I really didn’t want to like the Sanctum Soho hotel. There was something about how it was pitched as the ultimate rock’n’roll party pad for hedonists and their hangers-on that felt a little — what’s the word? — try-hard.

Then there was a piece on Sky News recently that had the owner, Mark Fuller, the former band manager turned restaurateur and club owner (Sugar Reef, Embassy London), claiming that if the mood takes them, exuberant guests can order a bath overflowing with Jack Daniel’s.

And if he hears of a party going on in a room at 4am, he’ll say turn the music up, not off.

Am I really the only person to think, “Oh, shush”? I must be getting old.

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Truth is, it’s rather hard these days to do anything different in the world of high-end hospitality. Sanctum Soho’s USP is that anything goes here. There is 24-hour room service, but you can get that at the Soho Hotel, and the Metropolitan, among others.

There’s a box of naughty fancies, such as a silk eye mask, a scented candle, and something else that comes with batteries, but that’s been done before, too.

What is more unusual is the always-open rooftop bar, available only to guests and their guests (there’s no members policy or “I was just passing” allowances here, apparently), complete with enticingly warm spa tub and wooden decking. So does that constitute rock’n’roll? Time to find out.

I rocked up, but someone had beaten me to the roll — the entire hotel smelt of marijuana. Infusing the lobby with the smell of pot is really taking this hedonists’ hotel thing seriously, I thought, but then someone grassed: one of the guests had been rumbled smoking in his room.

This provided an interesting challenge: how would Fuller deal with it while maintaining his R&R credentials?

“I told him that on a personal level, I might not mind, but on a business one, we’re all getting stoned down here, and I can’t have that,” said Fuller, with his shirt undone to here.

Crisis over, I went for a mooch. The smallest rooms, called crash pads, don’t allow for much other than lying on the bed, but that, I rather think, is the point.

There’s no wardrobe — crash-padders haven’t brought anything as pre-planned as tomorrow’s clothes. If you’re the sort of person who has regular behind-the-bike-sheds moments, then you’ll like it here. The other rooms grow in size; the top suites have free-standing baths and shiny everything.

The restaurant offers a good range of English favourites — the smoked ham hock with piccalilli and the pea-and-mint soup were superb, though my fish pie was far too big and stodgy, and the macaroni cheese was only okay.

The lemon sponge pudding with ginger ice cream, however, was the sort of thing that could make all the difference on a first date — surprising, naughty and perfectly setting the tone for what might follow. What followed, in my case, was a digestif on the roof, where I was disappointed to find nobody had yet christened the hot tub, and then bed.

I know the 24-hour room service was working as I was woken up, twice, in the night by things being delivered along the corridor, but that’s nothing less than you deserve if you go before the soundproofing’s been done. (I’ve been assured that everything will be in place in time for the official opening this Friday.)

They did, though, forget my wake-up call, making me an hour late for work the next day. Now that’s rock’n’roll.

Doubles from £125 until the end of May, then £175; 020 7292 6100, sanctumsoho.com

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