The room is a riot of psychedelic wallpaper and blood-coloured paisely carpet that appears to be designed around the ghosted, Technicolour nightmares of an Australian back-street abortionist. The scarlet curtains hang like strips of uncooked meat and a paper lightshade that hangs from the ceiling writhes with fierce, whiskered dragons. The room reeks of bad plumbing and bleach and there is no room service and there is no mini-bar.