Mingling with the mighty

There I was standing in a room with the word ‘Service’ painted on the door, in the Gellert hotel in Budapest. I was attempting to iron a pair of trousers for the first night of Phantom of the Opera, which was to be the biggest stage production Hungary had ever attempted. Only the Gellert had no valet service so I was pressing my clothes myself in the maids’ room.

A crease had just been enlarged when a woman knocked and opened the door. She was evidently a hotel guest and addressed me in English. She demanded peremptorily, ‘I want my clothes ironed.’ As a friend said later, I should have replied, ‘Yes, for 100 English sterling. Just because we’re not in the EU yet, don’t think labour is cheap.’ Instead I glared at her. ‘I don’t work here.’ I should have thought this was evident, given the fact I had rollers in my hair and was wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with lace.