Sarah Buitendach: The ultimate staycation

There are many things one could take from a hotel. I do not mean this in a literal, “suitcases crawling with Parisian bedbugs” or petty-criminal, “nicking the Gideons bible” kind of way. Rather, I’m suggesting that there are stylistic sensibilities and ways of operating, of luxuriating, of escape, that are synonymous with the places we stay when we travel and that we should be adopting in our own homes.

Equally, there are some design lessons of the less-than-complimentary kind that we could learn from, too. I was recently reminded of this while in a shower that looked directly onto the bed of my London hotel room. Said cleansing corner was only accessible via the adjacent glass vestibule encasing the loo and roughly a metre away from my bedside table. You could pull a curtain across the area for a modicum of privacy, but this was by no means an airtight, separate-ablution scenario.

No one needs further explanation — and it takes zero imagination to conjure why this might not be the optimal situation in which to find yourself when sharing a room. It was not, for all its Philippe Starck lighting and pristine white walls, a place you should ever share with a significant other. I don’t care how long you’ve been in a relationship, there should always be some personal space and mystery.

I once spent a weekend away with a new beau. When we got to the hotel it turned out that our shower and bath were in the middle of the bedroom. You can imagine the designer thinking, “How sexy and international.” Mostly, what I got from this open-planned, ultra-exposing live/sleep/bathe scenario was extreme anxiety.

It was a didactic dirty weekend that proved one should, always, in all situations, build a separate bathroom. Mind you, there are other touristic bathroom learnings of an enjoyable kind. For example, obscenely pricy Diptyque shower gel, bath oil, hand wash, and cream might seem unnecessary. But experience has shown me that when you are ensconced in a tub, smelling rich, you do empirically feel like a million bucks.

You too could forgo the children’s extra-murals for a month or two and experience this heady indulgence in your own home. Skins Cosmetics sells Diptyque. Alternatively, don’t send the kids to an orthodontist and instead splash out on some amazing bed linen. In South Africa, Sanders do the top-end pricy stuff and Woolies offers a very decent middle-of-the-range selection. Either way, you have to make up your bed in a manner that harks back to an Irish infirmary circa 1953.

You want hospital corners, stiff sheets, and bedding so weighted down and tightly made (but not hot) that you slither in and lie, inanimate and cosseted, like ancient, embalmed Egyptian royalty. That you may never be able to get out of this bed is something you should hope for.

All said, my best tips for designing a home like a hotel, don’t, in fact, come from one. Rather, they’ve been garnered from staying with a very thoughtful friend and her family. First rule, there’s always a new tube of Colgate toothpaste and an Oral B toothbrush on the sink for you, should you need it. Likewise, you’ll find stationery and a decent pen or two — just because we don’t have a functioning Post Office doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write a note to someone. Most simply, there’s always a pile of good books and some new magazines in her guest room. There is nothing more elegant and indulgent.