I came to London.
It had become the center of my world and I had worked hard to come to it.
And I was lost.
V. S. Naipaul
I had both my days and nights occupied with catch ups and new encounters from Mortons where I don’t remember anything to Raffles because it was my local and Saturday nights in Chelsea are more exciting in dark corners . I had the pleasure of checking out Dstrkt on a Tuesday night and the room quickly filled to capacity. This is presumably one of London’s hottest clubs at the moment and while inside the club is grand and showy, the light show on the ceiling reminded me of my good old days at Crystal (sadly no longer exists but has rebranded itself as Project). Kicking onto British Luxury Club (has shut down since), one of the few after hours clubs in London and personally one of my all time favourite check-in’s, the crowd is a far cry from any typical West End pollyanna’s. The mood is mellow, deep and nothing is taken at face value.
You come here to leave with a story.
I meet an acquaintance for mojito’s at the Bulgari Hotel in Knightsbridge, the bar staff are friendly, attentive and not fazed by Fifty Pound notes. The only question I seem to have is, do people in London actually work? They do, they just don’t sleep. Each night can easily be party party cab ride to the after party and even though I’m still technically on holidays, it is still way too much for me.
Natasa Colo of Secret Diary of a Tall Girl blog and I were invited to parade at Wyld Bar at the W Hotel in Leicester Square on a Sunday night and we’re easily swayed by the disco balls and modern furnishings. At the bar we order a cocktail each and are walked through another private room, where the party’s at. There’s a whisper of footballers in the house but I’m no longer 21 or care about these things. At the table, we watch two Bollywood type persona’s dance and try convince us to part with our hearts, I tell Tash not to laugh because that’s what we look like when we’re trying to cruise a guy. The bar is situated under a gigantic disco ball and the crowd is a little older and sophisticated.
First a Maserati, then a Range Rover, followed by an orange Lamborghini Aventador, supposedly owned by the son of the a Political figure in India- within the space of 15 minutes. The front of this venue looked better than the autobahn. Inside is a similar story. I must confess that Project is London’s finest crowd. Flattery and charm will get you far but a good pair of legs and a set of sex eyes will get you anyone you want.
Been there, done that? Let me know in the comments section below.