Last night, I worked late at the office – I worked until half-past eleven at night. All the hotels around the Canary Wharf and docklands area were full, or holding out for some extraordinarily rich and mad someone who would pay £335 for one of the few remaining single rooms. Consequently, I had to get a taxi from Cabot Square to somewhere near Brixton, where I was booked into a hotel.

Forty minutes and twenty five pounds later, my taxi arrived at the hotel. From outside, it looked like a very small place – neat, but not smart. When I eventually made it inside to the tiny reception (I had to squeeze past a guy who was carrying a bike out through the tiny porch area), it too was small, very Mexican, and nice in an unusual, friendly way.

I checked in, and was shown up to my room. It was simple - a sturdy door made of vertical wooden planks held together by wrought iron studded bar with a wooden floor and plain wooden furniture. It was obviously very clean too, and the bed looked, and indeed later proved to be, very nice indeed.

On the way to my room, we’d stopped at the bar. It was a lovely bar, with a very high ceiling, subtle lighting and tastefully decorated in a Mexican aristocratic style. But the loveliest feature was the fact that it was an honesty bar. There were no bar tenders to be seen – everything was on a “help yourself” basis, and a notepad and pencil were provided for you to write down what you were drinking. I wasted no time in getting the “help yourself” process up and running, with a double JD and Coke (proper stainless steel measuring thingies were provided).

As luck would have it, two gentlemen from work with me were staying in the same hotel, and were in the bar when I arrived. Only the three of us were there; we relaxed in the sumptuous leather arm chairs with our drinks, and surveyed the glorious bar that was ours for the taking – rows of bottles of spirits and liqueurs and a fridge full of beer, with no bar person between us and the precious liquids. There was no music playing – just an elegant, quiet, well appointed room, that contained a bar, and it was all ours.

It made me think about honesty - it felt nice to be trusted so much. Nowadays, it’s quite common to be treated like a criminal by suspicious strangers wherever you go. Let me give an example from today.

For lunch, I met up with a colleague from work who was visiting the area for the day. While walking towards the shopping centre, another colleague phoned to say that he and another chap were also in the area, and fancied meeting for lunch. I knew that the guys who had stayed in the hotel last night were there, so I phoned and invited them, and just for good measure, I invited someone else too.

We arrived at Pizza Express (yes, laugh if you want to) in about three separate parties, and seven of us crowded around a round table for four. We jostled, joked and generally had a good time, and eventually, after a most satisfying lunch, the thorny problem of the bill came up. As we were all claiming the cost back from separate expense accounts, we decided to split the bill four ways, and asked the waitress for four receipts. She told us it wasn’t possible, and instead, provided four copies of the bill for the full amount. In theory, we could each have claimed for the seven meals, but none of us would have done that.

However, a manageress bustled over to us as we were standing up to leave, and demanded our bills back. She spoke with an eastern European accent, and accused us vehemently of planning to commit “tax invasion”. We politely told her that we would each be claiming only the amount that we’d actually paid, but Madame didn’t believe us at all, and insisted on handwriting us a receipt each for the correct amounts. Adrian pointed out that this was what we had requested but been refused by our waitress earlier. Madame was not amused. I’m sure she was on the brink of calling the Inland Revenue.

The honesty bar and Pizza Express. I don’t normally experience either extremity in day to day life, let alone both within twelve hours of one other - it just begs a comparison.

I’m sure that people who use the honesty bar don’t try to rip it off. I’m sure, that just like the three of us last night, those people appreciate the feeling of trust and respect, and are happy to pay the same respect back to the hotel owners. Pizza Express didn’t show us any respect at all, which doesn’t inspire me to show respect when I go there either.

There is a small, but important lesson to be learned here. To get respect, you should show respect first. The Church Street Hotel knows this. Pizza Express doesn’t.