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The Perfect Soirée

Miss AP’s Diary – The Perfect Soirée

Few places in the world offer as much chance for me to slip upwards into fantasy than within the glittering confines of the Connaught Bar. Deliciously masculine with its heavy leather chesterfield armchairs, its sleek Deco lines and its aggressively megalithic bar, my preferred place to sit is directly in front of said bar, with one eye on the barman and the other on the shadowy exchanges of the other drinkers.

I always order the Martini, of course. It arrives on a black lacquer trolley, pushed by an Italian cocktail barman wearing a single white glove. He gently wafts each essence beneath my nose – lavender, coriander, ginger, cardamom – as if I don’t already know exactly what I want. The rigmarole only draws out the desire. The martinis in the Connaught are stirred, not shaken, in a cut-glass jar using a silver spoon, and as he gently and slowly turns, I uncross and re-cross my legs, allowing my skin to feel the caress of gold-flecked French Leavers lace curving around my hips beneath my dress.

You see, I really only go to the Connaught bar to create the perfect mise-en-scène for my couture lingerie. Couture lingerie is not to be trifled with. When there are pearls dangling down the cleave of your buttocks or Swarovski crystal droplets tickling your nipples, it’s not like pushing a supermarket trolley down the lentils aisle in Waitrose would be wrong, per se, it’s just that such fine garments really do deserve a fitting setting.

Hotel bars offer the chance for anonymity, dangerous liaisons, passionate eye-fucking and the chance to slope off into the night and remain entirely unscathed. And should you choose to take it one step further, then wouldn’t you rather be wearing the very best little flickers of sensuality that money can buy?

Shop the Autumn Winter  2014 SoireeCollection HERE

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