It’s fair to say that the hotel is in an ugly high-rise block, recessed a little way off the street in the least appealing part of town. Having said that, the owners have employed three evening security guards and have posted notices to educate naive travellors about the local environment. Like the signs say, women of immoral turpitude need not apply here.

The room is quite spacious, although furniture is sparse. Other than beds, sometimes furniture is non-existent. Oh, the beds! Tonight, ours are made of foam and have reasonably clean sheets. Even so, Squiffy chooses to sleep in her silk-liner (intended for use within a sleeping bag) for added protection from the last person who slept here. The room is almost clean, but it’s the little things that one notices. Like the filthy light switches: Just how many greasy fingers have requested illumination since the last time a damp cloth was waved over the plastic face plate?

Unfortunately, the bathrooms in cheap hotels are often the biggest let-downs. In this example, there is a permanent lake on the tiled floor to which the leaking toilet, shower and sink contribute. When showering, one must be careful not to touch the walls, nor the curtain. However, unusually for a hotel in this class, the water is both hot and free-flowing. This is highly cherished; a cold trickle is more normal. Toothpaste and toothbrushes cannot be placed on the sink (washbasin) as it is too grubby. (Squiffy winces out loud as I proof-read the last sentence to her.) Uniquely, today we have been spoiled with ‘hotel soap’ (it even says so on the packet). One of us will not sit directly on the toilet seat, instead choosing to hover. At least the WC is of a familiar western format here; hole-in-the-ground offerings require careful logistical planning and strong squat-muscles — remember, you must on no account touch the walls! Just outside the bathroom is a red rubber floor mat with ‘Welcome’ embossed into it.

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This morning, breakfast included:

• Two slivers of papaya (paw-paw, to some)
• Two slices of buttered American-style bread (i.e. very sweet to the British palate)
• A cup of coffee, using milk-on-the-turn complete with floaty bits

From reading the above, you may think that I’m not a fan of budget hotels: On the contrary, even without taking into account the ‘free’ breakfast, price-wise each night works out to cost less than a quarter of what a night at home in our mortgaged London flat did. And is our London flat really four times nicer?

Well, yes actually! Oh, wait a minute… that’s not the point I was hoping to make here.

Doesn’t it make you think though, what is a night at your home costing you?

PS: Phil, feel free to tell us how this is nothing compared to six months in the back of a Land Rover, washing in rivers and using a frog as a bar of soap…