Ideally, midsummer evenings should be spent lolling on loungers in lush Babylonian roof gardens. In my fantasy Cleopatra world, Nubian slaves fan courtiers with palm fronds, Champagne flows from Nebuchadnezzars and I’m chiselled, bronzed, Mark Anthony - as in Cleo’s bit of Roman rumpy-pumpy, not J-Lo’s scrawny fella. At Vista, the newly enlarged, upgraded, alfresco bar atop the Trafalgar Hilton, the reality is markedly different. As an unseasonably warm spring turns, inevitably, to wet winter in the Shetlands, I could use several of said islands’ woolly pullies. Too cold to hold Midnight at Vista - tonight’s launch party vodkatinis co-ordinating perfectly with my Grey Goose-pimpled flesh - I glower, pit bull-like, at anyone who dares approach the patio heater I’m hogging. Vista boasts stunning views of Trafalgar Square. A less fine prospect, is tonight’s er, warm-up act for Beverley Knight, the main entertainment for the assembled bliggers (bloggers/ liggers). Whose bright idea involved hiring ‘exotic’ (read: tacky) podium ‘dancers’ (read: can’t move for toffee) in swimsuits, heels and floppy hat combos circa Miss Pontins Prestatyn 1972? The charidee bash is supported by a fake tan company but. among the Z-list assembly, TOWIE's Sam Feirs and Harry Shuuut-up-Derbridge’s glows are more Ropez than St.Tropez. To fully appreciate this chic belvedere, go when the sun remembers its job description and Essex is safely holed up at Faces.
Trafalgar Hilton, 2 Spring Gardens SW1 7870 2900
