I like my night-clubs hot and horny like the original Ghetto, or louche and leftfield like Black Gardenia, both annihilated by the voracious Jabberwocky that is Crossrail. Where to go? Not Luxx! Not that this new, rammed-to-the-rafters hedonistic pit sucks, it’s more that happy house -even with a bongo player drumming over it - and Cristal rosé at £800 won’t impress the peculiars I hang out with. So who will ‘get’ Luxx? According to affable head honcho, Luca Maggiore, not the ‘glamour’ models, Big Brother bozos or Wags that infect its rivals. Sounds good to me. When, as happened to me in one W8 more cash-than-dash boîte, you’re brusquely moved on because ‘a VIP will need your table’ only to be told said big shot is Teddy Sherringham, any cred you aspire to is shot for being in such an wholly unsuitable place. Dark intimate and open to non-members, Luxx draws a mix of Guccified continentals, bonused-up bankers and bright-eyed things of unfathomable means. If splashy Ibiza gaffs appeal, go! But go carefully; a hard-to-spot step in the under-lit dance-floor/ catwalk is out to recreate Naomi Campbell’s notorious tumble at Westwood. Laying into a magnum of Grey Goose (at someone else’s expense), I yearn for the days when its £400 cost bought a red-eye weekend to Manhattan’s Paradise Garage. Now, there was a hot club!
3 New Burlington St W1 7297 2893
