‘Have you ever eaten breakfast at the Hilton before?’ shouted the woman on the door of the restaurant, as a guest attempted to gain entry.

She told me I could help myself to coffee and I said I would, because I had

As he mumbled something, she shouted: ‘And how are you this morning?’ He mumbled something else, and looked scared. I was already sitting down, having dodged the Cerberus of the breakfast bar because, when I entered, she had been marching around the diners shouting, ‘Anything else? More coffee? No?’ and I managed to help myself to what I wanted from the buffet and choose a table.

This did not go down well. When she worked out that I had breached her barriers, she marched up and shouted: ‘Room number!’ I told her I thought it was 523, but I couldn’t be sure. Who can remember their room number when they’ve only got the key card and not that little bit of paper that comes with it, which loses itself immediately?

She harrumphed and told me I could sit where I was sitting. I thanked her and said I would, because I was.

She told me I could help myself to coffee and I said I would, because I had.

She eyed my plate which was piled high with smoked salmon. This was for a very good reason, and the reason was not that I like smoked salmon, which I do.

I was chomping my way through an entire serving platter of smoked salmon with fried eggs and scrambled eggs and two types of toasted bread with butter and creamed cheese because I had been told I was being charged £8 a day to park in the car park.

This hotel is down a lane off the A3, nowhere near anything, and no one could possibly misuse it by parking there when they are not staying at the hotel.

But the evening before, on my first trip back from Ireland to Surrey, I was told by the reception staff on arrival that rules were rules.

I was being charged nightly to park – and the two friends coming to see me for dinner would be charged by the hour.

As for the swimming pool I had been expecting, which was there the last time I looked: ‘We got rid of that!’ said the lady behind the desk, as though I had asked her about an asbestos infestation.

I have a recurring nightmare like this. I don’t know why a swimming pool you expected to be there not being there is so horrifying and appalling, but it is.

Already traumatised when my friends arrived, and we went to the restaurant, and a starter of nachos ensued that was rock solid and had to be sent back, I proposed that, all things considered, not least that my friends were being charged by the hour, we ought to go somewhere nice for dinner.

One friend had only come for a drink and a snack, so he went on his way.

The other settled her parking which came to £3, and she and I went for a slap-up Lebanese. Then she drove home and I returned to the hotel where my headlights hit a sign by the entrance telling me the car park was free to gym users, and anyone eating in the restaurant. Only guests staying at the hotel had to pay.

I texted my friend who left early to see what he had been charged and he said he had been given a code to input to make it free, and when he drove at the barrier, it opened anyway. As it did for me.

I demanded my other friend’s £3 back at the reception desk but the lady said rules were rules. I pointed out the rules were all over the place. She said the rules were clear. Even she had to pay to park at the Hilton. If that were true, I said, had she considered working for another hotel chain?

Back in my room, I contemplated putting two teaspoons and a pair of those cardboard slippers in my suitcase. Of course, I didn’t. I put the Hilton pen in my handbag, but I think you’re meant to do that.

The next morning, I set about piling my plate with smoked salmon. And when the breakfast bar guard yelled pleasantries at me I couldn’t engage, my mouth was so full, but if I could, I would have said: ‘Leave me alone to get on with this. I’ve got £26 worth to get through – 15 to cover the cost of breakfast, eight for my parking and three for my friend’s.’

When she went away, I placed my knife and fork at angles and trotted off for more coffee. I got back 30 seconds later to find a waitress had cleared my plate. ‘Fair play to you,’ I told her, as she slammed down fresh cutlery.