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It’s revelatory seeing your city from up high. I always press my face to the window as the plane makes its descent into London’s Heathrow, tracing the course upriver of the old grey Thames. As the aircraft edges lower and lower over the capital’s storied landmarks, I want to absorb this living map. It’s the same if anyone invites me to a meeting on some highly elevated floor of an office tower – I need to take in the perspective before I can focus on what they have to say.
On Tuesday I received an invitation to meet the architects of the rooftop restaurant, Brooklands, at the recently opened Peninsula hotel on Hyde Park Corner. London isn’t short of five-star establishments but The Peninsula somehow gained a following from the moment its doors glided open. Just days after it took in its first guests, I dropped in and the lobby was filled with wealthy patrons, the white-capped bellhops were dashing to open chauffeured-car doors and the coffee shop felt like a happy Dubai outpost. A perfect piece of well-executed plug-and-play real estate. But it’s up high where life really changes.
Archer Humphryes Architects has created a bar that honours the world of racing cars (classic motors are a passion of The Peninsula magnate Michael Kadoorie) and a dining room inspired by Concorde. This part is, well, nuts, in a good way: you sit beneath the underbelly of a giant model of a Concorde and they even have parts of the actual plane, including the pilots’ seats. But what literally elevates the moment is the view.
Sitting by the windows, you look out over Hyde Park, Piccadilly, The Mall and Buckingham Palace. Below you, in the dark, the headlights of the cars and buses whirl around Hyde Park Corner glinting like jewels on a necklace. From up here you see the city afresh, feel its lure and also feel slightly in awe of its possibilities. Just for a fleeting moment you are above the fray.
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Sometimes it must be hard writing the press release after an art or design fair because the one thing you can’t do if things have proved a little slow is acknowledge the fact. We occasionally see very good friends with businesses at fairs, giddy with success, while other times they happily admit that the fairs have been like a tundra town, with barely a bauble snapped up. The event organisers, however, always put out a release about how buoyant everything was. Heading into Frieze London, there was certainly some caution about the state of the art market. But there is a lot of money in this city and, this year, perhaps it really is all sunny uplands.
Last Saturday we went to the Pad design and art fair in Berkeley Square and, from Brazilian mid-century furniture to French ceramics, everything was so ridiculously sublime and envy inducing. Why didn’t we have a £40,000 lampshade! How had life been so cruel as to deny us a Roman statue or two! I dragged the other half around. He said unhelpful things such as, “But is it comfortable to sit on?” and, “You’d be worried about knocking it over all the time.”
As we left, we had to wait momentarily while a security guard checked the handbag of the woman in front of us to ensure that she hadn’t pinched a rare bronze. She was with her son – perhaps 18 – and we overheard one of those snatches of conversation that make you wonder why your Ancestry DNA test hadn’t revealed that you were really the son of a fabulously wealthy potentate.
“I just thought that chair would have been nice in your bedroom,” she said with the sadness that my mother used to channel when I declined the offer of a particularly hideous nylon jumper. “Mummy, really, I just want somewhere to sit and look at my iPad,” her son replied wearily. Sadly, the mother didn’t look like she was in the market for adopting an old editor, otherwise I would have handed over my card.