Along a narrow lane, a lamb-chop toss from Smithfield market, Clerkenwell’s hubbub surrenders to the ‘club-like’ calm of Peter McKay and Douglas Blain’s tumble of 18th-century houses. The self-proclaimed ‘old buffoons’ are also responsible for Hazlitt’s (see entry) and Batty Langley’s (see Shortlist), so they are modest as well as talented hoteliers. The interconnected properties sport antique furniture, wood panelling and stone flags; gilt-framed mirrors sit alongside Turneresque landscapes and heritage paint tones. Each air-conditioned room is named after a former raffish resident. There are 17th-century carved oak beds, period four-posters, heavy silk curtains and vintage shutters. The two-storey penthouse has a sitting room beneath a 40-foot spire. Even the most authentic restoration takes a few liberties, however. The bathrooms – unheard of in most Georgian houses – are ‘immaculate’, with ‘throne loos’, roll-top baths and that staple of an 18th-century fop, fine toiletries. There’s an honesty bar in the Conservatory, and room-service menu, including an extensive breakfast. Several decent restaurants lurk nearby, frequented by city types. The days when a rookery was slang for an urban slum are long gone.