Rosie Green: ‘Readers, we got a room!’

Frank revelations from our unmissable sex columnist, Rosie Green (@lifesrosie)

I am going on my first mini-break with the boyfriend, which feels like a significant milestone. According to Google, three months into a new relationship is the optimum time to go away – that’s us – and I do like to comply with the random rulings of the internet.

In relationship terms, committing to a mini-break signals a deepening of affection and an active desire to spend an extended amount of time in each other’s company.

Louise Samuelsen

I reckon the key to success is to make it as friction free as possible. High on ease, low on discomfort.

Which must surely rule out camping? Camping is to ardour what a post-coital cigarette is to a waterbed – deflating and quite possibly spelling a disastrous end. There’s only one thing that should need erecting on a mini-break and it’s not a tent. Plus, head torches are not sexy.

It was after a series of romantic dinners and a succession of sleepovers that the ‘m’ word came up. I’m not sure which one of us mentioned it first, but we both concluded it would be rather nice to escape together, with the option of an afternoon ‘nap’, a lie-in and, potentially, a ruinous amount of alcohol (although it’s always important to practise some restraint so as not to render yourself incapacitated).

Like me, he loves a spa. Preferably a ‘five bubble’. (Apparently, so my beloved informs me, this is the spa version of a hotel star rating. I’m still reeling that he knew this and I didn’t, but I think it bodes well for our future relationship.)

We have decided on a hotel that is located less than 30 minutes away from our respective houses. This is good for a variety of reasons. Maximum hotel time. Minimum car time. Excellent news for someone like me who is challenged by directions. Happily, we are going in his car, which is considerably smarter than mine. There is nothing more mortifying than arriving at a fancy venue with valet parking in my skip on wheels.

A mini-break, after lockdown and heartbreak, is even sweeter. The good things include…

  • Uninterrupted time with your beau.
  • Food.
  • Drink.
  • Clean sheets.
  • Hotel sex (which is different from normal sex – more on this later).

Obviously, there are friction points, too. Are you on the same page with your desired star rating; do you consider luxury a waste of money or entirely central to the point of going away for the weekend?

Away from home and feeling relaxed, do you let some of your less-desirable habits show ‒ like throwing your towels on the floor or putting Sky Sports on full blast? Or do you snaffle all the toiletry minis and eat the complimentary shortbread within minutes of arrival?

So far we are compatible on all of the above, but we are still in the probation period.

Then there is the fact that up until now we’ve been able to pretend we have zero bodily functions – not so easy when you’re sharing a hotel room for 48 hours. Imagine my joy on discovering that our gloriously spacious room has the unexpected bonus of two bathrooms. Genius, as it will negate the need for a ‘lobby visit’ when certain urges are brought about by the 50-course meal I will inevitably eat.

The thing about going away is you bring your A-game. You wash your hair, bring out your best underwear and generally believe you are Taylor and Burton at The Dorchester.

Which is why hotel sex is more exciting than normal sex. It’s the novelty of a ‘beautifully appointed’ suite, the wine (one bottle, not three) and the freedom from domestic drudgery.

And the fact distractions are minimised – nothing extinguishes the flames of desire faster than a whining pet scratching at the door, or the sudden realisation that it’s bin day tomorrow.

In a hotel there is none of that to worry about. So to fuel a new relationship or resuscitate an old one, go on a mini-break. Simple – just as long as you can agree on a bubble rating.