... and Stories

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Every storeroom has a story. What it's contained, who's been in it.  How long it's been there, guarding whatever it is that it's supposed to keep safe within its four walls.

Room 52 at the M had a story.   It had once been a beautiful suite; one of the best in the hotel.  It was proud to be so luxurious; so tastefully welcoming in its minimalist, almost retro way.  But then a new manager had come to the M – and, although it was already one of the most exclusive hotels in London, he had decided that it was going to be even more hip.  

Room 52 didn't like this manager.  Because the manager decided that the M was going to be unique among London hotels: it was going to house art exhibitions.  Oh yes.  Hipsters and critics would congregate there, at the vodka bar, admiring the latest Tracy Emin or Grayson Perry.  Original pieces would grace the corridors: sculptures and video installations – and paintings, of course.  But these works of art had to be stored somewhere: securely -  until they were hung or carefully placed in the perfect position out in the white, gallery-like public spaces of the hotel.  

So poor, sad, reluctant Room 52 was converted.  It would no longer be a sought-after, top-of-the-range suite, frequented by media moguls and Hollywood actors guesting in the West End.  The Damian Williamson bed was removed; the Ercol furniture shifted elsewhere, and the temperature and aircon were adjusted to ensure minimal damage to the priceless objets, wrapped lovingly though they were.

The room was sad that its finery had been removed.  But it was proud of one new thing – one thing that none of the other hotel rooms at the M could boast about: a tiny, sleek security camera which was placed, high in the corner, guarding the room's valuable contents and watching over everything.

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