drank a bottle of wine and
offered to have them.
The neighbours would
feed the cats, the lizard could
blimming well hand-feeditself, and we were
close to freedom.
Just the dog — the
neurotic, aged dog
who lived alone
and outside for
the first four years
of her life, but
now, long since
her rescue, has a full-
scale breakdown if left
for five minutes. If I suggest
kennels, Harriet suggests
divorce. It’s been that long.
So begins the search for
a “dog-friendly romantic
hotel” (sounds bad, doesn’t
it?). And it ends with the
Mitre, on the Thames across
the road from Hampton Court
Palace and... I want to say
“west London”, but if you
look in the right direction it’s
like a posh rural hamlet; the
most un-London bit of
London I’ve ever seen.
“Matt’s taking me to a
dog-friendly hotel,” Harriet
tells her friends, laughing.
They look as though they want
to slip her the number for aMatt Rudd and his wife manage
a child-free weekend, but there
is no shaking off pet dog Floss
good solicitor, but she’s
excited, and so am I — escape!
It’s odd to drive half an
hour through suburbs then
pitch up in the 16th century.
On one side is the river and
on the other there are
parklands unchanged since
King Henry VIII was googling
“horse-friendly palace”. The
Mitre spills from a classical
façade into a series
of connected...WITH
ADDED
PETTING
Bushy Park, main, near the Mitre, above; Matt with Floss, left; a dessert at the Mitre
OUR
ROMANTIC
ESCAPE
vellUK