‘Exquisitely refurbished.’ Peter McKay and Douglas Blain have cultivated ‘an oasis of civilisation’ within a decadent cluster of Soho’s Georgian houses. At least one had been a depressed boarding house where lived and died essayist William Hazlitt, who lends his name. It is now alive with whimsical curios, proper china for afternoon tea and Sir Godfrey, the resident cat. His namesake would no doubt have savoured the honesty bar’s locally made gin. Elsewhere, the sloping floors and throne loos have been retained, but electricity replaces most of the candles. Sumptuous bedrooms and suites, all antiques and period artwork, revel in the unexpected; not the lovely but often-seen roll-top baths or romantic ornate beds, but the gilt-framed plasma TV, a Jacobean love seat disguising a loo, a spring-loaded dressing table. Rooms at the front have triple-glazed windows; some lighter sleepers may prefer a rear room. Twenty-four-hour room service with pastas, deli baguettes and light bites, includes breakfast, as lavish as one likes. For everything else, the steakhouses, vegan ice-cream parlours, and the stages of Soho are steps away. (See also The Rookery, main entry, and Batty Langley’s, Shortlist.)