Kelly Rose Bradford: Why I've run away to a place of safety

Aug 20 2008 Surrey Herald

I take it all back. Every single word I uttered a few weeks ago about loving the endlessly-long stretch of summer holidays was complete and utter codswallop.

Things have become so stressful at home that I have had to decamp on several occasions to hotels just to keep my sanity intact. Well, to stop it leaving me altogether.

'Fragmented' could sum up my state of mind quite well at the moment.

And no, this is nothing to do with the delightful Boy; he still continues to charm and beguile and wrap me around his finger. Oh, and in equal amounts make me raise my voice to such a pitch it can only be heard by dogs.

The problem is work. I am inundated. But work and eight weeks of holiday do not mix.

Today, I am cost-cutting and working out of my Surrey office, aka the library. It's perfect really: hot and cold running internet, coffee machine, people watching and just the right amount of distractions all to hand. If they could make me up a bed, put a chocolate on the pillow and perhaps have someone shine my shoes, it would be altogether prefect.

Last week I went slightly more upmarket and checked into a 'boutique' hotel in town.

Now that was the life: ensconced in a bijou room surrounded by Vanity Fair prints, silken walls, marble bathroom fittings and - best of all - tidiness and silence - I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

Trouble was I got too relaxed and failed to do any work, which defeated the whole purpose. My laptop leered at me, lid firmly down, from the coffee table and I eyed it back in defiance. But I did have a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, which probably had a knock-on effect on my productivity once I got home.

It has made me decide though, that when I get to that certain age where one traditionally takes up waving sticks at errant groups of schoolchildren and sucking inordinate amounts of peppermints, I am going to see out my dotage in a hotel.

Not for me sheltered housing or a care home. No. I am going to do my stick brandishing and mint consumption in an environment where the mini bar is well stocked, where sheaves of writing paper are laid out on my table and Gideon's Bible inhabits my bedside drawer.

Twenty-four hour room service and an attention-to-detail paying concierge would also be a welcome addition, as would a laundry provision and complimentary morning paper.

In fact, forget my dotage: I think I am completely ready for it right now. Only trouble is, my ineffectiveness at getting work done in my last upmarket lodgings has seen a downturn in finances.

Guess it's going to be a case of boutique hotel, there I went, and Travelodge, here I come.