Choose Lear’s Loft bedroom at this Georgian town house and you can dance to the light of the moon on a roof terrace with alfresco copper bath, then phone down for mince and slices of quince and a runcible spoon. The one-time home of Edward Lear, that Victorian purveyor of literary nonsense, is run as a wonderfully outré hotel by Mark Sainsbury and Michael Benyan, who have ‘styled it as the London home of wicked Uncle Seymour’, filling it with ‘artefacts from his grand European tour’. It is as ‘dotty as the Clerkenwell version’ and original Zetter (preceding entries). The atmosphere is clubby, with a cocktail bar (Seymour’s Parlour) ‘more like a drawing room than a bar’. Bedrooms are a riot. One has a four-poster with a Union Jack canopy, another an in-room bath set in a gold-tiled alcove. Each has a raindance shower (walk-in or over-bath), minibar, ground coffee, organic tea, novels, REN toiletries, robes and slippers. ‘Every detail is carefully thought out.’ The atmosphere is ‘warm and inclusive’. There’s afternoon tea with cream scones. Light bites cater to Seymour’s English tastes, with a Scotch egg, potted salmon, truffled sausage roll with brown sauce.