Lights fantastic

Mark Palmer

THERE was a problem. Not, in the grand scheme of things, a problem of any huge significance but a problem nonetheless, and action was required.

'I can't get the lights to work,I told the front desk in a telephone call shortly after arriving in my room — or, I should say, my suite of interconnecting rooms on the 23rd floor of Hong Kong's Peninsula Hotel, all of which, including the bathroom, were double the size of my London sitting-room.

'We will send someone up right away, Mr Palmer. Thank you for your call.'

Call me disloyal in the Kingdom of Tony but I like it when people call me Mr Palmer. Not many do. It makes me feel that, after all, I've grown up. I'm no longer in short trousers. I'm a wise old bird perched high on a branch of the Tree of Life where there's no shame in not knowing how the lights work in an expansive hotel suite in Hong Kong.

The particular complication was that I couldn't get the two lamps on the mantelpiece to remain off while dimming the central chandelier, and, at the same time, keep on the downlighters but turn off the desk lights while retaining the option to dim both the two uplighters and the candle lights on the sideboard. But the picture lights were fine.

There was a similar difficulty in the bathroom, where the illuminations comprised 11 ceiling lights, a separate light in both the shower and the loo, strip lights plus a night light over each of the two basins, and two little lights built into the pair of magnifying mirrors. My denouement was that I was unable to regulate the 'mood lighting' to its lowest, sexiest setting. Within minutes, a smartly dressed member of the front-desk team was ringing the doorbell, anxious to play her part in configuring the lighting to my exact predilections. I felt as if I were a Hollywood movie director ('Up a little above the mantel, Sophia, darling; down a teeny-weeny bit on the desk if you wouldn't mind, Barry, hold it there, lovely, super work everyone; let's take a break and meet back in 15') as the green-suited woman explained how to use the controls.

Then we were in the bathroom together, hovering over the -mood-lighting' switch which, once in the right hands, worked perfectly.

'Is there anything else I can help you with while I'm here?' she asked, and I couldn't help thinking of Benny Hill, who, at that point, would have made some dreadfully saucy suggestion along the lines of 'Not 'alf, me lovely.' Actually, a little later, I realised that there was something else she could have helped me with: I was having trouble with the fax machine. More to the point. I was having trouble finding the fax machine, but eventually came across it, hidden discreetly in a James Bond-type drawer in the desk.

I'm not great with gadgets but I can press buttons with the best of them. And the Peninsula goes in for pressing buttons in a big way. In fact, it's meant to be the only hotel in the world to operate its own in-room technology department. Certainly it's the only hotel I know of that has a control panel that looks like the dashboard of a Lear jet parked on the bedside table.

I spent 20 minutes getting to know the controls. It was far better than Scalextric or PlayStation 2. I was able to adjust the lights, television, air-conditioning and, best of all, open and shut the curtains from the comfort of my bed. There was a button for turning off the doorbell and another which operated the Do Not Disturb display outside the door. Then I found a 'night light' switch, which illuminated a dimly lit path to the bathroom. I also came across an outdoor temperature and humidity gauge.

Imagine my surprise, then, to return to this luxurious room the next afternoon only to discover that the bed had not been made, the breakfast tray had not been removed and the soggy towels had not been exchanged. Before I could lodge a complaint, the telephone rang.

'Excuse me, Mr Palmer, we just wanted to make sure you are all right.'

'I am very much all right, thank you, but I am not so sure the room is all right. But why are you so concerned about me?'

'Because you have had the Do Not Disturb sign on for nearly 24 hours and it's our policy to check that there is not a problem after such a long period of time.'

I dare say one or two guests in the past have come to grief in the comfort of a Peninsula Hotel suite. Perhaps some have been fished out of the huge whirlpool that occupied a corner of my bathroom. What a tub! It could accommodate four people if needed and had floor-to-ceiling windows which made me think I was suspended in mid-air while going about my ablutions. There was a television built into one of the walls near the bath. If the telephone rings while you are in full soak, all you do is hit the 'mute' button and start speaking. Miraculously, tiny microphones pick up what you are saying and you don't have to shout. Press the mute button on completion of your call and the sound on the television comes on again.

The Peninsula opened in 1928 on the Kowloon side of the harbour, about five minutes on foot from the Star Ferry terminal. It is one of only a few remaining colonial buildings in Hong Kong. After lunch, a queue forms in anticipation of afternoon tea, complete with those tiered racks (sweet on the top, savoury on the bottom and an assortment of goodies in the middle). A string quartet helps the pastries go down.

Meanwhile, up on the 28th floor, the Philippe Starck-designed Felix bar is so trendy that I found myself ordering gin martinis even though I loathe gin. The views from here looking across to the island are the most spectacular urban landscape I have ever seen — and they are relatively new. This is because in the early 1990s some bright spark allowed the construction of the hideous Cultural Centre, which obliterated the view in front of the hotel. As a result, a tower extension was erected on top of the old building, adding more than 130 rooms, plus a spa, swimming pool and two helipads on the roof.

Presumably, some people stay in places like this all the time. Which must be so dangerous. As I was taken back to the airport in one of the hotel's racing green Rolls-Royces, I knew it was going to be grim getting home and pressing the button on the microwave, let alone struggling with my Ikea blinds. But the most depressing thing of all was seeing the solitary lightbulb hanging from my bathroom ceiling.

Mark Palmer was a guest of The Peninsula Hong Kong. Suites cost approximately £1,000 a night. Tel: 00 852 2920 2888 for reservations and further information.