Robot staff and rogue mirrors: what I hate most about technology in hotel rooms

It was past midnight in my hotel bathroom. We stared at the screen, bewildered and afraid, like the prehistoric apes confronting the alien obelisk in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The maintenance guy scratched his head. "Did you turn it off and back on again?" he said, in the time-honoured tradition of the digital age. "That's why I called you," I said. "I can't switch it off."

Of its own accord the bathroom mirror had transitioned to a blaring, Ed-Sheeran-possessed TV which refused to stop no matter how much I tapped, swiped or screeched for its obedience like Snow White's evil queen.

All the maintenance man could do with this demented mirror, mirror on the wall was convince it to show ambient tropical fish until he'd called IT to reboot the room.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's new. And very glitchy." And with the defeated look of one whose cordless drill has gone the way of the neolithic flint axe, he faded back into the night.

I've had similar tussles in hotels around the world, with a smart TV whose space-age seamless sheen came at the expense of an on/off switch, a shower control panel stolen from a nuclear submarine and lights operated by a touchscreen tablet requiring an advanced computer science degree.

I've danced in the dark in Bangkok attempting to reactivate movement-controlled lights immune to my futile flailing, which made me spill my wine, which made me shout at the technology's hapless human servant, which made me overcompensate with an inappropriately massive tip which mortified us both.

I'm a capable enough woman. I have a degree, I'm the curly questions specialist for my pub trivia team and I'm handy with a screwdriver. But in hotels of late, I've been outsmarted by a fridge, a coffee machine and even a toilet.

I'm not alone. More than half the frequent travellers in a recent hotels.com survey revealed they'd needed help understanding in-room technology during a recent stay. According to new hospitality industry research, "smart room syndrome" is such a concern that 52 per cent of hotels offer a verbal walk-through at check-in to help guests navigate their room's tech features.

And yet they keep coming. Once all you needed for a fully functioning room was your keycard in a slot, but today's hyper-engineered hospitality demands you download an app, click on a QR code or persuade a bot to recognise your face just to find the room service menu. And if you're approaching the task in a jet lag haze or influenced by the contents of the mini bar, you might as well be searching for the Ark of the Covenant.

Hotel tech, say its evangelists, is supposed to reduce "friction points", like a sort of virtual anti-chafe balm. In practice it's more like an unpleasant rash - aggravating and unwelcome.

I don't want to operate my room. I want to enjoy it. I miss analogue items like real menus and chunky room compendiums that used to feel like your hotel's vinyl record sleeve - a tactile, attractive gateway to all the delights inside.

And even if they were sometimes scattered around or the wrong side of the bed or even on the actual lamps, you knew where you were with old-school light switches. Literally.