An invitation drops into my inbox with a fascinating potted history of King's Lynn. It was, the email says, one of Britain's most important ports by the 13th century, and became part of the Hanseatic League of trading powers in the 15th century. Wheat and wine ushered in another age of prosperity (the writer continues), but then the railways left it high and dry (though not literally, as it lies on the edge of The Wash), but "certainly devoid of visitors".
Well tonight King's Lynn is guaranteed at least two. M is at the wheel and we find cobbled Kings Staithe Square and its sturdy former bank with ease. Built originally for a wine merchant, Joseph Gurney added a banking hall in the 1780s and opened his first bank house (after a series of mergers and acquisitions, it finally became Barclays Bank).
Although there is a grand frontage complete with a statue of King Charles I, the only open door, at the side, leads into the bar. We find out later that this was Gurney's counting house. Now it is a medley of magnificent windows, chocolate and moss green walls, pink velvet and polished wood. Just a handful of drinkers are in. A staffer leads us around and about until we reach the main staircase. Hello, we're back at that grand frontage (except now we're inside instead of out). Why on earth isn't this the hotel entrance?
Up a couple of flights to our rooms. One, called The Bathroom, has a roll top in front of the window (is that wise?), pale drapes, a small sofa and a terrific view across the river Ouse, while Tom's Room, next door, is smaller and overlooks King Charles. M bags the river view, I go for a night next to my favourite monarch. Besides, I like the combo of warm orange, dark beams, and modern shower room. Pity about the chill (yes, I know, if I had a fiver . . . ) and the towels are due for retirement.
Candlelight flickers soothingly downstairs in the bar. It's been a glorious day, champagne is only £6.50 a glass, and it seems an awful shame that this stunning room is only being enjoyed by us. Bit of background music wouldn't go amiss.
The brasserie is barely populated. People are whispering (except us, of course). The food is something to shout about, though. Twice-baked goat's cheese soufflé, and smoky slices of salmon with an unctuous smear of horseradish-tinged crème fraiche, then "handsome and generous" roasted cod with chorizo stew, and melt-in-the-mouth slow-roast lamb shoulder on a bed of minted peas with potato gratin.
Seriously good – at ludicrously low prices – and so, too, is breakfast, at which a buffet table bears berry compote, fresh fruit, cheeses and cold meats, and the menu includes a proper veggie option with spinach and mushrooms, and Norfolk kippers.
Only watery orange juice disappoints, but why has no one touched up the chipped aubergine paintwork in the brasserie? Come to think of it, why didn't my radiator ever come on, and which rooms get the "fluffy white" towels mentioned on the website?
A hotel in such an historic setting (from which we explore the bounties of King's Lynn and cannot fathom why it isn't stuffed with tourists) needs more energy, some passion to make it the destination it could be. Bank House Hotel hasn't quite found its mojo.
