A Bloomsbury beauty of a hotel

The joy of London in August is that streets are usually deserted and you can park and book a table at sought-after restaurants. Thus I decided to check out the Charlotte Street Hotel, one of the recent additions to the chain which owns the popular Covent Garden Hotel.

Charlotte Street is slicker than Tom Cruise's hair. The faćade, painted blue, belies the interior. The hall is large, grey, minimalist and decorated with African-style ornaments, although my companion, Kate, and I were told by the receptionist, sniffily, that the style was "Bloomsbury Set".

Most London hotel rooms are small - not enough room to lay a hat and a few friends, as Dorothy Parker, a Bloomsbury contemporary, remarked. Ours could have accommodated five men. The bed was an iron four-poster with lace drapes and the largest mattress I have ever seen. The designer had contrived to make the most of the space as the cupboards were walk-in. Three alluring armchairs, a sofa and a table with an ashtray and matches completed our delight.

The combination of 1930s panache and 21st century technology was visible everywhere: in DVDs, CD players and a basement screening room. As Kate supped champers at £8.50 a glass (cheaper and better than many I have tasted outside London), I explored the bathroom: a Roman Emperor's dream crossed with the space age. Grey marble led to an enormous sunken bath. By the lavatory was a small TV. I have only seen one in a bathroom before, in the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong, the grandest joint in the world.

Kate stayed watching it on the loo so long I told her she would develop constipation, and persuaded her to come to the restaurant, called Oscar. (You will, Kate, you will.) The bar was packed, the young clientele casually dressed. The waiters, natch, were in black. In Oscar, the hubbub was so great we had difficulty making conversation. I would not advise it as the place for a sexual proposal, decent or otherwise. It was lucky we didn't fancy each other.

Food was eminently fanciable: my first course, sea-bass sashimi, was tender as a kiss. As a main I had chosen risotto Milanese, a difficult dish to cook outside Italy: the rice is normally mulch or undercooked. Mine was irreproachable, with threads of saffron adding piquancy and colour. The wine list was good, and well within our budget, but the frozen berries in hot white chocolate sauce did not match The Ivy's.

The bedroom had such a calming effect that sleep enveloped me at once. Breakfast, ordered by telephone, included every tasty dish from omelettes as light as zeppelins to warm croissants and bacon and eggs. I strongly recommend the espresso, which had such a kick that dozy Kate began to dance around the room.

Charlotte Street was an epiphany: the best New York boutique-hotel experience transferred to London, for less. But do go down to the bar early - preferably at four in the afternoon.

Charlotte Street Hotel, 15 Charlotte Street, W1; 020 7806 2000; 52 rooms from £160 to £255 B&B.