From the moment of pushing open that front door we knew we had traversed some kind of portal! Three ceramic yellow hands clawed the bottle green wall to the left, an octopus candelabra squatted an occasional table to our right and an elegant beaded curtain glinted and gleamed in a chorus of pinks and orange. And that was just the hallway! I was housed in the William Conor chamber; my friend, the Van Morrison. Both chambers ( I’ll never say room again!) impeccably tasteful, both statement pieces in bespoke design. Mine had a riotous wallpaper of jungle leaf print boasting top-hatted salamanders and erudite koalas reading literature. The Van Morrison, a floor above me, had a lush rich foliage with cascading blooms. My friend stepped out onto her patio to give herself and her senses a breather!! I lingered awhile in the Van M bathroom admiring waterfall in miniature provided by the single handle brass faucet. The wash basin a thing of utter beauty in multicoloured vintage glass. Odd to linger in a bathroom, you say? Not here, it wasn’t!
Should we save the best for last? Undoubtedly!
The beds were indeed , for us, the crowning glory of the night spent in Harrison’s chambers. Each mattress custom made in Belfast ( like much of the interiors, as Melanie explained on our tour the next day)Melanie , the proprietress ( drop the word owner). Parting that next morning was really such sweet sorrow as we both knew for sure we would return.