Smoked salmon looked good thus took a step in the hidden face of the buffet to put some on my plate. But my foot landed on a small decorative piece of moulding of ski jumping, and I nose-dived almost in a bowl of capers instead. Now I understood that it was all part of the DNA at the Hotel Q Berlin, which leans strongly towards the Merry Prankster School of Interior design. The Q (as in eccentric?) was so hip, sort of-the-art, you would not dare anything in question of fear that you were the maniac kind which should not be there in the first place remains.
On the floor in my room, the same Alpine touch was next to my bed, curve gently speech platform which held the mattress. Every morning, after I have increased my foot hit the ESS-curve, get rid instantly balance and me straight in the bag, as if back overlap fingerprints in the kisser by Cary Grant in the history of Philadelphia. And then there was the tub, mounted as a Greek across the bed platform temple, which meant that every drop on the side went to cascade to the mattress. A big splash and you request if you have taken out insurance registration flood.
What happened to the form follows the function? Why is there no rules to rein in the gross excesses of the design hotel? In fact, there are now: Mine.
Rule 1: Don't turn decor in a deadly weapon. This can happen to even the most traditional institutions. Once, I stayed in a hotel in London with oh-so-clean furniture, but there was simply too heavy parts in the room. I kept slamming in the bed of the canopy, bouncing on the ancient bedside table and ricocheting off the coast of the TV cabinet as I returned it around the room. By check-out, my leg looked like a Xerox of starry night.
Rule 2: Don't make oversized furniture just cute (Philippe Starck, this means you). No one wants to feel like Edith Ann when you try to look glamorous in the entrance Hall.
Rule 3: Make sure that there are many mirrors. It's really hard to press a full reflection of the body in a shaving mirror. But don't go all Versailles, causing guests to think that there are more people in the room that there is really not.
Rule 4: Don't turn the elevator in a Bates Motel. A spot creepy, tight is the last place you want to be before retiring for the evening. And, please, no videos projected on the walls and ceiling in the car. Amusement park rides belong outside.
Rule 5: Simplify the bathrooms. Cascades urinals and fountains for the washing of the hands are downright confusing. No one wants to know who is who, after a martini or both.
(Note that anyone caught breaking these rules is banished to the House of glass of Philip Johnson in New Canaan, Connecticut, to pay for their sins).
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