Maybe I’m a slob, I’m not entirely sure. But once I walk through the door of a hotel room I like to spread out. The contents of my bag get strewn to all corners in a matter of minutes. This normally occurs to the strains of some ‘top stories at the top of the hour’ yank news service on the idiot box and three fingers of some duty-free firewater. Then, if I don’t have every towel hanging in various stages of saturation around the bathroom within half an hour, I know my standards are slipping. Soon after, my shirts will need pressing and the ironing board will come out (hotel room designers: why do the power point positions always dictate needing to iron in a corner perched over the top of a side table… but never somewhere convenient, like in front of the telly?) and won’t be returned for the duration of my stay.