There’s a unique odour to the third-rate hotels sector that should make you do a 180-degree turn and head for the exit the moment you encounter it as you step over the threshold of such an establishment. I’ve never been able to work out what it is, but the formula is likely to include aged carpet, poorly functioning vacuum-cleaners, ancient breakfasts, travelling salesmen’s socks, rough concierge’s B.O. and other smells too vile to contemplate…

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