Something I am used to experiencing as I begin to work with a person is a a shift from something that feels regimented, stiff, or tight; somehow restrictive. There are many ways I could describe what this might suggest is happening. The whole process of getting to know someone is a kind of loosening or dissolving of certain constraints and a fastening, a securing of other kinds of feeling: inhibitions give way to closeness.

It used to be, maybe thirty years ago, when I travelled a lot for my work, that certain hotels or guest houses would have a way of letting you feel close to where you were staying in ways that were unforgettable. They’d allow something that might gift you a memory you’d always want to return to, or even that you could return to. I’m more conscious now of ‘experiences’ these kinds of place try to sell me or offer me that do the opposite. I arrive feeling at a distance and leave feeling even further away. I don’t want to think about them ever again.

One place where I often stay in London still does the kind of thing I long to find: to surprise me with touches I don’t expect. The rooms have books that are interesting; a couple of biscuits. A new cushion. Flowers. Something like the kind of thing you might put in one of your own bedrooms when a friend comes to stay.

I’d say, however, that the art of hospitality is becoming lost. If I go to book a room and see a packet of chocolates listed as part of what I’ll find when I arrive I stop the booking. I don’t want those kinds of decoration. Surprise me. Don’t give me a package. Just the equivalent of a smile. Something that never appears until it is there.