Rosemay Hotel

Review of the Rosemay Hotel, London – 10/10 By Matthew Huxley Forrest As a writer of fiction, non-fiction, screenplays, series, and documentaries—and someone named Huxley after Aldous himself, a friend and counterpart to George Orwell—it was nothing short of synchronicity to find myself staying in Orwell’s very own room. The Rosemay Hotel is not just a boutique escape—it is a living, breathing act of reverence. From the moment I arrived, I felt immersed in detail, not decoration. The chandelier reflected perfectly in the mosaic beneath it. Real plants framed like art. The Orwell Library by reception offered a nod to legacy, not a shrine. To sleep in Orwell’s former room, as Matthew "Huxley" Forrest, was to experience a collision of timelines—where two philosophical lineages whispered across the decades. There was no fanfare, no museum velvet rope—just an unspoken truth carried through the wood, the light, and the quiet. The family behind this space deserve enormous credit. Their design is masterful. Their spirit is gracious. The son—a sharp, soulful thinker—invited me into their world with the warmth of an old friend. The mother, a genius of flow and form, brings an invisible coherence to every corridor. The Yorkshire roast they recommended might be the best I’ve had—and I say that as someone with Yorkshire blood. Staying here was not a hotel experience. It was a chapter in a longer book. And I don’t say that lightly. For those with "eyes to see", this is no ordinary accommodation. It is a place where synchronicity meets hospitality, and where thinkers—past and present—might just find their next idea between the walls. This hotel doesn’t need to shout. It whispers, wisely.