There is an Alice in Wonderland feel as you enter the lobby of the Sanderson London. A pair of headset strutting young bellmen smile at you as though their trousers could be tearaways. Millennial girls swing from 60's basket chairs and you can ride the famed cosmic elevator and possibly meet, as I did, a freshly rosy, gorgeous, furry specimen of the male sex all dished out in a terry towel robe riding from the spa back up to his room and you also might be forced to exclaim "I'm I had a dream like this once", to which his rose face might burst out laughing and announced "Touche!" even though you are both over (shhhhh!) a certain age and far too exhausted to do anything about it. Still, the fantasy is there for the intrepid. The Sanderson has just the right amount of suites - my sleigh bed had pillows on both ends which made me think of a Finnish speed skating team for some reason and the bathroom looked a little like a mad surgeons playground. On a functional level the beds were perfect, views lovely, room service was excellent, breakfast just fantastic, long bar very lively. I adore the Sanderson. It's the type of hotel you promise yourself you will check into for a few months under the excuse of writing a great novel but really it is just to have a fabulous time.