The Hoxton, the FOMO-inducing hotel.

The Hoxton Open House Hotel on Great Eastern Street near Old Street is one of those places that can give you a serious case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). Boasting an open plan ground floor with everything from a cosy chillaxing area, a coffee bar, a breakfast area for drop-in guests, another breakfast area for hotel guests, a couple of hybrid half-kitchen, half-meeting-place rooms, and situated four doors down from where I am currently working, The Hoxton has been quietly luring and tempting me in for the past couple of weeks to the point that I had to book a Saturday morning and spend some time relaxing on one of its invitingly luxurious couches.

I ended up sitting on the long, slick, black velvety couch, sprinkled here and there with soft pillows and situated straight ahead as you walk into reception. It felt like I was sat at the junction of the morning street life and the animated life of the hotel, from where I could take everything in.

Lorries, white cabs and taxis pass down the street. A taxi stops in front of the hotel; moments later, excited and excitement-ready guests roll in their luggage and, with them, an air of foreignness and a classic sense of fashion. Autumn leaves float towards the ground outside and one of them sneakily flies through the entrance, stopping straight on the threshold of the sliding door. I try to “find” it again several minutes later, but it must have either been swept back outside or picked and removed by one of the hosts.

Approximately seven meters from the scene of the falling leaf, the coffee bar pumps coffee after coffee filling the air with the scent of freshly ground and roasted gold and the hiss of frothed milk. Cutlery and plates clink in the background and the music plays, the cries of several infants whose parents clearly know the “it” places in this part of town doing a solo every now and then.

Groups of friends play with each other’s kids in the right corner of the room. It must be altogether engrossing, as they have been at it for the past three hours. Nearby, a gent is asking his partner whether she would like coffee or tea and then sits down next to her. A brown-haired man in his thirties is having a plate of eggs on avocado toast. I enjoyed the same dish earlier; it was cardigan-staining, finger-licking good.

Oppositely, a couple of gentlemen are sipping their coffee. As the subtle smell of tobacco – wait, tobacco? – enters my nostrils, I realise they are sitting near the fireplace, my self-proclaimed favourite spot in the place. This means I will need to be even more of a morning bird on my next visit to make sure I too get a seat there.

I definitely don’t want to miss the things I notice when sat in that corner of this FOMO-inducing open house hotel. YOLO, after all.