Join Jess Baldwin as she steps into the festive fantasia of The Egerton House Hotel — a Knightsbridge hideaway where canine martinis, childhood adventures and age-old traditions make for a Christmas to remember…
If there’s one thing Brits take seriously at Christmas, it’s tradition. For the mere mortals among us, this means bejewelling spectacular spruces, setting fire to pungent puddings, and draping our homes in cinnamon-scented garlands galore. Although, if Instagram’s latest fever dream is anything to go by, our houses are about to become a fabulously flamboyant tangle of homemade velvet paper chains and eco-decs conjured up purely from the cluttersome crap in our cupboards – bravo.
Meanwhile, in deepest, darkest Norfolk, blue-blooded guests of Sandringham will once again step onto the King’s infamous antique scales – both before and after Christmas dinner. This right-royal tradition — originally dreamed up by HRH Edward VII (Bertie, to his friends) — enables guests to prove just how much they enjoyed their regal feast. To be fair, if you find yourself tucking into a turkey with the King, it’s only polite to dive in.
These thoughts cartwheel around my mind as I grapple with a particularly pretty pecan tart which, in wild naïveté, I have attempted to polish off in one fell swoop – Bertie would be proud! Thankfully, despite being just a scone toss from Kensington Palace, I’m assured that The Egerton House Hotel does not weigh guests upon check-out.
Perched windowside, Knightsbridge’s glorious wreath-ridden doors are framed by the hotel’s immaculate window boxes, overflowing with Santa-red cyclamen. To my left, the open fire crackles and spits as I attempt to manoeuvre the nutty nibble into my cheek – hamster-style. As I do so, my attention falls on our fresh-faced, Aussie-twanged waitress, Didi. Granted, this is partly because she is my only hope of a successful Heimlich manoeuvre should I need one, but also because I am touched by the warmth she exudes as she carefully explains to my inquisitive daughter why her gleaming name badge is embellished with a single red carnation.
Much to Rosie’s delight, the history of the Red Carnation Hotel Collection is less a tale punctuated by billionaires and boardrooms, and more an unabashed love story. It begins with a chance encounter between a South African beauty named Bea and a dashing young hotelier called Stanley, who religiously pinned a miniature red carnation to his lapel.
Half a century on, every member of staff still wears that signature bloom, whether they are arranging cosmic folklore experiences for guests checking in to their South African wilderness reserve, pouring Champagne lakeside in their Geneva abode, or serving up deceptively large pecan tarts in one of the collection’s many London addresses.
Though the group has grown far beyond its modest origins, it remains a family-run enterprise, anchored in tradition and that iconic red flower – though the unassuming carnation faced stiff competition on our December visit. Outside, the Victorian townhouse shimmered, fairy-lit garlands skimming the sweep of the wrought-iron balconies, a glittering spruce perched porchside and, naturally, a Union Jack flicking gamely in the crisp Christmas air — tradition, after all. Inside, ripe clusters of ruby roses and crimson tulips glowed beneath the shimmying chandelier.
With martini masterclasses on tap and Matisse gracing the walls, this five-star hotel feels decidedly grown up upon arrival. Yet, nestled in the heart of residential Knightsbridge, younger guests have everything from royal parks and palaces to world-class museums, galleries and gigs just a short stroll away, making this boutique bolthole a savvy base for discerning families after a convenient home-from-home in the capital. From stepping inside an earthquake simulator in the Natural History Museum and launching a hydrogen-propelled rocket in the Science Museum to running riot in Kensington Gardens – this royal chunk of London is one great big adventure playground for little people with big imaginations.
The hotel also has various family-friendly experiences on offer, from London wildlife walks to bug hunts. The hotel’s little black book also awaits – one quick call from concierge gets you access to the V&A’s sold-out shows, no questions asked (though, with the great masters gracing the hotel’s walls, there is little need to traipse around galleries). During our stay, Marie Antoinette Style was the museum’s hot ticket – now there’s a lady with a penchant for a pecan pie.
If you think children are well catered for here, try walking in with a canine companion. Preened pooches can dig into the hotel’s famous doggy afternoon tea or scuffle into the bar and bed down beneath an original Charles Schulz Snoopy sketch – for those after their very own souvenir of their stay, there’s even a ‘pawtrait’ artist on hand. Peckish pooches can sink their teeth into everything from buckwheat pancakes and scrambled eggs to porridge, meatballs and more – ask nicely and the team will whip up a ‘dogtini’ (a playful twist on the hotel’s famous martini). If they’re tired out from running around Hyde Park, a soothing camomile tea should help – that and the doggy turndown service.
Though one needs very little help sleeping soundly at this palatial pied-à-terre. With just 23 well-appointed guestrooms, four stylish studio suites and one luxurious V&A-themed master suite, The Egerton House Hotel feels like a homely private residence, each of its rooms promising light, space and art galore. We were staying in one of the hotel’s elegant studio suites – a theatrical, draped-fabric ceiling giving it a regal feel, much to Rosie’s delight.
After a morning well spent blowing vapour bubbles into the Science Museum’s eaves and whizzing down various slides in a bid to master the notion of friction, we were Chelsea-bound. After a short sunset stroll, we arrived at a hushed Duke of York Square. Illuminated by 30,000 glowing white roses, the Royal Marsden’s Ever After Garden is a poignant tribute to those lost to cancer. In stark contrast, just steps away, the Royal Hospital was full of life, its resident Chelsea Pensioners, resplendent in scarlet, leading a softly sung carol beneath the historic colonnades.
Be it January or December, London is a city fuelled by tradition: small, steadfast sparks that return time and time again, anchoring us just as surely as Sandringham’s antique scales or Stanley’s beloved carnation.
Having indulged in The Egerton House Hotel’s award-winning breakfast, I took in my sumptuous surrounds one last time before leaving, only to discover that Rosie had vanished. Naturally, she had migrated to the complimentary treats table, scoop in hand, overzealously shovelling dusty strawberry bonbons and nutty financiers into her bamboo cone. “Can we come here every Christmas?” she pleaded, clutching her saccharine spoils, sugar-dusted and starry-eyed, memories and sweets stacked in equal measure. Some traditions begin on antique scales in Norfolk. Others begin with a pecan tart, a red carnation, and a child who refuses to leave without one last scoop. A little Christmas tradition, after all, never hurt anyone.
The Egerton House Hotel is a member of the Red Carnation Hotel Collection. For more information or to book, visit www.egertonhousehotel.com.
