Chiltern Firehouse – The Round Table at The Algonquin meets Muriel’s Kitchen on Old Compton Street – is the place to be. So much so, ‘the’ should be in italics.
Everyone who is everyone and some people who are no-one at all have been, chomped on the Crab Linguine as Princess Beatrice took up more than the one seat, worn all the right sunglasses, laughed like they meant it at André Balazs’ jokes – sometimes even twice! – before cartwheeling away right in front of the braying paparazzi and into a waiting Uber, condescension just so. The Wolseley, frankly, doesn’t know what to do with itself.
But it all has the whiff of The Box to it. You know, that place in London’s glittering Soho where, for a giddy six months, only the knobbiest of hobs would go to sip premium tequila, gawp at really shit sex shows that were less Granny Smith up a bloke’s arse, more ‘here is a tit’, and mix with real-life gays. It was the stuff of which anecdotes perfect for West London dinner parties were made. These kids’ kudos was off the Sunday Times Style barometer!
But what started with Kate Moss quickly became an ES Magazine spread. Before they knew it, the heavyset royals (see above) came and then, dear reader, Kylie and Sinitta. It has never recovered.
Which is where these two come in. One is Danielle Lineker, the designer-imposter Yasmin Le Bon, the other is Jackie St Clair, former schtupp of Simon Cowell. Together they are a quarter-page feature in OK! magazine, and they have just left Chiltern Firehouse. One of them is even under the impression a waistcoat is outerwear. They are what is known in the business as a slippery slope because, let’s face it, Cara Delevingne doesn’t want to sit next to a woman who owes it all to Walkers’ Crisps.
Oh and yes, of course we’ve been. How else do we infuse our copy with such integrity?
We would like to take this opportunity to remind Chiltern Firehouse of what happened to The Box when they started letting in any old Tom, Dick or Two-Bit Tart.,