Lorne Bush House Cottages, Canberra review: Discreet and diplomatic

Nicole Bittar finds old-school comfort and proper service in the capital.

A last-minute New Year's Eve in the nation's capital: the prospect sounds seriously sedate but not without its merits. As we pull in under the portico of the Diplomat hotel in the inner-southern suburb of Griffith, I breathe a weary sigh of relief after our warm journey. And I wasn't even designated driver.

Built in the 1980s, it has an art deco-esque, white-painted exterior that creates a stately impression. Inside, a light-filled, carpeted foyer and atrium restaurant with potted palms speak of old-school comfort. There's a quaint book exchange in the foyer, tinted glass doors, glossy gold banisters and mood lighting but this 1980s time warp is part of the hotel's appeal.

It's reflected in the old-fashioned service. Check-in staff are professional and accommodating, to say the least, granting a free upgrade without fuss to adequately house our young son.

The Diplomat may not be the last word in luxury but the Hollywood-style make-up lights in the contemporary bathroom foreshadow the star treatment ahead. Our room, one of 67 and on the third and top floor, is comfortable and serviceable with a queen and single bed dressed in quality white linen, LCD television and reverse-cycle air-conditioning. There's in-room massage and an extensive room-service menu, including oysters, a warm roasted vegetable and rocket salad and, for dessert, the retro-trendy (or just plain daggy) strawberries romanoff with chantilly cream.

Service in the restaurant is warm, punctilious and eager to please. Not one but three waiters rush to my aid when I request a dinner plate for fruit in my room, even providing a paring knife wrapped in a linen napkin. This calibre of hand-and-foot service could almost go to one's head.

But I digress from the main purpose of our visit - the blockbuster Degas: Master Of French Art exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia. It's an irresistible drawcard for me and the more than 1500 people who view the 120 works daily.

The impressionist painter, Edgar Degas, who preferred the term "realist", displays a mastery of motion. He's renowned for his frozen moment scenes of ballet dancers and horse races. The unerringly lifelike Little Dancer Of Fourteen Years in bronze, gauze and satin is a standout, of course. But so too are the vibrant turquoise tutus in Dancers, Pink And Green. Degas renders even the most dreary undertaking, one seen in Woman Ironing, a thing of beauty, the hired help's apricot blouse luminescent against a predominantly white palette. It is the French master's interplay between action and intimacy that distinguishes Degas from his peers.

The neighbouring National Portrait Gallery, which opened in December to unreserved fanfare, makes our visit double the fun. My Favourite Australian features vivid portraits of achievers such as Reverend Tim Costello and the late Fred Hollows. And hitting you in the face as you enter, stage left, is an all-time favourite: Howard Arkley's lurid, airbrushed portrait of Nick Cave.