I've been booked to host an awards ceremony 200 miles away from home, and because my baby will need shoes one day, I'm standing in the hotel lobby the evening before, I've just finished checking in when the lady behind reception says, 'And you must try our new Vapour Room. It's a delight!'

I nod, and smile broadly, mainly because the lady has used the word 'delight', but I have absolutely no intention of using their new Vapour Room. For one thing, I am tired and hungry, and for another, I don't really know what a Vapour Room is.

Minutes later, my bag is on the floor of a stark and soulless room, with lank, stained curtains, but I am a world away, because I am staring at a laminated pamphlet which shows a woman with a wistful and dreamy gaze on her face. She is lost in a universe of untold pleasure and glowing with health and youth and vigour.

'Visit the Vapour Room,' she seems to be saying. 'You too can look like a vigorous glowing woman!'

I put the pamphlet down.

It must be the vapours, I think. The vapours must be lifegiving.

And then I decide. I will visit the Vapour Room.

Before I know it, I am in my shorts and striding into the hotel's all-but-abandoned leisure area. I push open the door of the Vapour Room and immediately my glasses steam up with the heat. I take them off, but I don't mind, because this can only be good for me, just as it was for the sweaty, laminated woman.

Well, this is nice, I think, sitting down. When people at the awards ceremony ask me what I did last night, I'll be able to say, 'I visited a Vapour Room,' and they will think me metrosexual and cosmopolitan. 'What happened on Emmerdale last night?' they could say, and I will simply shrug and reply, 'I am unsure, as I was in a Vapour Room.'

The closest I have come to this before is Vicks VapoRub, and I'm absolutely sure this is at least a bit better.

The steam is thick, though, and the heat intense, and I wonder whether there's any way of controlling things. I look over to my right, and see the button that must deal with the steam. I take a risk and press it. Nothing happens for a second, and so I press it again, hoping to bring the heat down a little, but still nothing. And then: a small white light appears above it.

I move closer, until my eyes can focus properly, and I read what it says in faint, grey text.

SOS.

Hang on.

SOS?

I have just pressed the SOS button. The SOS button! They're going to think I need help! That I'm passed out or in danger! But I am not! I'm just a bit steamy! What do I do?