179.

To The Four Seasons hotel (Roja toiletries). I'd arranged to arrive at 9:00pm, but then M called back to say he'd ditched his dinner appointment in anticipation of my visit and could I possibly get there any sooner, so bang went my post-dinner cat-nap...yawn.

The hotel has just finished a major refit and very tasteful it is too. Gone is the heavy handed bling look, for that of a delicate, fresh, simplistic boutique touch.

The finest boutique hotels boast cloud-like fluffy beds, crisp bedlinen and luxurious toiletries, all of which happen to be right up my street. However...the rooms tend to lack the glowing, cosy snugness of a cocooned hideaway, which I happen to like too. I believe the thinking behind this is, one is compelled to retreat down to the deeply cushioned, warm, inviting and opulent hotel bar, wherein you precede to spend even more of your money.

Browns hotel (Molton Brown toiletries, large bottles) in Mayfair is still my favourite London hotel, quintessentially English and they do a bloomin marvellous afternoon tea in The English Tea Room to boot.

M, dressed in a bathrobe ushered me into the room; early 60's, about 5ft 10in, silver haired and tanned, of Greek origin, he took my coat.

'Right then, lets get rid of that television and put some nice music on,' I said, taking control of the situation and the remote control; the delicate scent of jasmine wafted about the rooms, another nice boutique hotel touch, expensive smelly candles.

It took hardly any time or effort before M, satisfied now snoring, had drifted off to the land of nod. Whilst he slept like a baby or rather, exhausted international business man, I took myself a long relaxing shower and reapplied my make-up.

'M, I whispered softly, I'm going to slip off into the night and leave you to sleep, do you mind if I take these toiletries?' 'Oh sorry Frances, let me just get you your gift and of course, help yourself.'

A little before 10pm I tripped out of the hotel and into bright 'n' shiny London town, still early (for me) and all dressed up, I had spending money in my pocket and a generous tip too.

However, having spent most of that day in a hospice, amusing and caring for a painfully close friend, my heart was far from the space of its usual joyous and gregariousness self.

Realising I'd nothing left to give, I thought it best I be on my own and so headed straight back to HQ. After pouring myself a glass of crusted port, I decanted myself into the retreat which is my bed, read awhile and then pulled down the shutters on the day.

It'd been a productive day of extremes, but not a particularly happy one for this eternal optimist.

What I'm reading in bed...

As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning: Laurie Lee.