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THE
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‘LIFE.
hey say there’s a book in all of us. Everyone has a story to tell, apparently. The man on the cart who I buy coffee from most mornings, he’s even written one. “It started off as a novel and sort of turned into a philosophical autobiography”. Of course it did, pal. Make mine a flat white with an extra shot, hold the irony. I blame the existential meltdown. Mine’s kicked in like a not-so-mid-life crisis, and its denial manifests in weird observations of people and situations, physically-unnerving drug flashbacks, mental Tourette’s, and a general malaise of nothingness. It’s at its worst on the tube; the heaving, subterranean, concentrated mass of flesh, energy, acute awareness and despair. Throw the pressure of work into the mix – all those ugly expectations that mean a big fat zilch, despite earning some big fat zeros – and you have this ongoing war with yourself that neither side can be arsed to fight. And all I really want to do is relax on a beach with a cocktail. Is that too much to ask? I suppose it’s symptomatic of being a millennial, which is practically a self-fulfilling statement, and the exact kind of inert excuse those born in the 80s would come up with. No one can be bothered to do battle; we can barely be bothered to debate. So while this fictional narrative may be floating about in all of our heads, no one dare put pen to paper for fear of the unknown. Not unless you’re over 35 and own a coffee cart. But there’s nothing more obvious than meeting another hack– especially the ones who take themselves seriously. “Oh wow, you’re a writer too. So am I!” My condolences. These hacks are sick patients in the cultural waiting room, congesting their prose like a pneumonic lung with bilious metaphors and allusions, and indirectly congesting my life with their very being. Perhaps retribution should be my inspira-
STYLE.’
tion; the revenge novel. Either way, now’s the time to start writing, when the turmoil and animosity is seething and rife, not when I’ve turned into my parents and my biggest dilemma is whether to go for the beige or cream valance. In the meantime, however, there is a magazine in me. In fact, there are four a year. This third issue is ovulating with all the things that make the material world worth living in. Smith, your motoring editor, takes a set of four wheels to task, as he reviews the Mulsanne. He also meets up with our publishing director, Robinson, to sample
some prime beef and booze at Hawksmoor. Speaking of which, Robinson takes the McLaren 650S for a spin and ruminates on one of his favourite hotels, 45 Park Lane. Phelan gets her eye lashes sorted and gives her top tips on how not to look like an overworked, hungover zombie in the mornings. Elsewhere, doctors Farrow and Scott give their witty and inimitable account of Berlin, first-time contributor Edgerley looks at this month’s best-dressed celebs, and I tuck a table cloth into my collar and regurgitate my experience of some of London’s top restaurants. Until next time, stay cool, avoid the tube, and don’t start a book. TR
L A I T H A L - K A I S Y, E D I T O R I N - C H I E F T w itter : @ laithalkaisy F ollo w T he R e v ie w on T w itter : @ the R e v ie w
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CONTENTS
INTERVIEW 16. IDRIS ELBA
TRAVEL 74. FARROW AND THE FRAU 76. Roomers Hotel 78. Villa KENNEDY 81. WEINSINN 90. 45 PArk Lane 94. SHANGRI-LA PARIS 96. The loft - paris 100. fouquets barriere 102. Summer Lodge 106. Marine Cafe 108. room with a view
AUTOMOTIVE 24. Mclaren 650s 32. BENTLEY Mulsanne 38. Aston MArtin Rapide-S
TIPPLE 112. THE BACK BAR
PROPERTY & INVESTMENT 82. Wolf Worster
DINING 42. Table manner 46. HAWKSMOOR
CONTENTS
STYLE 64. STEP AND REPEAT 70. BLT 124. WEsc
HEALTH & BEAUTY 68. SKIN DEEP 69. SLUMBER TIPS
EVENTS 126. SECRET CINEMA 128. Salon Prive
CULTURE 50. KEVIN VOLLER 114. DESIGN - LEATHER BOUND 44. Economies of karma 132. Film
TIME 136. GC Watches
TECH 138. TECH ROUND-UP
UP IN SMOKE 122. HUMIDOR THE REVIEW 2014 11
CONTRIBUTORS
Dr PAUL FARROW
AMY McNICHOL
OLIVER SMITH
JAMES CLARKE
DAVID MINNS
TRAVEL & OPINION WRITER
FOOD & TRAVEL WRITER
MOTORING EDITOR
DESIGN WRITER
STYLE EDITOR
In his capacity as Bristol’s Local Tailor, Minns dresses the discerning man at his studio at Hotel du Vin’s Humidor, the home of Brown in Town. Something of a renaissance man, he loves nothing more than waxing sartorial over a fine cigar.
Dr of Neuroscience, MC, game-day player, and all round nice guy. Dr Farrow has been writing for The Review since we all thought the Hadron Collider was a black hole factory.
McNichol has worked across six of the BBC’s titles. She regularly writes for The London Word on all things food and booze related. A former Bangkok dweller and features writer at Thai glossy, Traversing the Orient, she considers herself an expert on (eating) oriental cuisine.
Smith is our very own automotive editor. By day, he is the lead man at Pointer Media looking after an array of prestige and heritage clients. By night... well... just don’t give him cigars and a magnum of champagne. The Hangover doesn’t come close.
Clarke is an accomplished bespoke furniture designer and maker. At the helm of True Bespoke, Clarke is creative director and ensures that only the finest furnishings leave their workshop in Bristol. Having spent the last 20 years fitting out desirable residencies from the South of France to Moscow, Clarke has the right stuff.
GEMMA PHELAN
Dr ELECT LUCY STOTT
PETER J ROBINSON
MILLY EDGERLEY
SARAH MORGAN
TRAVEL EDITOR & PRODUCTION DIRECTOR
FEATURES WRITER
TRAVEL WRITER
Rebel without a cause. Robinson has spent the past six years working in luxury print and publishing. This we feel may of jaded him slightly. He now heads up The Review’s partner video production agency and so you are more likely to find him on set than at an editorial meeting. As travel editor, Robinson has clocked up almost 50’000 miles. We wonder where the air miles go.
Writer of all things fashion, lifestyle and travel, Milly’s work has been featured in Planet Notion, Glass Magazine and on her mum’s fridge amongst other places. Don’t let the sweet and innocent facade fool you though, Milly is a tiger.
An astute marketing professional with over 20 years’ travel, hospitality and leisure campaigning under her belt, Sarah is passionate about the consumer / brand experience. She now works from the other side of the table, have pen will travel.
BEAUTY EDITOR
Aside from reviewing the hottest new beauty products and services, she also runs her own digital marketing agency, DigitalBinx. Phelan has previously worked at the Daily Mirror and Elle Magazine, and is a lover of red lipstick, vintage fashion and ‘oldies’ tag radio.
TRAVEL & OPINION WRITER
Stott, the Aquatic Enigma. When she isn’t riding through her doctorate on the crest of an alcoholic wave, she writes for The Review. Do: paint the town red with her. Don’t: try and make physical contact before 11am.
For a thespian known for his fierce roles, namely as street-wise drug-ring leader Stringer Bell on The Wire, Idris Elba is wacky and self-deprecating in person. Words: ALEXANDRA WRIGHT
I N T E RV I E W : I D R I S E L B A
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hilst knocking back a peppermint tea, he explains that he’s a skilled tap dancer, although has no plans to ever appear on Strictly Come Dancing. “No. There it is,” he says. “It’s a guilty pleasure to watch it”. It’s the first in a line of anomalies about the man, who was born in Hackney, London, in 1972. For instance, despite his acting pedigree, Elba is quite indiscriminate in his viewing habits. He may have won a Golden Globe for his role of the fanatical Chief Inspector John Luther on the BBC series Luther, but when he’s back in the UK, he likes indulging in the same bubblegum TV as the rest of us. “I’ve watched Jersey Shore and Geordie Shore and compared the two. Geordie Shore is about kids from Newcastle. It’s very similar to Jersey Shore, but raunchier,” he analyses. Even Elba’s past in full of surprises. After leaving school in 1988, he won a place in the National Youth Music Theatre, a result of a £1,500 Prince’s Trust grant. Elba then worked various, menial jobs, including work as tyrefitter and cold-call advertising salesman, to earn money between roles. He even did a stint in Crimewatch murder reconstructions. His first proper role came as in 1995, on a series called Bramwell, a medical drama set in 1890s England. His subsequent credits include Absolutely Fabulous, Ruth Rendell Mysteries and The Bill. But Elba truly became a house-
hold name with his film career, most recently in his celebrated role as the eponymous lead in the biopic Mandela. It sounds like you had quite a colourful life before breaking into acting. Tell us about the work you did.
yeah, I’m the guy at the door. That was me. Luther really made you a household name with UK audiences. Did you ever expect it to become such a phenomenal hit?
I was a bartender. I was a DJ most of the time. I did a little door work. I worked at Carolines comedy club in New York, on the door for a while. I worked at Ford Motor Company at Dagenham, East London, making cars for Ford. I’ve been about, man. Acting is the only thing I’ve wanted to do, so I didn’t do any permanent jobs. I just did odd jobs to keep me in the space where I can audition for stuff.”
“No, not at all. To be honest, I was concerned - it was a massive risk. Even though I was popular from an American show [HBO’s The Wire], British audiences hadn’t seen me on TV for at least 10 years, so it was a bit of a risk placing me as the lead of the show. I was definitely surprised at how popular it became. It continues to be popular, especially with worldwide audiences - they’re starting to embrace the show in different countries, especially America.”
You must’ve met a lot of funny and famous people working in Carolines?
Why do you think it’s become such a huge hit in the United States?
“I’m not famous, I’m popular. And that popularity is at a fever pitch at the moment.” Yeah, I was there for a year and change. I had a good time working there. I met all the comedians. It’s funny now, because they’re like “Wait a second. Don’t I know you?” I’m like,
I think the audacity of the show is what really appeals to Americans, and seeing it come from the English, who typically do more tailored TV. Luther plays like an American show but with English characters, and I think that’s part of its appeal there. They’re not seeing stiff upper lip TV, they’re seeing this ballsy six-foot tall black guy kick some arse! Talking of kicking arse, you were recently linked to the James Bond role, when Naomie Harris claimed you had been in talks with producer Barbara Broccoli. ‘’I don’t want to be the black James Bond. Sean Connery wasn’t the Scottish James Bond, and Daniel Craig wasn’t the blue-eyed James Bond, so if I played him, I don’t want
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to be called the black James Bond”. Thinking back to Mandela, what did you say when they first offered you the part? It was definitely ‘no thanks’. It didn’t feel like the right time. I’ve got a career to defend, and I want to be around for a while. If I fucked Mandela up, that’d be the end of me. But talking to the director, Justin Chadwick, I realised that, one, it’s a massive honour, and two, it’s an opportunity to do something different from the average biopic. It was almost an origin story, taking you right back to where he began. Which aspect of Mandela was it most vital for you to get right? The voice. If you’re watching a film about Mandela and the voice is wrong, no matter what the guy looks like, you’re going to be turned off. But if it sounds like him you start to forgive how much I don’t look like him! You even spent the night in a cell on Robben Island, in preparation, right? How did that feel?
It was no fun. They locked me in at about 7:15pm, picked me up at 7:30 the next morning. The security guard left me a cellphone. I opened it, but no fucking signal. And it sounds obvious to say, but there’s no getting out. The guy locks the first gate, asks: “You’re sure you want me to leave? Alright.” Walks about 20 yards, locks a second gate. Another 40 yards, locks a third gate. And I’m thinking ‘fucking hell’. Freedom only becomes sacred when you lose it. So apparently Mandela liked the film? He was very excited by it. He saw a little bit of it before he died. I mean, he’s seen himself in films played by different actors, but this film was entirely dedicated to his life story, and he was fascinated by the detail. He was quite close to the project even though he was very ill. We read somewhere that you relished your role in No Good Deed, as a psycho who tortures a family? Yeah, I have to be careful saying I enjoyed it. Here’s the thing: I just don’t get to play characters like that very often, so it was a nice change for me to play someone that twisted.
How do you get into the mindset of playing a role like that? The script is what the script is. I wanted to find out from people who create these situations, what’s missing in their lives. You and I may have a conscious stop button, and we know what we’re doing is wrong, but this character [Colin] doesn’t have that. I wanted to research that psychosis to understand the people who are in jail for similar scenarios. My research involved looking into the mentality of someone like Colin, a troubled and anxious man on a mission. There are so many common denominators like their upbringing, neglected at child birth, abused as a child by their mum, dad, or siblings, bullying, and they ended up having these similar personalities and didn’t have a conscience. Is it these differing, challenging roles that have made you famous worldwide? I’m not famous, I’m popular. And that popularity is at a fever pitch at the moment. And I’m definitely aware of it. And I’m taking advantage of the opportunities. TR
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THE REVIEW 2013 3
McLaren 6 Words: PETER J ROBINSON
650S
AU T O M O T I V E : M c L a r e n 6 5 0 s
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t’s like a high pitch shriek – a whine, if you will – like someone’s boiling live sparrowhawks in a pan in front of a horrified animal rights activist. I am, of course, speaking of the noise that every single person who took a ride in the McLaren 650S made aloud: a combination of undulated fear and excitement. Cue the Scotchgard seats. The McLaren 650S will take you from your Eames lounger to eyeball-drying speed (60, obviously) in just under three seconds. That’s impressive for anyone (not when compared with anything. Just in general. Full stop). If you’ve never been catapulted to 60 miles-per-hour in less than three seconds, you won’t appreciate what I’m talking about. Let me try and explain. It’s face-melting, as if you’ve discovered a new element and everyone else is just walking around in slow motion, drib-
bling, trying not to fall over. I wish I could be more erudite at this point and show a more cerebral appreciation for the engineering prowess that produced this unicorn. However, the 650S just turned everyone that came into contact with it into a reptile slithering out of the primordial ooze. It was as if a group of cavemen were hopping around a car, shouting “Spee….spee…..spee….speed”. The 650S can hit 60 in 2.8 seconds, see you well into triple digits in 5.9 seconds, and achieve take-off in under 10. A concord moment, indeed. I am thankful that, as a generation, we have a vehicle that we can brag about to our children when they are 16 and on the cusp of malcontent. I remember numerous members of my mother’s groupie entourage banging on in whiskey diatribes: “I saw the Stones at Hyde Park, and I remember the good coke. You’ve got nothing to live for”. Well, you’re wrong, mother. Obviously, many could cite the
Veyron as being a car of concord-like prowess, but it wasn’t a car of my generation, and it does cost both kidneys and a blood diamond. Whereas the McLaren costs £195,250, will retain its value like a Fabergé egg, and be a prized collector’s item in a matter of minutes. If you’ve seen one, you already know, but for those of you reading this without eyes on knowledge, I shall embellish. The 650S does indeed bear a resemblance to the 12C – after all, it uses several body panels and has a similar silhouette. It features unique boomerang headlights, a nod to the P1, and large single air vents on each side. Not to mention the air brake that deploys at a 32-degree angle under downforce or heavy braking. If you want to know that you were showing off, just look in the rear view mirror as you brake, if it rises, you’re probably looking at points. The 650S generates 650 horsepower in PS, all in the name, from a twin-turbo 3.8 litre V8, and with 678 Nm of torque, it really doesn’t
matter what is staring you down at the lights. Having driven back from London to Bristol, I was invited to put the window down in the city centre as a group of teenagers in a VW Golf next to me felt like exchanging vitriolic abuse. Apparently the car was so impressive, it warranted asking me to wind my windows down to receive confirmation that I was indeed a lucky git and should be made aware of the fact. I responded with complete verbal silence, stopping only to put the window back up and leave a Backto-the-Future set of flaming tyre marks behind me. The McLaren 650S is a far better negotiator than I am. So, what is it like to pilot? Well, opening the dihedral doors is an act of theatre. The factory-defined way to enter is much akin to a stop-drop-and-roll procedure, but does leave you transformed from the outside world into a scene from Tron Legacy. A lot of people asked me what it was like to park, expecting the 650S to get into
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its fair share of scrapes when entering and exiting. The reality is that, unless you park against a wall, the doors take up less room than a standard door fitting, making parking in the city a breeze. One thing I can tell you is that, having spent a good few weeks on the Riviera this year, surrounded by lashings of super cars, I didn’t see one McLaren 650S. This tells me that you could well be the first person to impress at Baoli in Cannes next season. Inside the cockpit, an iPad-sized computer screen controls audio, temperature, diagnostics, navigation and bluetooth. The age of manual transmission in super cars is long gone. You can manoeuvre the 650S with two fingers on the squared-off steering wheel. The seven-speed, double-clutch transmission is elegant in its delivery, though not brash. Everything is engineered to put you in full con-
trol with every dial and switch aimed at your fingertips. The interior is, on the whole, quite restrained: McLaren has opted for Alacantara trim with carbon fibre detailing and fine stiching. When I first slipped into the driving seat, it was a little overwhelming to be honest. That might have been because we were at the McLaren Technology Centre, though, and the conviction that I was going to drive it into the lake at Mach 3 was strong. The layout is uber-efficient, with the lion’s share of the controls in a central console and strip between the bucket seats. I honestly felt like I’d landed in the McLaren and was assessing the human weakness before the invasion. God knows what the aliens would want with earth, though. More land to expand the factory and raw materials to build the next generation of super car perhaps.
Let’s look at the 650S road presence. Our motoring editor, Oliver Smith, said to me a few months before we picked it up, “Be careful, okay? This is a game-changer in terms of restraint”. What he was trying to say was, “Look, Pete, we’re all human, but if this car performs like it says it can on paper, you’re likely to need to update your insurance details”. This is nothing to do with the car, of course, and more my level of self-control. He needn’t have worried. The McLaren handles like the tyres are one with the road in some form of Zen-like trance. The adaptive power train, handling modes and the carbon ceramic brakes means that the car does not give an inch. Even when pushed hard. Words should be able to describe it, but they don’t. Go to West Virginia to the Paramount theme park and ride the ‘Flight of Fear’.
That’s the best I can do. To be honest, my self-control was tested. I would be at home late at night and aware that it was sat in the car park – just waiting for me. Maintaining a legal speed felt completely out of character for the car. You could see a gap ahead for an overtake, and within seconds you had made the manoeuvre and had enough time to light your cigar and flick your hair back. The public reaction was, naturally, outstanding. Expect whistles, gawks, and perhaps several phone numbers tucked behind the wiper. The McLaren is as svelte as a tailored suit, as fast as a Barrett 50, and has the stopping power of a ton of bison on speed. The Review team would urge you to refer to it with its new moniker: the Unicorn of Motoring. TR
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.BLT. The formidably styled and fiercely sartorial, Lord of the Trad clan, David The formidably styled andThis fiercely sartorial, of Fox the Trad clan, David Minns. issue, DavidLord visits Brothers & Co.Minns. This issue, David talks about his man crush on Sir Michael Caine. Pictures: MANY Photography: MANY
FOOD : EBRINGTON ARMS
A friend recently introduced me to the new owners of Fox Brothers & Co., the last remaining cloth mill in the south west of England. Accepting an invitation to visit the showroom at their mill in Wellington, Somerset (given that I live just an hour away in Bristol), I was keen to learn more of Fox’s provenance. The mill itself is no longer in its original location, but driving through the country lanes en route, one can see the original Georgian red-brick buildings in the distance – and how majestic they are too. Fox once employed 5000 staff. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the company employed Wellington, as it was, at the time, the largest employer in the area – not dissimilar to Clarks, also in Somerset, whose shoe empire built the village of Street. a Before I’d even entered the reception of the mill, I could hear the clatter-clatter of some original looms, weaving some of the finest cloths in the world. To the front of the mill is tailor Brian Smith’s workshop. Brian was master cutter for Huntsman for many years, but now works his sartorial magic in the surroundings of this mill, which he is very familiar with (tailor’s nirvana?). And there, in the window of Brian’s workshop, was the cloth that had eluded me my entire tailoring career: the Prince of Wales check flannel. Its mix of autumnal-coloured yarns, ever pleasing to the eye, almost brought a tear to mine. And the PoW is not the only true British classic that Fox Brothers produce, as their archives proved. To say I was in my element, perusing the tomes of cloths produced over the past hundred or so years, would be putting it mildly. The selection of wonderful worsteds and flannels (for which Fox are renowned) seemed endless, yet so of the moment. It is encouraging to see a business, founded in 1772, not only flourishing and upholding such timehonoured tradition, but also being so relevant to modern style. Of course, suits are currently enjoying something of a renaissance, and have been for a number of years, but there’s nothing quite like following in the footsteps of some of our greatest sartorial icons. Here are just some of Fox’s discerning and well-known patrons. Cary Grant: Bristolian, Hollywood icon and greatest sartorial inspiration of The BLT’s patrons. Grant favoured Fox’s plain worsteds. Picture Grant and you envisage Fox Brothers cloth. Sir Winston Churchill: esteemed prime minister, political heavyweight and cigar aficionado, Churchill favoured Fox’s chalk stripe flannel cloth. Churchillphiles can not only partake in smoking Churchill’s eponymous cigars, but also acquire his favoured chalk stripe cloth, for use in their very own version of his classic three piece suit. The Duke of Windsor: king, sartorial hero of mine, and once bearer of the title HRH Prince of Wales. Edward VIlI may not have been the namesake of this beloved cloth, but he certainly did much to promote it. So, whether you are a renaissance man (like me) or simply a classic dresser, there is surely nothing more hallowed than sporting a suit made of cloth of such provenance.
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MULSANNE Words: OLIVER SMITH
BENTLEY : MULSANNE
THE REVIEW 2014 33
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o, we’re five up and the speedometer is reading 130mph. I then hear a ‘bing’ and a message appears on the central screen. It reads: ‘Your tyre pressures are too low to safely proceed beyond this speed’. Disheartened, I lift off, feeling that discretion is the better part of valour, only to see another message appear: ‘To reach 170mph, you will need to inflate your tyres to the following pressures’. That really sums this car up. It has a can-do attitude. Chances are, you’ve made your millions by
probably not taking no for an answer. Why then, after shelling out £250,000 pounds on a motorcar, would you want it to tell you ‘no’. You wouldn’t. Instead, like a good gentleman’s companion (think Jeeves or Alfred from Batman), it simply offers you advice. This I feel elevates it from a car to a companion. The model that I tested certainly had a personality. Think Richard Burton meets Keith Richards. A colossal super-luxo barge finished in gold. Inside it has the optional extra of a frosted-glass illuminated panel between the back seats. At the touch of a button, the panel slides down to reveal a refrigerated compartment with space for not one but two bottles of champagne, and not two but three lead crystal champagne flutes. Draw your own conclusions on these numbers. I’m only surprised by the fact that the picnic tables don’t have builtin scales, but I guess at this level, the difference between a kilo or two probably doesn’t matter.
Once the sun has risen, the girls have gone home and the seats have been cleaned, this car will present you in a respectable manner wherever you choose to take it. The Kuwaitis of Knightsbridge will love it, because it’s gold. The curmudgeonly aristos will love it, because ‘Bah! My schoolmaster had a Bentley. Buggered me senseless. Bloody nice bloke’. Joking aside, people love to bemoan the Bentley brand as a footballer’s car, but this isn’t the case. The Continental GT is, I grant you, the transport of choice for poor people with too much money, but you must not overlook what that means. Without the revenue received from the ball-kicking Waynes, Garys and Lees of this world, would Bentley still be able to indulge its few customers with taste, and produce something as magnificent as the Mulsanne? Perhaps not. This car retains its hand-built feel, in a way that is less TVR and
more Chesterfield sideboard. You know that the leather has been hand stitched by a man called Bob and that the drawer for the iPod (you would expect nothing less) is built by a man who lives and dies by the quality of his workmanship. Don’t think, though, that this is some fuddy-duddy old boy’s car. Bentley was always known as the sporting alternative to Rolls Royce, and this car acquits itself so. When you consider that it weighs a little more than the Cotswolds, has more leather than an AC/DC gig, and uses enough wood to raise the price of paper, it really motors. Assuming that you can quench its thirst (this is the Richard Burton element to its character), then it will waft you at indecent speed anywhere that you may wish to go. It’s a beautiful thing that is handsome on the outside and decadent on the inside. It’s everything you could ever want from a companion to live with by day, and to party with by night. TR
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w w w. s a n l o r e n z o m
m o u n ta i n l o d g e . c o m
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RAPIDE S Words: AMBER EDDILSTON
M O T O R I N G : J AG UA R F - T Y P E
A decade ago, if you wanted the sporty number that would turn heads and a model that could run the brood back and forth, you needed a garage that was big enough for two cars. We are, however, looking at a brand new world. A world of genuine four-seater sports cars with posing power to rival the best, and still enough room for the
usual suspects. Introducing the Aston Martin Rapide S. Cue the genuflecting. I tend to affirm my own handle on new models by asking as many people as humanly possible what they think of a car. That is twice as hard when the model in question is an Aston Martin. “What do you think of it David?”
“It’s an Aston Martin, what is there to say?” David did make a good point. Aston Martin have been on the top of their game for a number of years now, and there appears to be no stopping them. Once upon a time, you couldn’t walk five minutes in central London
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without spotting a Bentley or a Porsche. These days Aston Martin has pride of place in the London luxury car market. Aspirations have changed and the ethereal Aston Martin range has become more obtainable. But unlike most brands or products that lose their edge and appeal the minute they become available to the lower echelons of the mass market, Aston Martin is twice as cool as it once was. This year we have driven everything from Aston Martin we could get our ink-stained hands on, and our motoring editor decided it was the turn of the Rapide S.
This is the second Aston Martin I have a pretty SOB. It resembles an angry dagger driven, the first being the V8 Vantage, which flying through the air, as thrown by a sharphas a country mile of differences from the Rapide S. For starters, her sleek lines are just over five meters long. That is a lot of car to wield, especially when lumbered with three additional passengers. I say lumbered, I always manage to leave passengers wobbly and shell shocked during reviews. Perhaps I should wear a sign around my neck that says “I am here to test a car and experience it, not drive to the shops at an idle pace”. Irrespective of whether you are driving solo or with an entourage, the Rapide S is
“Irrespective of whether you are driving solo or with an entourage, the Rapide S is a pretty SOB”
suited Yakuza. I often wondered what the drivers of cars up ahead of me were thinking when it availed itself behind them. Possibly jealousy, perhaps fear; either way, everyone gave it the respect it demands and moved. The price tag as tested was £154,155, which considering the Pandora’s box of upgrades it is serious value for money. Under the bonnet, you’ll find the large, hadron collider of engines, a 6.0 litre V12. If size matters, then the Rapide S is the personification of the metaphor. Whilst the engine is the size of a bison, it fits mostly behind the front axle, so the weight distribution is on point.
As it generates 550bhp, your guests will wonder whether there’s still time to update their insurance policies. ‘Quick’ doesn’t just do it justice. The interior is sublime and resembles a leather-clad study. Each occupant is cocooned in leather with mirror finish piano black detailing. If you are considering a four-seater sports car, opt for the carbon exterior pack. It comes with a front splitter, rear diffusor, mirror caps and rear lamp infills, all in carbon fibre. The Rapide S cranks out the power, pushing the weighty Aston with real
purpose when you give it the fully-fledged beans. It is a V12, so the engine notes won’t be akin to that of a V8 Vantage or DB9, but you’re here for the occupancy and the thrill. The concern is that it feels more and more comfortable the faster you push it. Perhaps put aside this year’s bonus for the inevitable fines. I don’t know what power animal you would have the Rapide S saddled up next to, but in my opinion, it’s a shark, pure and simple. I challenge you to find something in the market with as much punch and as pleasing on the eye. It can’t be done. TR
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Table Manner Words: LAITH AL-KAISY
Aqua Shard, London
Culturally-speaking, I can’t get over The Shard. London’s midlife crisis is a monument to all that is shit in this schizophrenic city. It’s like that one-night stand who you never want to see again. You were drunk, everything was new and exciting, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. The Shard is the punchline to a bad joke, a phallic eyesore, a backward child’s first bash at Lego. It just sits there, arcane and dementedly futuristic, like a sex toy the Wizard of Oz conjured for Glenda, the Good Witch of the South. But just like the Tardis, once you’re inside, the exterior’s anti-aesthetic is temporarily forgiven. It’s unexpectedly small – so more like an inverted Tardis – and there’s more security and staff than a TSA Christmas party. Indeed, there are more people fluffing and frisking you than there are guests. Everyone is a suspect, everyone is vetted, as if we’ve all just arrived on an inbound flight from South America without passports and an arse full of cocaine. It’s all
hi-vis smiles and hi-vis jackets. You’ll never be so relieved to step into a lift. Your ears will pop on the journey up, but don’t worry: barotrauma is the twentyfirst century seal of quality. It’s the furthest away from the working class that you can get without getting a nose bleed. Aqua is certainly glamorous. You’ll feel like a star for the night – and pay for it too. But, as I always say, restaurants are less ‘can we afford to go there’ and more ‘can we afford not to’. The lofty windows give an appropriate sense of grandeur without being too pretentious. The décor is utterly inoffensive, more corporate than conspicuous, a palette of plains, pastilles and creams. The food is the complete opposite. My veal tongue was perfectly decent piece of muscle, ever so thinly sliced, and tasting like every cheap cut should in a place like this: like a prime cut. Fois gras and duck was the better of the two, though, beautifully pressed, unctuously smooth and smacking of iron. Steaks are only served one of two ways:
good or bad. The rib-eye here is unimpeachable, to the point of showing off. The produce is well-sourced, the cooking is even, and the marbled fat melts on the tongue like butter on a hotplate. Bovine brilliance. Her venison was served buxom and blushing, the way it should be. As with any good deer, it tasted ruddy and wild, like eating an eccentric old aunt. On the side was mash and broccoli with stilton, both of which were well-chosen and well-married to the dishes. Well done us. We finished with an egg custard tart and two spoons. I’m not sure why. It’s very unlike me to order a comfort pudding, but I’m glad I did. It was like every silken adjective that perfectly-set custard exudes. It may come as a surprise to hear this, but the most refreshing thing about Aqua is the food. You’re not paying for the Shard, the views, or to be in the company of folk who piss money. You’re paying for great looking dishes that taste like the people who made them actually give a damn.
D I N I N G O U T : TA B L E M A N N E R
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The Smokehouse, N1 2DG
‘If it starts to rain, you can’t come inside,’ snapped our waitress obnoxiously, as she sauntered off into the restaurant. If there’s a more misjudged opening line, I’d like to hear it. ‘Well, if it starts to rain, we won’t be paying the bill.’ It’s a bumpy start to a rodeo service at The Smokehouse, Islington. Having recently moved to the area, I’ve discovered that the locals have less choice than a North Korean at a ballot box. London flows east to west, not north to south, so trying to find a reliable longitudinal restaurant that isn’t Byron Burger, Brown’s or The Smokehouse is like looking for a hooker on the Bible Belt. Islington has a cosmo-bohemian charm and doesn’t seem to suffer the embarrassment of being fashionable or cool. It’s easy to see why a restaurant like The Smokehouse would pitch a tent here: instead of luring punters to the more expensive parts of town, it brings the same aesthetic and prices to their doorstep. Just one problem – or should I say two problems: the service and the food. The Smokehouse is nauseatingly selfconscious, and tries desperately hard to balance epicurean ideas with pull-up-a-haystack dining. But no one wants to marry the
bucolically-charming slapper, even if she’s wearing an expensive dress and has good table manners. Speaking of manners, try finding a seat you’re actually allowed to sit in: the empty tables that line the roadside aren’t available for food service, despite being far more ergonomic for shovelling bombastic forkfuls into your naïve gob. The menu reads like the evidence of a blind man’s shoplifting spree. It’s soulful American meets soulless Korean – or is it the other way around? Either way, the outcome is a lamentable mess; a picnic of foreignisms and ingredients with xenophobic relationships. I’m not sure what’s more worrying about the chopped brisket roll with gochujang: its woefully misguided east-meets-west execution, or the fact it was recommended as the chef’s special. Let me assure you, there was nothing special or chefy about it. The crumb casing, though golden and brittle, was absent of any kind of seasoning. And for a place that so righteously calls itself ‘The Smokehouse’, the waitress may as well have slapped me around the face with a raw piece of beef. There’s simply no pride and too much ego: the beef was a tragic waste of cow – flavourless and drier than Gandhi’s flip-flop. More care had been put into the loquacious menu description than the actual dish.
Now, think back to a time you ate mussels: a mound of steaming, amber crustaceans, swimming in a tide of white wine and shallots, all served in a big, black cauldron. So, imagine the jaw-dropping disgust when roughly fifteen insipid-looking mussels turned up on a dinner plate, dehydrated, yearning for more than the puddle of watery nothingness they’d drowned in. Roughly five of the blighters were still closed, so shouldn’t have even been on the plate, and the rest were greyer and slimier than a smoker’s morning cough. This supposed main course didn’t even arrive with bread to mop up the sauce, and was priced at an extraordinarily offensive £12.50 – almost £1 per mussel. I’ve had triple, quadruple the amount of mussels for half that price before – and they were edible. The waitress came and took the barelyeaten dishes, seemingly without any surprise or acknowledgment. Did we order anything else? No. We paid the bill and went elsewhere to eat. Some restaurants are joyless and forgettable, but The Smokehouse is a morality play, a join-the-dots guide of how not to run a restaurant. It wants to be to be an understated neighbourhood joint, like the Hand & Flowers or the Harwood Arms, but it’s actually an egregious waste of money and desperately in need of a culinary intervention. Avoid like your appetite depended on it. TR
HAWKSMOOR - CHELSEA Words: PETER J ROBINSON
As someone that spent almost a year living in central London, I don’t consider myself an insider or an outsider. I sort of declare guerrilla warfare on London once a month, opting for a skirmish campaign of fast cars, drinking and debauchery all crammed into one night. Then, having enacted my raucous campaign of lavish and salacious behaviour, I retreat with the spoils of war, back to sleepy and secluded Somerset. Usually with a weighty hangover in tow and a dent in the Dunhill wallet. London, for me, is a good time girl, a fille de joie, enjoyed that much more due to my fleeting relationship in her gin-soaked bosom. Arguably one of the finer places to empty ones wallet is Knightsbridge. So having spent the day drinking my body weight in Pommery at Salon Prive with your motoring editor, the debonair Oliver Smith, we made our way to the newly opened Hawksmoor on
Yeomans Row. One thing that I found very awkward, Smith convinced me to walk to the restaurant from our hotel near Regents Park. For those of you that don’t routinely ‘walk’ across London – and let’s face it, who the bloody hell does – the journey was over four miles of rage-inducing plodding on a stomach of lobster and champagne. “What the hell are we doing this for?” I winged. “It’s good for you,” replied Smith. “You’re scared of the tube, aren’t you?” I asked wryly. “I am not scared of the tube, I merely choose to avoid it due to an aversion to….. well, people”. I can’t blame Smith’s lack of lustre towards the herding instinct of the London underground. But there was obviously a savvy alternative, had he informed me of his aversion towards the general populace. We could have simply booked a hotel in Knightsbridge. The Mandarin and the
Jumeirah are both lovely options, I thought, as I wiped the sweat from my brow, already five minutes late for our reservation. Still, I agreed to walk with Smith. We got as far as the Dorchester before he agreed to flag down a taxi for fear of missing our reservation. Sadly, there was no canister of oxygen or strip of raw silk to dab my beading brow aboard. From the outside, Hawksmoor is fairly unassuming, due to two factors. Firstly, they are creating a mystique through their unpretentious facia, and secondly, property costs in Knightsbridge at ground level make even the analysts at Credit Suisse shed a costly tear. As we strolled down the staircase, a rich atmosphere of (no doubt well-marbled) meat and fine wine was emanating at a rate from the restaurant’s cavernous underbelly. Designers Macaulay Sinclair have done a
D I N G I N G O U T : H AW K S M O O R
fine job attending to the art deco flourishes, grey marble, brass lamps, walnut veneer and a wine cellar that could give Rudd and the Brothers Berry a run for their money. Having arrived a little late, we decided that it is only fair to ask the maître d if the table was still available. “It is, but you are most welcome to take your time and enjoy an aperitif at the bar”. I only asked in case they had given the table away and now wanted us to wait for a little while until another table became available. Of course they hadn’t – perish the thought – but they were far more relaxed about our arrival time than I was. With this we decided that an anti-fogmatic was the way forward to open the eyes a little and ease the joints post-schlep across London. The Marmalade Cocktail was originally created by the lionised Harry Craddock of Savoys notoriety, who suggested that such an elixir be drunk before 11am or whenever
steam and energy were needed. They were. Three or four later (and after three, who’s counting), we took our seats and began the process of whittling down the menu to a handful of well-intended choices. To my horror, Smith wasn’t an oyster fan. He said he had never experienced them and enjoyed them. This record required immediate setting straight. “Six fried please”. I opted for Imperial Caviar, as we know it is ethically farmed in Finland, so it is less about how it tastes and more its presentation and culinary accoutrements. Smith did his best to entice me into sharing the chateaubriand, but I was already taken by the rib-eye. To my surprise, the chef offered to present him with a half portion – no knives, no tantrum, all very straightforward. Creamed spinach and a Doddington caesar salad seemed like appropriate accompaniments on this carnivorous-centred
evening. Having put the game in play, we reclined with a bottle of the sommelier’s fancy. It was at this point that I realised that all the staff, like the maître’d, were not wearing any kind of uniform. They were all smartly dressed but not a waistcoat or tie amongst them. I thought back to the uniformed jobs I had worked when I was in my twenties. Would any of them had been given more sweat and toil had I not been given a uniform to wear? How would I have known my place so that a thirty-something manager could enact his entrenched and myopic revenge on the middle-classes? The answer: I wouldn’t have. I would have acted with a free-thinking libertarian spirit that would have seen my place of employment burn to the ground. I am a rare breed, though, the sort of man that occasionally wants to see the world burn. But enough of my pre-starter musings and
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unorthodox vernacular; there was caviar and oysters to gorge upon. I must confess to something at this point: I had never tried fried oysters, but assumed that Smith might well prefer them if they were breaded in some way. An opinion entirely formed from being raised on healthy – and I mean healthy – foods by my mother. Of course, it meant that I saw anything battered or breaded as a delicacy until I was 15. The fried oysters with devilled tartare were immense, however. I only managed one out of the six as Smith’s claw-like hands and prodigious appetite trawled the plate. After consuming an undisclosed, but perfectly-legal-to-drive amount of champagne and cocktails, our first real meal of the day vanished with some ferocity. I, of course,
took my time over my caviar. So much so that when all was done and the napkin placed, I still had three drinks on rotation. By this point, I cannot tell you what we discussed, although I am sure it was all done with a view to brevity. I do recall Smith finding the localised table of city boys quite trying at times, though. We wondered how they had matriculated so far from the home-base of the Wharf. As one larger gent quaffed his 1966 Beychevelle, I was reminded of fellow fictional city worker Van Patten: “They don’t have a good bathroom to do coke in”. American Psycho, the very epitome of greed in the 80s, but greed, for lack of a better word, is good, and so on with the rib-eye and chateaubriand. As I took my first bite and made a face
that I’m sure even cavemen made when eating a decent leg of boar, I was taken back to every time I have enjoyed a fine steak, great company and a full bodied red. There are some things in life that surpass all others. Dining out in a redoubtable restaurant that prides itself on originality and caters for both ends of the egalitarian spectrum is arguably one of them. Hawksmoor announced it will be opening an operation in Manchester in 2015 to add to its five existing eateries. I will do my best between now and then to assess the culinary workings of each of the brand’s locations, and I urge you to do the same. Having had our fill of all that is holy at Hawksmoor, we tripped the light fantastic in search of a gin joint for cigars and revelry. TR
VOLLER At 27, Kevin Voller is one of our youngest contributors to date. Age is nothing but a number though. Kevins work draws out real depth and character reminiscent of Dennis Stock. Kevin was born in blighty but headed for the curtural enclave of Bordeaux. He has shot internationaly for multiple agencies and brands and is carrying the torch for the British photographer.
C U LT U R E : K E V I N V O L L E R
MODEL - BECCI HILTON MUA/HAIR - Nicola Iles STYLIST - EMMA COLE
TIM WALLACE
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Influences I have always enjoyed and held a deep interest in a wide spectrum of photographic genres and this was cemented whilst studying it University where I really discovered my overriding passion for fashion photography. I was thrown into a world where the likes of Nick Knight, Tim Walker, Miles Aldridge, Rankin, and Kristian Schuller were producing incredible works. I realised that, if I could come even close to the quality of work they were producing, I would be beyond content.
STYLE I love having the opportunity to photograph people wearing incredible clothes, but also the process of stripping down to the basics to get more out of the models. I am really interested in what goes into the creation of garments and enjoy meeting designers who are oozing with passion for their craft. Shooting for numerous model agencies has given me the opportunity to work with some real talents and I still get a rush from walking into an agency and seeing who could potentially be the new faces of the fashion world. This element of working with fresh talents and within different environments and situations drives me creatively, to the point where I want to actively seek new working scenarios and continue polishing my own developing style. I really relish the chance to experiment with lighting as well, and love to see how different effects can drastically change the look and feel of an image. Planning the lighting frameworks prior to the actual shoot is a crucial element for me, as it’s so pivotal for the outcome of the finished photograph. After completing university, I was lucky enough to be able to travel the world. Having clocked up 50 countries to date, it has allowed me to observe different cultures and visualise and understand how images in other countries are represented and has definitely played a significant part in my photographic journey to date. I really enjoy all the elements that go into producing a piece of work. From the initial decisions of the theme and style to then deciding on the best team for the shoot. It takes a whole team to create really outstanding work, and fortunately I’ve had the pleasure and good fortune to work with some really talented individuals
who know what they are doing. After all the initial plans are in place and the shoot occurs, it’s a great feeling when you see everything happening as planned and the images come through as you’d imagined. The process, for me, is having strong team members who share your vision. I like to shoot as close as possible to how I want the final product to turn out and having dedicated people who know their roles really helps save extensive time in post. I much prefer to be looking forward to the next project than spending unnecessary time re-touching raw images to overcome untidy hair, make-up and styling errors. My most recent project was with a group of up-and-coming designers from Bordeaux. We shot on location and, although it was very cold, the models were very professional through out the whole of the shoot. We had six models for the day and a few of the designers, with additional make-up artists and hair stylists all collaborating to create some strong final pieces. My kit is pretty straightforward and I generally shoot with only one or two lights if I’m using strobes. I’ve been using Bowens for years now and can’t fault them, but I also love to shoot with natural light and play around with reflectors to create different, more natural looks. Camerawise, I’m pretty set with Canon, as I started my digital journey with them and they’ve been solid throughout. I shoot with their prime lenses and I know they will deliver the exceptional quality I am looking for. So far, living in France has been great. I had previously spent a lot of time here before moving over and really like and enjoy the lifestyle. There are a lot of opportunities here to really get involved within the French fashion scene. I can’t imagine moving back to the UK just yet, as I still have a lot to experience. I sometimes feel the need to stretch further a field and would love to spend some time in New York. Doing a job that you’re constantly excited about has to be the biggest benefit for me in being a photographer. When I’m not shoot-planning or retouching, I am constantly looking at fresh work being produced by both renowned and new photographers whose work I really enjoy. The biggest downside is not being able to shoot as often as I’d like and having to devote time covering the other aspects that are essential in running a successful business. I really enjoy being able to shoot personal work, but having a balance with commercial work is essential. I’m a strong believer of the ideal that shooting personal work is of benefit to ongoing production of commercial works as it provides scope
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for experimentation and testing out new ideas and styles that you can apply to future works. The list of models I’d love to shoot could fill a magazine. It’s great being able to meet and photograph French fashion models at the moment and I’m always excited to see which models the agencies propose to me when we are discussing shoots. At the moment, I am looking at doing a few different personal projects that will provide the springboard creatively for shoot protocols that will assist me in understanding what is required to create beautiful, well-crafted products. I am currently combining different ideas together – to look at how watches are produced, the design and creation of sunglasses, and trying to understand what it takes to create perfectly tailored clothes for men. It’s exciting to be moving forwards on these projects, as it will give me a deeper understanding of the craftsmanship behind the products. Alongside this, I am looking forward to hopefully spending lots more time in Paris, meeting with different designers and other creative people.
MODEL - Charlotte Roest-Ellis HMUA - SOPHIE MOORE JEWELLERY - Alicia Moore
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MODEL - EVE
MODEL - EVE
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MODEL - AMY BOWERS HMUA - Gemma Everett
MODEL - ANTHONY
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MODEL - AMY BOWERS Make up and Hair - Lisa-maria Thomas
MODEL - Charlotte Roest-Ellis HMUA - GEMMA EVERETT
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AN
E L E G ANT
PERFORMANC E
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Official fuel consumption figures for Maserati Quattroporte range in mpg (l/100km): Urban 16.2 (17.4) – 36.2 (7.8), Extra Urban 33.2 (8.5) – 54.3 (5.2), Combined 23.9 (11.8) – 45.6 (6.2). CO2 emissions 274 – 163g/km. Fuel consumption and CO2 figures are based on standard EU tests for comparative purposes and may not reflect real driving results.
Q U A T T R O P O R T E
www.maserati.co.uk
STEP AND REPEAT REPEAT Words: MILLY EDGERLEY
WHO Olivia Palermo WHERE Michael Kors shoW NYFW Consistently touted as the epitome of laidback chic, Olivia Palermo upheld her style credentials at the Michael Kors show at NY fashion week. Pairing a neutral midi skirt with a fawn button down shirt from the Kors collection with a statement necklace and a tousled side plait, Palermo’s western-inspired look was nothing less than you would expect: refined and perfectly pulled together. Using contrasting textures and fringing referenced in S/S15 offerings from Proenza Schoeler and Etro, Palermo shows how to manifest some of the season’s influences, as chic and relaxed daywear. Unfailing on-trend Palermo is one of a very select few who could incorporate tassels, suede and leather into one outfit whilst maintaining an aura of effortless elegance.
S T Y L E : S T E P A N D R E P E AT
WHO Amanda Seyfried WHERE When we were young premier Floral is making a bold statement for S/S15 and Amanda Seyfried’s colourful offering at the When we were young premier referenced this perfectly. Pairing her Valentino floral dress with a pop of pink lipstick and girlish braids, Seyfried paints the freshest of pictures, the perfect antidote to those who argue that florals are a banal choice for spring.
WHO EMMA STONE WHERE MAGIC IN MOONLIGHT PREMIER Reminding us why the LBD is a perennial fashion favourite, Emma Stone encapsulated the mood of the roaring twenties whilst retaining a thoroughly modern edge in this Chloe dress from the Resort Collection. Vintage elements such as the drop waist and finger-wave hairstyle are cleverly updated with the addition of a sheer guipure dotted skirt and a fringe trim around the bodice that feels reminiscent of the paillettes seen at Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton of late. Velvet ‘Pensamoi’ Louboutins with red flower embellishments and an emerald take on a smoky eye keep the look youthful. With more than a touch of old-world glamour, Stone proves that vintage style still has a place in every modern wardrobe.
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WHO KATE BOSWORTH WHERE NEW YORK CITY No one does off-duty cool better than Kate Bosworth, and this look is no exception. Distressed jean shorts and a slogan sweatshirt might sound like an easy combination, however there’s more to this seemingly effortless look than meets the eye. Consider the perfect length of those distressed shorts and the choice of a lightweight sweater in monochrome that keeps the look intentional rather than ‘I actually woke up like this.’ The addition of man-repeller sandals, a sharp leather clutch and aviators finish this insouciant take on New York street style.
WHO KEIRA KNIGHTLEY WHERE TORONTO FILM FESTIVAL As the face of Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle perfume and owner of some pretty fine bone structure, it’s safe to say we know Keira Knightley can do ‘classic’. A red carpet favourite, we are accustomed to seeing her sporting plenty of lace, tulle and delicate embellishment galore. So it was refreshing to see a rather more playful ensemble at the Toronto Film Festival. Yes, the dress is still Chanel, but this felt like a youthful expression of the brand with colourful print and textured motifs. Whilst the cute collar hints at the influx of collars from Alexander Wang to Dior, this reinvention in tweed feels refined. Pairing this with shiny grey kitten heels and even shinier hair kept the look elegant and proved that Kiera can do both evening and day with aplomb.
WHO Suki Waterhouse WHERE Vogues Fashion Night Out Taking the classic combination of a subtle colour block dress and white duster coat, Waterhouse channelled her usual mod-girl cool with a clever use of accessories. Whilst leopardprint brogues added a punky accent, a painted Burberry tote provided a welcome pop of colour to the classic monochrome staples. A pale lip and heavy brow further evoked the modern take on the sixties London girl that Waterhouse does so well. Imagine this outfit with the expected stiletto and red lipstick combo and it suddenly becomes much less desirable. Perhaps this is what makes Waterhouse’s style so covetable. It’s unexpected, retro, yet utterly current and ultimately what you wish you’d worn instead.
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B E AU T Y : L A S H I N G O N
Deep Skin
Every girl dreams of that Princess Aurora type beauty, the type of beauty that exists on waking. No need for brushes, blenders or mascara wands, no slipping back into bed beside him after that secret 6am touch-up. Lash extensions are one step closer to achieving this and I’m pretty sure, if she were real, Princess Aurora would be one of Lash Lab’s clients. Words: GEMMA PHELAN The salon is pretty tricky to find, but well worth the search. Off Brick Lane, go under the archway, into the courtyard, Lash Lab is directly on your left, through the door and up the stairs to the third floor. Phew! The treatment room was neutrally decorated and unpretentious, with a comfy looking therapy bed to the far left. After a refreshing glass of water, Pui Ying, my therapist, set out to establish what kind of look I was trying to achieve. I didn’t want to look like someone who’d just walked off the set of TOWIE, so we decided natural-look Russian lashes would be best on this occasion. Russian lash extensions are lighter and finer than other extensions, meaning multiple lashes can be applied without looking OTT, damaging the lash or feeling too heavy and unnatural for the wearer.
The treatment took around 90-minutes and wasn’t painful at all, although you do have to be the non-fidgeting type during application. Pui and I chatted beauty throughout. I learned just how much training, time and passion goes into becoming an eyelash therapist at her level. Lash Lab certainly isn’t your average beauty salon, manned by 20-year-old graduates, where clients need to cross all their fingers and toes and hope for a good job. Every application is done with top-level precision, so it’s not surprising that Lash Lab is frequented by top celebs and music talent. The result was exactly what I’d hoped for. Natural-looking but obviously a lot fuller than when I walked in the door. I worried that I’d be able to feel the lashes or maybe they would obstruct my vision as single-wear
sets do, but they felt entirely my own. I was told not to get the lashes wet or apply any oil or make-up remover for 24 hours. On leaving, Pui armed me with a lash wand to tidy the lashes of a morning, as mascara would no longer be necessary. I felt immediately more glamorous and had the urge to flutter my lashes at everyone I walked past on the way home. There are significantly more lashes per natural lash with Russian lashes, so they tend to last longer before needing a refill. The lashes lasted an incredible 10 weeks before I noticed a couple may have fallen out. During those 10 weeks, I decided neither eyeshadow or eyeliner were necessary either – my eyes were sufficiently accentuated by my new lashes. One step closer to that Disney princess morning beauty. TR
HOW TO
FAKE
a Good Night’s Sleep
As the winter nights and dark mornings draw in, we must be prepared for those times when sleep doesn’t come naturally. Regardless what time I go to bed or wake up, when it’s pitch black outside I can’t help but feel like I’ve drunk a bottle of wine instead of a mug of milk before bed. The good news is that there is a way to look refreshed and awake – even if your sleep schedule is all screwed up. Words: GEMMA PHELAN
1. Shut down. Before going to sleep,
shut down all electronics, TV, computer and, yes, your iPhone. These all are stimulants for the brain, and if you’re answering emails in bed at midnight, you’re going to have a difficult time getting to sleep. No more deciding to go to bed at 10pm, watching TV until 11pm, and then scrolling through Facebook until the early hours.
2. Get up! Once the alarm goes off,
get out of bed immediately. Snoozing is not sleep; it’s just prolonging the inevitable. I have a strategy where I count
down from ten, and then pull myself upright whilst thinking about coffee.
3. Now
that you’re up – do something. Try a morning workout to get motivated and feel energised for the day. Take a quick run or hit an early morning spin class. Be sure to challenge yourself first thing and then see how much easier your morning commute feels.
4. Hydrate.
Great-looking skin isn’t just about what you put on it, but also what you put in your body. Drink a
glass of ice water or hot lemon water. This will not only give you a kick in the morning, but also helps hydrate skin, leaving it looking and feeling refreshed.
5. Do NOT skip breakfast.
You’ve worked out, you’ve hydrated, you’re looking gorgeous. Why deny your body the nutrients it needs to keep it looking and feeling refreshed. Grab yourself a banana or a piece of rye bread, as this will keep you fuelled up for longer than sugary cereal or white toast. TR
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.BLT. THE
The formidably styled and fiercely sartorial Lord of the Trad Clan, David The formidably styled andlooks fiercely sartorial Lord of the Trad Clan, Minns. This issue, Minns takes power dressing in his stride. David Minns. This issue, Minns talks about automotive attire. Pictures: MANY Pictures: MANY Words: DAVID MINNS Words: DAVID MINNS
W
B LT : T H E R U L E S
hile I may not be a car fanatic, there’s certainly a car of choice: the Porsche 356 (C or A), of which there is a gleaming example spitting distance from the Brown in Town shop in the Bonhams marquee at this year’s Goodwood Revival - a car I wholeheartedly intend procuring when the time is right. But that time is not now. For the uninitiated, the Goodwood Revival is a nostalgic celebration of all things pre-1966, when the circuit was reopened, following its closure in the wake of Stirling Moss’s near-fatal crash in 1962. Of course, given that we have recently become parents of our second child, I fully appreciate that the time is now to invest in a ‘family car’. It is with some embarrassment that I confess to searching for our new stead using the following criteria – and in this order. Boot capacity: it’s a sign of the times when this takes precedent over engine capacity. Colour: about which there was quite some debate with Saffron Darby regarding which colours we both considered to be acceptable, tasteful and befitting. It transpired there was only one: black. And finally, enough pulling-power to take all of the Darby-Minns clan to and from London every month for our residency at the Hoxton Hotel, without wanting for more on the straights, around corners, or the on/off ramps! Not to mention good looks, naturally. And you’d be forgiven for thinking that, having driven from Bristol to Chichester with the family Darby-Minns in tow, driving another mile following the set-up of one’s shop at the Goodwood Revival, would be the last thing on one’s mind. That is unless you are driving to Lewes with the promise of one’s favourite tipple (Harvey’s Best Bitter), and the opportunity to spin some vinyl at the local with your muckers, who all moved to East Sussex when I moved to Somerset(!?). But the opportunity to drive cross-country, along the winding country lanes of the A272, in your new family car – an Octavia VRS estate, which pulls in all six gears and corners like she’s on rails – is not a hard sell. Indeed, there’s nothing quite like taking in the sights and sounds of some of the most picturesque countryside that Blighty has to offer – and at a time of the day when there are few road users to share the journey with, when the sun is low in the sky, and there is nothing but you and the open road. Heaven. Aside, that is, from arriving back at the Goodwood circuit the following morning, when mist is rising from the ground, and the inimitable smell of Castrol R hangs in the air as some of world’s finest motor-racing engines give one of England’s oldest circuits a run for its money. In fact, I would go so far as to say that nostalgia (for me anyway) is the smell of Castrol R. Nothing quite conjures childhood images than watching Formula One at Brands Hatch with my father and brother in the late 70s. Understandably, sitting in the queue to the circuit on the Friday morning, bumper to bumper with the great and the good of British and American classic cars, I felt a little out of place in my gleaming new automobile. Nothing quite beats the sound, the smell and the beauty of a classic car, and where better than to see the best the world has to offer than at the Bonham’s Goodwood Revival Sale.
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But it was only in one’s wheels that I felt a little out of place – not in one’s attire: Bristol’s Local Tailor may not wear (or indeed drive) vintage, but he certainly dresses vintage. Friday: double-breasted pinstripe suit cut from Harrisons of Edinburgh, and it doesn’t get any more vintage than that (the mill was founded in 1863 by Sir George Harrison). Saturday: three-piece tweed suit cut from cloth sourced from the London’s oldest remaining cloth merchant, Crescent Trading in the East End. Sunday: separates of blue blazer cut from Porter & Harding Glorious Twelfth, grey slacks cut from Dugdale Bros. worsted. Wool ties courtesy of Anthony Haines, and shoes from Cheaney. All British heritage brands in their own right. Take the Bonhams auctioneers, for example, whose double breasted suits were tailored by Brown in Town, and cut from a British worsted grey chalk stripe from Pederson & Becker, replete with pleated trousers and turn-ups, which paid homage to the style of the day, and looked as vintage as the cars in their auction, but which would also cut a dash on Old Bond St. home of Bonhams HQ. And how befitting to have these suits cut from cloth which has stood the test of time. Cloth which would certainly have been
used in the making of some of the clothes which we have trawled vintage outlets and thrift stores up and down the country for during this vintage renaissance. Although the theme of Goodwood is one of vintage appeal, I would proffer that it’s not necessary to raid the wardrobes of your forebears in order to look the part. Though many do – and why not. However, I would suggest that it is entirely possible to create your chosen look by having something personally tailored for you. Radical, I know, but a small investment if you are to attend such an event, as so many do, each and every year. Moreover, if you will make use of it year round, as some of Bonham’s guests from the Netherlands do, who are some of the best dressed I have ever come across, and who apparently have never given up the use of their own tailors. Hitherto, I would suggest that it’s simply a case of reflecting on one’s sartorial period of choice, giving some thought to the colours which you believe to be most appealing, and finding a tailor who is inspired by our sartorial past, but is not afraid make a suit which is as current as it is vintage in its inspiration. But above all, a suit that makes you look your very best, in order to impress. You rang?! TR
and the
Words: DR ELEC
“We’re eating lard.” My inebriated whisper hisses in the first of my voice memos as I begin to type up my Jumeirah notes on the plane. I’m in a BA business class seat, but alas not the business class zone thanks to a hastily installed curtain in front of me, but it’s fine because I am sipping on a 50:50 G&T and blearily fantasising over my and Paul’s trip to Frankfurt. Email thedoctors@thereview.co.uk for a copy of the audio file, I’m a hoot (see if you can hear Paul’s faintly-audible eye rolling). “Here are your breads served with lard,” said the waiter. This was not a problem with translation; we really were being served a pot of the Vaseline-textured paste. I am not ashamed to tell you that I have often longed to dip a heel of homemade bread into the sloppy remnants of my Mother’s bacon pan. Here I was being asked to do exactly that, and it was sluttishly as good as I’d hoped. I normally avoid dining in the restaurants of hotels I stay in, as it usually entails not leaving the same building for 24+ hours. Nevertheless, we had agreed to supper at Max on One, the highly acclaimed restaurant adjoining the Jumeirah, and had expertly chosen the 6-course menu degustation with paired wines. Max on One is open, high and spacious with a show-kitchen, and has a glass atmosphere-controlled room in the centre that looks like it might rise up like the great glass elevator. Except this elevator was full of nice old wines and horrible old oligarchs, sneering at the sommelier and verifying vintages. Incidentally, if you have ever been tempted to hoist your metal sink drying rack above your heads in the dining room to suspend pretty wine glasses and fairy lights from, do it; they have the larger and presumably more fashionably designed version here, and it looks great. “Let’s give these a go!” came a holler from the wine greenhouse, and our eyes met a smartly dressed buck carrying two wine bottles to the oligarchs sitting on the table behind us. After we exchanged a brief ‘hello’ (where he must have sensed the wine aura radiating from my head), he came back to our table exclaiming “these are all for you!” Three bottles. I win. This exuberant wine God is Fernando, the Max on One’s Spanish/German sommelier. I plead you make sure he is there when you dine. You will hear him before you see him. He personally visits suppli-
T R AV E L : T H E D O C T O R S
in Frankfurt
CT LUCY STOTT
ers, counting them among his friends, rendering the knowledge he has of his wines and liquors invaluable, which makes for a good story upon service. The first three courses were each paired with a different Riesling and was the sort of wine tasting experience I love and learn from. First arrived Nebraskan beef tartar from the States, which I genuinely thought tasted American, paired with a Riesling produced in tandem with the restaurant and only available here. I was impressed, and infinitely more so when Fernando slipped a sneaky bottle into the empty seat beside me. The following soup course was a favourite of mine – truffle cream poured over a mountain of egg white foam that crackled as it warmed. Then salmon and its eggs paired with the sweetest of the Reislings. Swallowing a quick sip of red wine is like reading a long poem in 2 lines; Fernando eloquently educated us in order to decelerate my rouge tasting. Meanwhile we are being served two hunks of basically raw beef fillet in a pool of blood beetroot jus. Now he really starts showing off, as he serves us a 1983 black sherry, which tastes like Christmas pudding in liquor form, perfectly paired with blue cheese, grape ice cream and brioche for the first dessert. Then the big guns, after our eye-squintingly jaded calculations, brandy as old as our fathers for the final macaroon and cake selection. I don’t even like brandy, but finished the glass for Papa, and said goodnight. Can a bed be too comfortable? So snug it’s stuffy? After a year living in Putney with Senorg, (Swedish manufactured foam rectangle, not delectable manSwede) two permanent hollows developed – for bottom and bust – rendering whatever position you went to sleep resulted in a guaranteed stiff wake up call in a sort of contorted barbie-gone wrong. In complete and utter contrast, our bed in the Jumeirah was much wider than it was long, and we woke up countless times huddled together on one edge dreaming of Senorg. 8 hours later and we were back for breakfast – the usual tempting buffet including honey from bees kept on the roof, a nice touch, and our usual overfilling of said buffet before our preferred usual hot dish, eggs benedict. We didn’t even leave the hotel the whole time we were in Frankfurt. And so another prophecy fulfilled, I don’t leave the same building all night and day, then got on my London-bound plane home and ordered a 50:50 G&T.
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Roomers Hotel and Cocktail Bar
There are a lot of sequined items in my wardrobe. One morning, after a night trying to smoke Viagra in a shisha, one particularly brilliant male friend of mine came downstairs to breakfast wearing them all at once, like some sort of bejeweled butterfly from a grey chrysalis amongst last night’s fag ash. Roomers was a place for some sequins I thought, albeit one item’s worth, with more cocktails and less Viagra. Roomers in Frankfurt, Deutschland, is a ‘lifestyle’ hotel (exchange lifestyle for sexy, or even just sex). It’s in the ‘Design Hotel’ league, having been created by Grübel (BMW on the résumé) and the Romanian designer Oana Rosen, and boasts an air of fantasy. You’re handed a homemade rum cocktail from the adjoining Roomers Bar
upon arrival. It is sleek polished concrete, black lacquered surfaces, classy and cool. Possibly a bit too cool for sequins. The suites are furnished with fur accents; have a top-notch ipod docking sound system and huge mirrors opposite the bed and in the shower, but fear not dear reader! The lighting is so sensual you can’t see one pimple of fat fudge on your behinds (I tried looking from a few angles…. No, not like that you dirty sod). There are light switches everywhere, apart from (infuriatingly) by the front door, for all eventualities. There is even a love-making setting (press the button with the book on it). I jest. On to the bar! Paul and I arrived early to one of four reserve-able tables in Roomers Bar, underneath a candelabra dripping in solidified
black ink and met Miguel Fernandez, the head barman. I confess to be a spirit philistine, owing to my gluttonous relationship with wine. Switching to cocktails often renders me legless, armless and speechless after trying to satisfy my well-worn wine waist with numerous shot-volumes of 40% sips. I air-headedly told Miguel I liked ‘flowery’ flavours and ‘light-coloured’ spirits, upon which he returned with the Last Word (I thought he was trying to tell me to be quiet) – which was delicately delicious – complete with the story of its creation at the end of prohibition. Miguel was not just a very, very, very pretty face. Seeing as we were early, we were treated to a show at the bar – Paul’s construction of cardamom, chocolate and 10 year-old rum
all smoked out in a glass skull to mature the flavours while drinking and made by the flickiest-wristed barman I’ve ever seen. We chose spicy beef tartar for our bar snack, which arrived like a perfectly formed tit with sunshine egg yolk nipple on a plate of skin-tingling chilies. Erotic oeuf! I won’t spoil the drinks menu (even though it’s regularly changed), but another highlight included Julio’s Bees; sage, honey and my bête noir – tequila – and testament to Miguel’s sage advice – it tasted deliciously like cool melted butter. Miguel explained that the reason I hated tequila owed more to the fact that I’ve been drinking crap (half the bottle of a bad tequila is actual crap) for the last 15 years. We also enjoyed the imaginative serving style, Paul especially enjoyed
the rimming of his shaker glass with ice and rosemary black salt. By this point we were nicely sozzled, the DJ had arrived and we were getting down to some serious people watching. Beautiful women walked in two-by-two like it was a sexy Noah’s Ark. Rich silver fox-haired men with too good looking/young/many brides and a swarm of social climbers. After a few more drinks it ended with me eyeing the crowd and confirming that at least one of these Father Christmases had some Viagra, and at least 20% of the clientele would smoke it with me. I’ll add in the Bar’s CV now, as it was integral you read my babble first before forming your own opinions. Best Hotel Bar 2012, Best Bar Team 2011, Top 5 hotel bar
2013, 2012, 2011. And the list goes back to when it was first opened. It doesn’t even need this review (although it definitely did if my editor asks) when there is a barman on the door turning up to 200 people away on weekend nights. Don’t turn up fashionably late – turn up eagerly early so you get in and enjoy it until ‘last man standing’o’clock’, then sashay up to your furry, mirrored bedroom, and flick on the book reading light for some ‘reading’. When the sun comes up (or long after, in our case), roll down to a long and late (I’m talking 1.30pm finish here) Sekt breakfast. Ooh, and there’s a mechanical massage table upstairs in the top floor spa you can then lie on for 5 hours until the bar opens again. That’s where I left Paul. Now, where’s that shisha…
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Villa K
Word
Kennedy
ds: DR PAUL FARROW
T R AV E L : V I L L A K E N N E DY
A
s Obama’s tenure withers to a dismal conclusion, his popularity, both locally and globally, lower than the protruding pot-belly of a portly dachsund, I find my mind wandering to the day of his inauguration. Out of the fire and brimstone of the Bush era had emerged a glimmer of hope, a fragment of sanity in a chaotic globe, beaming with all of the optimism of a cherub, but with the steely determination of a man that had conquered adversity and was ready to show the rest of the world how it’s done. He represented everything that was good in a changing world, and finally gave the United States a leader that the rest of us could get behind. It was a good time, but it didn’t last. There are pieces of the American dream in every one of us. Who doesn’t hope for prosperity for every man, woman and child? Who doesn’t want to live in a land where freedoms are protected and written into a constitution, and where democracy is (at least ostensibly) woven into the fabric of the political system? America used to represent everything that was good in the world. It was the place where powerhouses of industry paved the way for technological innovation, where burgeoning cultures blossomed under the shadow of newly constructed skyscrapers and where social taboos were cast aside in favour of personal expression, libertarianism and ‘free love.’ It was music, sex and glamour. Hollywood and Motown. A melting pot of verve and enthusiasm. At least that’s how it looks to me, staring through the sepia-toned lens of a nostalgic muse, sipping a cocktail in the garden of Villa Kennedy, and thinking about its namesake. No one personifies this era of American optimism more so than JFK. With his thoughtful manner, youthful good looks and easy charm, President Kennedy was the epitome of modern class. He was popular
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with the masses, in spite of his privileged education, and even managed to repair some of the wounds inflicted by two world wars and foster a new relationship between the USA and Germany with just four words: “Ich bin ein Berliner.” Although it’s in Frankfurt and not Berlin, the elegance of JFK permeates the walls of Villa Kennedy, and odes to that bygone epoch adorn every alcove. Frankie and Marilyn welcome us into the restaurant, where one can eat Italian or German food. I had the calamari followed by carpaccio with truffles and then a fillet steak – all perfectly cooked. The recommended red wine flowed and the night became hazy as Lucy and I talked to the waiter about his wedding. He clearly adored his wife, but drank so much on his wedding night that he could not undo her dress. With Lucy and my nuptials imminent, I was carefully reminded that this should
not be happening on our special day. As this wonderful evening drew to a close, as wonderful evenings tend to do, we left the restaurant to the sound of the soft tinkering of the hotel’s grand piano. I’m reminded of that infamous scene in Casablanca, where Ingrid Bergman’s character implores Sam, played by Dooley Wilson, to “play it again.” As time goes by, perhaps the USA will never attain the same level of reverence from the rest of the world that it once had. Perhaps the glamour of Bergman, Monroe and Sinatra will forever be consigned to the annals of history, lost in the quagmire of modern media. I like to think, though, that there will always be a place like that in the world somewhere, biding its time for the resurgence of the American dream. Germany has a place like that, and it’s called Villa Kennedy. TR
Weinsinn Restaurant
Weinsinn, with its Michelin star and quaint, impossibly French setting amongst the concrete and cash of Frankfurt is a restaurant doing dining so perfectly well, this might make for quite a boring piece…. if Paul was writing it, but it won’t be, as lucky for you, I drew the long straw. And fortunately so, as that very evening we were meant to be flying to the Dolomites for a weekends skiing, but as Paul’s recompense I was instead ushered into Weinsinn, one of the most highly acclaimed restaurants in Frankfurt. Perhaps explaining its wine list 4 times the thickness of the food menu, Weinsinn initially opened as a wine bar before immediate success as a restaurant, a testament to its head chef, André Rickert. The decor inside is soothing, intimate and tasteful – you could sit on any of the 35 seats and still feel taken in by the walls. As is agreeably mandatory to all German high-end restaurants, the wine list inevitably involve Sekt and Reisling with the measured quote of precisely how far from where we are sitting they are from. Not that far. Weinsinn is
a very slick operation, which is expertly hidden under the warmth and laid back welcome of the owners, husband and wife duo, Matthias and Milica. Without qualms, we were recommended the tasting menu and after a quick glance around the room to confirm this was the done thing here, we willingly accepted. Through this, we discovered the experimental edge Rickert applies on dishes, which gladly spices up the sometimes standard and formulaic feel tasting menus can have. One of the fish courses had a distinct curry masala base to the foam and was remarkably served, according to Paul, on a bed of four leaf clovers (!). The other fish dish had a reassuring British feel that did not need the obligatory heap of roe rolling off the pile. Cod was served with peas, mash and, as is always pleasing to me after being made to wear them pinned to my school jumper on St. David’s day during my school years – leeks. Beneath this Home Counties accent I am painfully loyal to my Newport routes.
Paul’s big favourite was the beef tartar with a definite glimpse of ginger and soy, although we only realised the Asian slant half way through the course. We happily feasted our way through the evening, particularly enjoying the expertly made ravioli, which honestly satisfied after our initial dismay at the lonesome single piece, and the always-fulfilling fillet of beef with truffle sauce. The food produced here was boringly faultless, and the wine was plentiful and kept up to its foddered pairings. Our night concluded a chat with the owners, who proudly rationalised the niche they had filled in Frankfurt’s, and perhaps Germany’s rather stiff restaurant scene. We wound up quite happily reassured that we were not meant to be en route to Italy with over-sized luggage but instead huddled full-tummied, sleepily sharing a licorice cigarette on the restaurant’s patio and flipping a coin on who would get the easy job of story telling the nights gluttony. The tails for Wales never fails.
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WOLF WORSTER - CEO
T R AV E L : W O L F W O R S T E R
Wolf Wörster Associates Words: PETER J ROBINSON
H
aving worked in the luxury and finance industry for some years now, I’ve worked with a number of property companies. A lot hit the mark and offer you and your companions access to properties in the far-flung reaches of the world. Many, however, are middlemen offering luxury villa bookings as a go-between. The reality is that only a few stars shine brightly. Finding a company that is right for you takes time and will no doubt become your lifelong travel consultant. In our quest to bring you the best of the best, The Review sits down with what we consider to be one of the best luxury property provider and investment company in the world. Last year, when investigating property investment and luxury escapes in Belize, we came across a property consultant with an altogether different approach to the luxury market. Wolf Worster is the CEO of Wolf Worster Associates, Inc., a leading luxury villa and resort development consultancy. Having spent his early career building his agency into a market leader in its field, Wolf now focuses on his property investment and development
advisory. With a selection of developments at varying levels of completion from Cannes to the Caymans, what does it take to lead an industry? Wolf, can you tell us a how you got into the luxury villa market and how that in-turn developed into property investment? We started over ten years ago in marketing luxury chalets in Europe [Verbier, Zermatt, Courcheval, etc] and over time, we expanded to other destinations. About two years into the business, some of our private clients starting asking us to assist them in their vacation home purchases, which ultimately led to the expansion into marketing of entire overseas developments. How did you go about building a team for a global property portfolio and choosing locations? In North America, we are referred to as “project marketers”. We take on an entire development, whether it’s a hotel, a condominium tower, or a complete villa development, and
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operate as the master agency. It took considerable time to find experienced, knowledgeable property professionals with the skillset and commitment to work overseas. We have implemented full time sales and support staff in Belize along with a high street office. Our next project is to duplicate this infrastructure in Argentina with our new projects in Mendoza and Cordoba. As far as selecting new markets, we typically base it on the following criteria:
1. Must be considered a “high growth tourism destination” 2. Country must have political stability which 3.
safeguards the interests of investors and provides secure property titles with straightforward ownership procedures for foreigners Countries which can be supported by the international market as well as the middle-upper class local market
We are constantly reviewing and analysing all development applications and permits and in each region. What you would say are three most desirable areas to buy in at the moment? Placencia, Belize; British Coumbia, Canada; Sayulita, Mexico. Many of our readers have built their portfolios on savvy property investment, but for those who haven’t, what are the basics as you see them? Develop a strategy – what are your goals? Consider what structure you want to use – a trust, a selfdirected fund. Get tax advice before you buy. An experienced property management company can save you considerable money in the long term. Upfront purchase costs, such as stamp tax and legal fees, need to be considered. Depending on the growth potential on the destination and type of property, expect to hold between five and eight years. We have two types of portfolios – both turnkey. Hotel Residences Portfolios starting at $915,000 USD (three available) and Luxury Villa portfolios starting at $1,495,000 USD (6 available) Do you have an atypical client base, or are all clients unique?
We have a mix of British, American and Canadian and clients. Is there a particular region you are advising your clients to consider over the next three years – or anywhere in particular to avoid? Definitely consider Belize – currently going through a land investment boom, which is comparable to Costa Rica in the 1990s. The country also offers a Belize Retired Persons (Incentives) Program with numerous tax benefits. It’s very simply. Avoid buying in countries which are not politically and economically stable. Obviously stay away from countries with no legal system which safeguards the interests of investors, or has a clear system which provides secure land titles. We know it is a little gauche, but you obviously represent a number of artists and global magnates. Who might our readers be in the company of? We have our share of Wall Street CEOs, ‘new’ and ‘traditional’ billionaire status families, and a number of leaders from the entertainment industry. For those of our readers who already own several vacation properties, how does someone get onto the Wolf Worster Book? The properties in your brochure really are special. How do you choose who to represent? At the moment, there is a year-to-eighteen month wait for any new properties to be considered for our luxury rental division. What does 2015 have in store for Wolf Worster? We are expanding our ‘property project marketing’ with the management of new developments in Mexico, Argentina and Brazil. Of course, Belize will still be the biggest opportunity for us and investors, through to 2017. TR
For further information on Wolf Worster associates or to register an interest in any of the development properties, please visit www.wolfworster.com, or call UK: 0808 169 6526, Vancouver 604 324 8895.
Estilo de Vida
Estilo de Vida
Estilo de Vida
The Bayman Belize
The Bayman Belize
Estilo de Vida
The Bayman Belize
The Bayman Belize
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T R AV E L : 4 5 PA R K L A N E
45 Park Lane Words: PETER J ROBINSON
It isn’t very often that a hotel launches in central London and makes such a Conrad Black-sized dent in the hotel hierarchy. 45 Park Lane opened its doors to the usual pomp and ceremony in September 2011. It collected its awards, welcomed its establishment and glitterati clients, and promptly sat down with a cocktail whilst its fans rallied around clapping and fawning uncontrollably. It is most definitely the heir apparent to the top of the London hotel scene. I have been a quiet fan of 45 Park Lane for sometime now. I have coveted her art deco lines and enviable location like a lion stalking a Cartier encrusted gazelle dragging a Damien Hirst behind it. When the time came to spend an evening with the team at the hotel, my betrothed had also booked us to attend a charity event in Camden. We had stood in our Curzon suite contemplating the hour we had until our attendance would be required with some disdain. “Do we really need to go?” she asked with a certain confidence. “Isn’t this your shindig,” I replied, sipping my Japanese beer. It wasn’t ‘her’ party specifically, but an event in support of breast cancer. That’s right, the suite warranted the contemplation to cancel attending a cancer charity. God, doesn’t that make us sound contemptible. I am fairly confident that you too would have at least thought about it. After all, hotel stays always tend to be fleeting affairs. When was the last time you booked a suite and actually spent any serious time in it? I would have been happy arranging a good rib-eye from Wolfgang Puck’s CUT restaurant, finding something senseless on TV and getting into a punchy bottle of red. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be, and we decided that if we ever wanted to see our souls again we should leave our mini-Eden on the seventh floor with its king size bed and penchant for strides of marble. Only briefly, though, having had our fill of cocktails and pop princess Delilah, we decided it was time to return to our suite where the night could
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really begin. I carefully slid my Petit Upmann out of its tube and lit it mindfully to ensure an even burn across the whole gauge. If I had been wearing a dinner jacket and not a Brown in Town suit, I’d have pulled my bowtie apart in the immortal nod to Tony Bennett. I stood out on the terrace looking over the park wondering what it must be like to see a relatively new hotel arrive in the capital and become so eminent in such a short
period of time. Park Lane is arguably home to some of London’s finest established hotels. Next door to 45 Park Lane is sister hotel The Dorchester. One couldn’t ask for better company really. At this point, I could hear my lady asking, “How do you close the blinds darling?” “Touch screen,” I fired back. To my surprise, she actually managed to close them. One might call my dear a low level technophobe. Lights, phone, air-conditioning,
curtains, everything was controlled by the touch-screen. I have seen this attempted in other hotels, some badly, but this was clear and concise enough, even for the weakest of Wi-Fi users. Having ordered and devoured a black angus burger in the dining room and smoked a cigar, I decided that some time should be spent appreciating the ocean liner of a bedroom. Black wood, rich furnishings, leather detailing and art deco
“I have been a quiet fan of 45 Park Lane for sometime now. I have coveted her art deco lines and enviable location like a lion stalking a Cartier encrusted gazelle dragging a Damien Hirst behind it.”
furniture adorn every crevice. I will admit I took several pictures with a good mind to ask an interior decorator friend of mine to keep them on file. A large print of Audrey Hepburn hung above the bed giving the whole room a 1920s Hollywood glamour to the place. And at 850 square feet, I was impressed at how warm it felt. The following morning, having slumbered for some time reading the paper in a fine armchair, we decided that we should
venture down for breakfast. I shan’t say too much about enigmatic Wolfgang Puck’s CUT, as we do indeed plan to return for a fully-fledged review. However, it is indeed the very pinnacle of a power-dining restaurant. There were an army of staff, presumably one per napkin. Opt for the salt beef hash cake with poached organic eggs, crispy leeks and sauce Bérnaise. It will make you believe in God. For me, 45 Park Lane is an establishment
I would recommend, and that is a club that has less than ten members. I yearn to return and book out their screening room for a film night with friends and expertly crafted cocktails from the bar. I can’t tell at this point if I am making myself clear, so let me put it another way: The Review doesn’t have a travel awards ceremony. We leave that for the tottering ones at 25 Maddox Street. If we did, however, 45 Park Lane would continue their unabated affair with all that glitters. TR
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CITY OF LIGHTS Words: EVAN JONES
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Shangri-La Paris Words: EVAN JONES
I firmly believe that, at its best, travel writing is the starting point in our endeavour to find the perfect holiday destinations. Travel writers have the thankless quest of yomping the globe in search of what’s great and what’s not. But some places just transcend the written word. Places that are so steeped in history, so aesthetically pleasing, where the service is so beyond anything you’ve experienced before, that it becomes a futile task trying to recount your experience. Shangri-La Paris is one of those places. A time-warp of sorts, Shangri-La Paris is an
escape, a ship in the bottle of Paris’s past. The building is the former residence of Roland Bonaparte, great nephew of Napoleon, who designed his home with palatial vigour. It’s all eagles and crowns and, erm, bees. That’s right, bees: a kind of family shield, a motif, which can be still found throughout the original design. The centrepiece of the ground floor is a grand, spiralling staircase, which has been diligently restored to stand as an assertion of this hotel’s raison d’etre – lofty elegance – and leads to floors of rich history and grandeur. It’s a delicate amalgamation of
neoclassical beauty and Parisian charm. And despite the grandeur, there’s nothing in bad taste, nothing offensive, nothing that’s been overdone. This theme continues throughout the rooms and suites, which are modest in comparison to the rest of the hotel, but worlds apart from other hotels in general. The 81 rooms exude calm and serenity. My duplex suite is properly big, spanning two spacious floors, which isn’t at all surprising for a high-priced room (£2,600 per night) in a capital city’s centre. The top floor is the living area, with TV, so-
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fas and enough space to hold a party of five people (as I found out). Downstairs, though, you’ll find a bedroom and dining area, with magnificently high ceilings spanning the height of the duplex. Everything harks back to that bygone French lifestyle, with soft creams and bieges, blues and greys. The bed is kingly and deep, and one of a few in Paris to offer sybaritic views of the Eiffel Tower when you wake up; views that are equally enjoyed on the private terrace, with a late night cigar and champagne, when the Tower’s spotlight slowly spins. The rooms vary in layout, with some boast-
ing bathroom windows and the aforementioned terrace, but all adhere to the same controlled aestheticism. Utterly sublime. Of course, a hotel of this stature, especially in Paris, wouldn’t be complete without restaurants. The ones here are (unsurprisingly) deeply epicurean. Philippe Labbé’s gastronomic journey can be sampled at the two-starred L’Abeille (The Bee). I had the tasting menu, comprising foie gras, scampi, artichoke, char, venison, and a selection of France’s finest cheeses. Shang Palace, conversely, offers refined Cantonese cuisines, for which it has been awarded
one Michelin star. Bauhinia is open all day, so offers a wider choice of meals depending on your appetite. There are only a handful of hotels that I can call flawless. Shangri-La Paris is definitely one of them. Whatever hype and mythology there is surrounding the establishment is met and exceeded. The price? You get exactly what you pay for: this hotel gluts the appetite for prestige and grandiosity, and fulfils its role as a solicitous yet unobtrusive host. This isn’t just my favourite hotel in Paris – it’s easily found its way into my top three hotels in the world. TR
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THE LOFT Words: EVAN JONES
Paris is becoming somewhat of a yearly ritual – a place that, from London, is easier to get to than Cornwall or Scotland. A mere hour on the plane, or a couple more by train; time that can be happily whiled away with a few glasses of champagne. For the first time, however, we thought about staying at an apartment, in between the hotels. When looking for a candidate, I was told there’s only one apartment worth
staying in when visiting Paris. You’ll find The Loft on Rue Greneta, a neighbourhood that’s quite the bohemian centre. Think Soho meets Camden, only prettier. You enter through an immodestly large door – what was the entrance to a factory – and into the cobbled courtyard, which sets the tone for the immeasurable grandeur of this apartment, designed and owned by Julie McIvor.
Discussing The Loft, Julie says: “My vision was to create a unique living space in the heart of Paris, affording privacy and real volume to people who might otherwise be cramped into the confines of a hotel room – no matter how luxurious. Space and time are two luxuries increasingly rare to find in our ever expanding, accelerating society. My background in design and luxury marketing helped me to think of all the personal
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touches that could make the real difference to someone’s stay in Paris. I have equipped the Loft with the indispensable amenities to make it a comfortable yet stylish home for my guests. I also thought about the services available in top hotels and brought the same – and –more – to The Loft”. The converted warehouse certainly benefits from space. Set across three floors, the ceilings stretch to the rooftop, giving The Loft
a feeling of vastness. It isn’t a trick of the eye per se, more an intelligent piece of design. The centre of the building is cut away, with the first floor balcony acting as a walkway around the entire apartment. Plants punctuate the white space, giving The Loft a sense of natural beauty, and the living area has a cinema screen to project movies. A spiral staircase leads down to a basement, where you’ll find a gym and sauna, which can also
be used as another bedroom – making the pad suitable for up to six people. Julie hasn’t missed anything here – and in case you find something that she has, there’s a 24-hour concierge to take care of your every whim. The Loft is one is one of those places you never want to leave. Prices vary depending on the season and length of stay, but whatever the rate, it’s worth every euro. TR
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Fouquet’s Barriere Words: EVAN JONES
Avenue George V is one of the swankiest and most enviable streets in Paris – a mythical brickwork that sets the standard for hotel grandeur and epicurean dining. What’s more, it’s only a stone’s throw from an even more renowned address: the ChampsÉlysées. You can’t miss this Avenue, with its gaggles of valets and lines of sports cars. And you certainly can’t miss Fouquet’s Barrière, standing avuncular and proud as one of the city’s five-star, palatial hotels. But this is where the classicism stops. The entranceway exudes an amiability almost unbefitting
of the architecture. This, after all, is a hotel that differentiates itself on being ultra-trendy and au courant, as opposed to classic and bourgeois. It’s too hi-tech to be old school. Once you’re inside, however, it all begins to make sense. Jean Garcia’s interior design is painstakingly and paradoxically balanced between retro, modern, elegant, opulent and restrained. Some rooms are purple to the point of garish, where others are calm and neutral, with silk, mahogany and velvet. It somehow works. The services on offer run as long as the
Champs-Élysées itself, but they’re exactly what you would and should expect from a hotel of this calibre: 24-hour butler, plasma TV that magically appears behind mirrors, marble bathrooms, and proper gastronomy on offer from both the main restaurant, Le Diane, and the room service menu. Speaking of the rooms, Fouquet’s Barrière has 107 in total. The smallest is about 40 square metres, which includes an entrance hall and his-and-her bathroom. The design here is gold, copper and ivory, with headboards the size of city monuments and seperate living areas in the larger suites.
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Indeed, the Grande Suite de Paris is where Sarkozy celebrated his night of election victory. But don’t be fooled. His visit is practically an anomaly in comparison to the usual crowd who visit: the well-heeled, the boho, and the international. Accordingly, the service is solicitous, amiable, young and, most importantly, unpretentious. Despite being one of Paris’s most popular and expensive hotels, Fouquet’s is equally known for its brasserie, which sits effortlessly cool on the corner of the Champs-Élysées. It opened in 1899 and has always being a social hub for people who work in entertainment
industry, especially film. Think Marlene Dietrich, François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. The food is typically French – classic and simple – including scallops, foie gras, roasted fowl. Head to Le Diane for a more intimate, gastronomic meal, where Jean-Yves Leurangeur specialises in experimental combinations that really hit the mark. Sunday brunch is what really stuck out, though. £80 per head will get you an allyou-can-eat affair, only more civilised, with chefs on hand to cook your meat and fish to order. It’s a splendid way to loll away an afternoon, grazing and drinking some of
the finest food in the city. At a time when wallets are tighter than ever and hotels are battling for custom, it’s refreshing to see Fouquet’s sticking to its reputation by raising its rates according each year. A double room starts from a stonking £650 per night, gradually rising to nearly £14,000 for the Grand Suite de Paris. You may want to consider your options, or even move between hotels during your trip, to get the most of a modest budget. However, if you have the fathomless money to spend here without regret, then Fouquet’s is definitely worth its price-tag. TR
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SUMMER LODGE
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am continually dumfounded by people’s lack of appreciation for history. It can be forgiven of the ill-educated, but surely not anyone with a basic appreciation for England and her peerage system. Irrespective of your political alignment, we would not be the nation we are today without a fair dose of dukes, earls and barons. Henry Thomas Fox-Strangways was the 2nd Earl of Ilchester, a British peer and Member
Words: PETER J ROBINSON
of Parliament in the 18th century. Educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford, he held office for six years, gained the rank of Captain before his passing in 1802, and was succeeded by no less than nine children. I think we can all raise a glass to a life well lived. So, in my finest Lloyd Grossman voice, ‘Who’d live in a house like this?’ England has an abundance of country homes, estates and piles, many of which have now been converted into National Trust camera magnets and ‘luxury’ apartments. There
are, however, a select few that are gleefully curated by a dedicated band of historicallyaware hospitality specialists. In 1798, Summer Lodge was built as a dower house by the aforementioned Earl of Ilchester. It was enlarged in 1893 and became the formal home of the last Earl to live in Dorset in 1932. Of course, it is only a matter of time before lineage is broken and assets start appearing on the open market. And in this case, if they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be able to see the property in all its glory. Private owners begat
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developers begat hedge funds no doubt, but none of that really matters. What is important is that the property has been kept as true to its traditional fixtures and furnishings as possible for a modern luxury hotel. You honestly will not find many who are this dedicated to the upkeep of the style and tone of the era of which they herald. I wish I could, at this point, break with the male stereotype, but I found myself very at home in the bar area. Wood panelling, open fire, wing-backed chair, and a selection of
spirits that would make George Bernard Shaw sit open mouthed. He did say that “Whisky is liquid sunshine,” after all. I turned to my partner as we talked with Kevin Reid, the hotel’s fountain of knowledge. “Imagine it at Christmas”. The whole property has a very intimate feeling that is indicative of English country houses. Also, the decor was very much to my liking; minimalist is certainly not on the agenda. Think gilt mirror, globes, fringes, fabric walls and a plethora of linen. Summer
Lodge is a colonial outpost without the political alignment of the time. I like a country house to be warm and welcoming; Italian marble and electric taps are for city folk and the proletariat alike. Having checked in, we were shown to our principal deluxe room, overlooking the magnificent gardens. Each room is decorated in its own distinctive style, country meets castle meets chateau. An ever-replenishing supply of shortbread in the room was just enough to keep me in
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a sugar-induced coma on the king sized bed, until it seemed only appropriate to check in to the onsite spa for a loll around the pool. For those of you all too familiar with the vernacular of the digital age, loll means to sit, lie or stand in a lazy and relaxed fashion. It does not mean to fall to the floor and ‘laugh out loud’. The spa is set amongst the hotel’s beautifully-appointed gardens and offers a range of treatments alongside its jacuzzi, heated pool, sauna and gym. I opted for a hot stone massage. Of course, it was only moments into the treatment that I fell into a trance. Having used all my energy to make small talk with the lovely staff, I drifted off. I awoke some time later feeling relaxed and soothed and decided the only thing to do was prop myself up in the relaxation area on a lounger with a lemon water. It would be another hour before my lady would appear, rejuvenated and raving about the Darphin Facial. Darphin produce custom-
ised skincare products from botanicals and essential oils, by the way. If you consider a good spa treatment to be something reserved for the fairer sex, you are somewhat misguided. I don’t carry much stress with me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t apprentice a deep tissue massage to soothe the muscles once in a while. Having purified our bodies, it only seemed appropriate we break the slumber with a stroll across the nearby Paradise Wood. The deer were in good form, strolling across the park with some of the males coming to about two metres. Having strolled as far as we could without going rambling, I decided it might be time to return to the well-stocked bar for a libation and perhaps a cigar. With a garden as beautiful as this, it seemed rude not to sit and admire the groundkeeper’s work. The double hammocks were a nice touch and despite the weather being a little inclement that day, we did manage to spend a good few hours the
following morning drifting in the breeze and soaking up the sunshine. As the sun set, we realised the pickled eggs and pork scratchings at the local Acorn Inn probably wouldn’t suffice, so decided that the hotel’s AA rosettes needed to be tested. Who can turn down a restaurant that has won Best British Cheeseboard? A staggering combination of different curds from the local area and beyond. Not to mention Dorset Restaurant of the Year. The restaurant is a typically country affair. In terms of style, there were a couple at the back who had opted to dress in a fashion that made them blend perfectly into the upholstery on the walls. They disappeared more than a few times. One of the few things that irks me at good restaurants is, well, to be honest, other diners. I always seem to end up sat next to card-carrying members of the malign Tight-Ass Club. People that look over at me with malcontent for wanting to talk to my partner over dinner. One can only hope that
over the years we do not end up passing each other cursory glares across the dining table, only to end the night sleeping in a twin room. Our starter had arrived, so my situational awareness was suddenly struck dumb as I contemplated the crab with marinated heritage beetroot, English apple and crème fraîche. There was temporary food envy or FOMO (fear of missing out) at the scallops with artichokes, home-cured bacon and confit of garlic. Luckily, my lady and I have done our fair share of dining out, so sharing is par for the course. I wish I had the patience to cook each part of a dish as a single entity, but there is only so long I can spend preparing a dish before I absolutely have to eat it. The crab was fresh and delicate, the apple providing a nice acetous edge, and the beetroot bought back many food memories of warm summer Sunday dinners at my grandparents. Choosing the main course was a little more challenging, though. Venison Loin, Loch Duart salmon, Ogleshield Fritters, turbot fil-
let – the menu was an ensemble of some of my favourite dishes. To narrow it down to one with an accurate wine pairing required a little advice from Eric Zweiebel, the head sommelier. Eric was the 2004 Ruinart UK Sommelier of the Year, and as winners are unable to enter again, he is now a judge. As I am not a serious wine connoisseur (not to say that I am an amateur one), I always wonder what a sommelier is thinking when he is pairing at the table. Is he aware of the gaps in my wine knowledge, or of this crushing lack of self-confidence? A-ha! A glass of Blanc de Mer, and so everything is forgotten in an instant. Eventually, I choose the chef’s signature dish, roast loin of lamb with braised shoulder shepherd’s pie with savoy cabbage and a rosemary jus. The amount of effort that goes into producing a dish this layered –in terms of texture – is quite something. Especially when paired with a striking red from Zweiebel, whose name still makes me smile. At this point, the restaurant was starting
to empty as presumably people headed to the bar for a nightcap. Having spent so long talking with the restaurant team, we were still faced with our pudding choices. Luckily, the hotel offers ‘a taste of Summer Lodge’, thus enabling me to try every dessert on the menu and no doubt leaving the pâtissier wanting blood, as I am sure it was fairly late. This was not conveyed, of course. Zweiebel paired a lovely dessert wine as we took the five dishes to task. My only regret is that we didn’t have the space to try the award-winning cheeseboard. I say board, more like a cheese table on coasters. This does, however, give me cause to return to dine at some point in the future. Having dined as one should at a country residence of repute, we retired onto the terrace for a brandy and Davidoff to stargaze. If you have never opted for a relaxing and rejuvenating countryside break, then you really ought to consider the former home of the 2nd Earl of Ilchester in Dorset. Countryside chic at its best. TR
Summer Lodge Country House & Spa Relais & Châteaux, in Evershot in Dorset, is the epitome of an idyllic English country retreat where food, wine and comfort are exceptional in equal measure. It is also rare as a luxury hotel that welcomes dogs with open arms. For reservations call Relais & Châteaux: 00 800 2000 00 02 (toll free) or visit the website at: www.relaischateaux.com For a one-night stay, Summer Lodge Country House & Spa Relais & Châteaux has 19 bedrooms of varying sizes and 5 suites, priced from £210 to £560 per night on a room only basis. Breakfast, charged as taken, is priced from £25 pp. A variety of packages are also available such as the full Doggie Package priced from £510 (just £127.50 pppn) for a classic double room for two people sharing for two nights (Sun-Thurs inc.) on a B&B basis.
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Coastal retreat “unplugged”
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n this fast-paced, technologicallybombarded era, we find ourselves switched on from dawn ‘til dusk. It’s becoming even more important to kick-back and unplug regularly to enjoy some clear headspace and remember what it’s like to share precious times with loved ones, connect with our natural world and simply switch off. Add to this the known benefits of taking in the sea air, originally heralded by the Victorians for its health giving properties, and you can head for a coastal retreat that unplugs and recharges you batteries like no other break. The health benefit claims range from improved quality of sleep – due to the sea
Words: SARAH MORGAN air, which is charged with healthy negative ions that accelerate our ability to absorb oxygen; stress reduction and improved alertness and concentration – again from the negative ions that also balance levels of seratonin, a body chemical linked with mood and stress; improved creativity and happiness levels, as a result of better sleep; and reduced stress and improved relaxation. What better place to do this than a little know sanctuary, nestled on the South Coast called Milford On Sea, a small village just south of the New Forest and quietly hidden between the better known landmarks of Lymington and Christchurch. The immediate area offers a wealth of natural beauty, stunning walks and views over the Isle of White and its iconic Needles,
a wildlife sanctuary, and one of the oldest fortresses in Great Britain built by Henry VIII. So, if it’s long beach and cliff walks, glorious sunsets, great food and the great outdoors, this place needs to be on your bucket list. The Marine offer a wonderful bed-andbreakfast venue housed in a unique art decostyled property with dramatic uninterrupted views to The Needles, Christchurch Bay and Sturt Pond Nature Reserve. Its personality shines out in a world increasingly taken over by chains of hotels that symbolise uniformity and blandness. It’s not one of those pimped and primed places; it’s got a lot more realness to it and whilst offering all the facilities that you could
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wish for on a break, this really is about getting out and about and staying somewhere unique and wistful. As you arrive along the coast road, it really does feel as if you are driving off the end of the mainland, as it sits proudly apart as the very last building before Hurst Spit, a 2.5km pebble spit built to protect the rare marshlands and coastal wildlife. The building, inspired by the original 1930s café that occupied the spot, stands majestically, gleaming white in its own uncluttered space surrounded by the most breath-taking panorama. As soon as you arrive, it does feel a little like you have left the rat race behind, as you start to soak up the raw beauty of its natural surroundings. The Marine, owned and managed
by Richard Thompson, offers three very distinctive executive rooms, The Needles, Christchurch Bay, Dolphin Bank that are available on a bed-and-breakfast basis, each with wonderful views over Christchurch Bay. As a guest, you are instantly made to feel welcome by the team who run The Marine, which also offers guests and visitors a beachinspired café, a fine dining restaurant and a stunning roof terrace bar. The Marine is also perfect for an exclusive hire for weddings or special events. I was lucky enough to spend two days at The Marine enjoying wonderful weather and great days out to the Isle of White and beachcombing on Hurst Spit. And whilst there is Wi-Fi available, I found myself not wanting to tune back in to my other life
(just for a few days). And whilst we had clear skies, there is something incredibly beautiful about storm-watching and watching the ships navigate the waters of the Solent. For me, the most magical moments of the stay were being woken by the sound of seagulls in the mornings and in the evenings sitting on the balcony after supper looking out to sea with a beautiful moon shining down on the water – a view that was truly priceless, with nothing to distract me but the sound of the waves breaking. I was totally unplugged and tuned in. I left The Marine feeling refreshed, relaxed and recharged, and as I reconnected with my normal, faster-paced life, I made my simple promise to unplug more regularly and take time to do some simple things. TR
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A Room With A View
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Words: KATIE EASTMAN
t wasn’t so long ago that tourists voted Brighton as the UK’s worst holiday resort. Yes, I know, I’m just as shocked as you. They accused the town of being overly trendy and full of bohemians. Further back still, The Sun had the nerve to call Brighton a “nasty town of drugs and drunks ... with a leftdominated council whose mayoress once refused to curtsy for royalty”. Good. I’m glad she didn’t curtsey, and I hope she wore that slight proudly, because the notion that Brighton is any of those things is frankly ludicrous. It’s an almost-annual tradition for me to visit Brighton. It is one of the most tranquil and amiable cities I’ve ever been to – and I’ve been to a few – but that’s not to say it’s boring. Far from it. If you want to party, there are plenty of places to do it. Likewise, if you’re just looking for a quiet weekend away (I’m 34 now, so pop me in that camp), then there’s an abundance of options too. One thing to be wary of, however, are the hotels. I should know; I’ve virtually been to all of them during my decade-long love affair with the town. The worst I’ve stayed at is the Albion. There, you’ll be offered a choice between a sea view and a hot-tub (it’s not actually a hot-tub, more a bubble bath without enough room for two people, as the boyfriend and I discovered. Definitely go for the sea view. Actually, don’t go at all). I used to consider Drakes as my failsafe. That was until I visited A Room with a View, a place I’d never heard of before, but which my boyfriend discovered and booked as a surprise. He can’t cook, he can’t nail a punchline, but my word can he find spectacular hotels. Is there a word for such a talent? A Room with a View is situated on the east pier, on Marine Parade, about 5-minutes’ walk from the infamous Albion. Ignoring that, you’re super-close to all of Brighton’s bars and
restaurants, which means everything is walkable. Fabulous. The hotel is a Grade 2-listed Georgian townhouse with a beautiful cream façade, grand and elegant. The interiors themselves are what you’d expect from a coastal hotel, with a marine theme punctuated by light wood, whites and creams. Nothing is in-yourface, and décor like the photos of boats are restrained and don’t go overboard (no pun intended). Nothing slaps you in the face to remind you that you’re in Brighton, which isn’t always easy in locations like this. Most striking, however, is the gentle balance between being homely, indulgent and stylish, making it ideal for couples on a romantic getaway. The welcome we receive is equally warm and gentle, from owner Stephen, who assures us that any request, no matter how big or small, will be tended to. It’s the reassuring welcome that every guest needs, but not all hotels provide. Just nine rooms make up this hotel – I was glad to see the ocean from ours. The bed is one you won’t want to get out of – so be sure to take your partner along and make the most of it. One thing I love in a hotel room is a freestanding bath, so was pleasantly surprised to see one here. The room also comes with a coffee machine and Wi-Fi. The windows are huge, adding to the sense of space, with the light and white walls give a real airy feel of freshness and tranquillity. The price you pay includes breakfast (from pastries to a full English). And although there is no restaurant on site, it’s sometimes nicer to leave a hotel and explore what a city like Brighton has to offer. A Room with a View is a tasteful, affordable and indulgent alternative to many of the hotels in Brighton – and one I will definitely be staying in again. TR
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LUXURY HANDMADE FOOTWARE www.dukesboots.com
The Back Bar Words: EVAN JONES The history of whisky production in Japan is pretty short, and can be attributed to two men: Shinjiro Torii and Masataka Taketsuru. Torii was a pharmaceutical merchant who embarked on a mission to create Japan’s first whisky distillery, which was to become his life’s work. He hired Taketsuru in the 1920s. Taketsuru had studied organic chemistry in Glasgow, and learned the secrets of scotch production whilst working in a number of distilleries. He was instrumental in helping Torii set up the Yamazaki distillery for his company, which would later become Nikka, establishing the Yoichi distillery. As you’d expect, the style of Japanese whisky follows that of the Scottish, as does the spelling. And the naming of the whiskies follows the distilleries.
Suntory Hibiki Filmgoers and Bill Murray fans will remember Hibiki from the film Lost in Translation, as the drink Murray’s character, Bob Harris, is shilling in a Japanese advert. Aside from whiskyphiles, this was the first proper introduction westerners had to the brand, which can now be found on pretty much every decent drinks menu in London. Japanese blends differ from their Scottish counterparts, primarily because the Japs don’t have a stock-sharing cooperation between rival distilleries. To counteract this, Japanese distilleries create different styles of whiskies in-house; a result of production technique and yeast strain. This 12-year-old is a fine example of the maker’s craft, with clean and sweet notes predominant before a modest spiciness – reminiscent of white pepper – permeates in the background. True to the ancient Japanese ethos, it’s a perfect lesson in harmony and balance.
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Suntory Yamazaki The Yamazaki distillery is located at the base of Moutn Tennozan, at the convergance of three rivers. The moist, humid climate causes frequent fogs and is well suited to the ageing of the whisky. The distillery also used mineral water from a natural spring, designated as one of the best in the country by japan’s Ministry of Environment. Traditional pot stills, heated by fire and steam, are used in the distillation. This 12-year-old bottle is a leading Japanese Whisky with aromas of dried fruit and honey. It has a delicate, mellow taste with a lingering woody dry finish. Rival distilleries were left dumbstruck when Yamazaki was named ‘best whisky in the world’ by expert Jim Murray in November this year, awarding it 97.5 marks out of 100 and describing it as a drink of “near incredible genius”. Don’t take our (or his) word for it. This is a bottle that you need to try for yourself – and it’s the perfect time of year to do so. TR
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The Review’s design writer James Clarke visits London Design Week and meets with Barry Knight at Thomas Ware and Sons, a Bristol based tannery of repute.
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Words: JAMES CLARKE
here are constants in life. Some of which are present to such an extent that they become overlooked – taken for granted if you like – and therefore, their importance dismissed. The presence of leather in luxury goods is an example of this. Leather is deeply rooted in the luxury market, and rightly so. Although, historically, leather production has become industrialised and readily available to the working man, there’s a world of difference between a finely-tanned hide crafted from Hereford beef stock and those being mass-produced for the commercial market coming out of the Far East and India. Chalk and cheese. I spent a couple of days in September wandering the numerous venues hosting London Design Week. Gorging on the feast of outstanding quality that British design has to offer, one thing that I noted was the vogue for raw-base organic materials used this year. Paper sculptures meticulously folded, cascading from walls as if origami has taken root. Dried and preserved mosses intricately laser cut and layered as soundproof wall claddings. Non-ferrous metals such as copper and brass patinated and polished to bring out both their raw states and their honed, gleaming range. Domestic timbers, such as oak, ash and chestnut, were present but finished in almost-unperceivable lacquers that gave the effect of wood in its raw form. At its most natural state, wood is beyond comparison as an organic material. Leather was, as
ever prevalent at the show, natural, organic and tactile. It has grain, fibre and, above all, substance. I got thinking about the diversity of leather and how it’s used to give gravitas to objects of desire. I needed to know more. Leather in its various guises comes into our daily lives in so many ways. In the fashions that we attire ourselves in, from the very soles of our shoes to the coat on our back. Would James Dean have looked so ruggedly handsome in a tweed sports jacket? Our interiors are adorned with it. If you have ever seen a leather-tiled floor, you’ll agree that it’s a sight to behold. Our furnishings are resplendent in it. What’s a club chair without a beautifully-grained, rich leather upholstery that creaks delicately as you relax into it? Not so long ago, I was commissioned to design and make a desk for the Cube Gallery. The brief was that it should be of mid-century style, but with an air of refinement. For me, it had to be of oak with a leather-bound top, fulfilling the brief exactly. When did you last see a luxury car that wasn’t upholstered in the finest of hides? The smell and feel of the interior of a Rolls Royce is in no small part down to the quality of the leather used. It seduces before you’ve shut the door. My curiosity piqued. I contacted Thomas Ware & Sons, a tannery based in Bristol, England. One of a handful of traditional Tanners that are still operating today, they have been based on the same site since 1840, and are producers of some of the finest hides available on the market. Technical sales director Barry Knight was kind enough to give me an afternoon of his time. I’d struck gold. I would’ve been hard
D E S I G N : L E AT H E R B O U N D
pressed to find a man more qualified to guide me through the history, processes and applications of leather. As president of the UK Leather Federation, Barry knows a thing or two about leather. His knowledge and expertise are immeasurable. He talked me through some of the history of the business and what a vital role it played in industry. He spoke of The Worshipful Company of Leather Sellers, an industry guild that dates back to the 1400s and is still in existence today, albeit in more of a bursary and educational role. This guild split the various disciplines involved in leather production into individual roles. A barker, for example, would take bark from felled trees for use in the tanning process. A skinner would carefully strip the skin from a slaughtered beast, ensuring that it wasn’t stretched or punctured. Any skinners or barkers in your contact book? It was big business back in the day. The Guild did this to bring some organisation to the business and to ensure that each element was undertaken by someone proficient in their craft. These guide lines stayed in place until the 1850s, when they were relaxed in order to enable British tanners to compete in the European market, which was turning out leathers far quicker than we were. I had no idea what an important role leather had played in the Industrial Revolution. Literally turning the wheels of industry, by means of leather belts running from the drive shafts of steam engines. Or how much leather was involved in the railway network that was growing across the country in the mid-1800s. The carriages used vast quantities of leather in the upholstery; what other material would have been hard-wearing enough to take the daily flow of people up and
down the country? Integral engineering components of the locomotives themselves were made of leather, such as grease seals and pump valves. The hoses that were used to fill the water wagons of the locomotives could only have been made of leather; there was no comparative material. It was as instrumental as coal. Thomas Ware & Sons use processes today that are as old as the loin cloth. Time proven, you may say. Alongside and complementing their historical techniques, they adapt and develop new methods to provide their clients with a product that is unsurpassable in its quality. It’s no quick trick turning a skin into a high quality hide. General saddle leather takes four to five months to turn into a stable usable material – and that’s just a baseline product. Further adaptations are required to tailor the hides for use in specific markets, such as Northampton’s bespoke shoe industry. More specialist processes take up to two years. These are not commodity hides. These are a nurtured, crafted, bespoke product, revered by those in the know. A product engineered to the exact requirements of its use – the suppleness, colouration, tensile strength, thermal stability, thickness and aesthetic characteristics all tailored to the highest standard and needs of the individual client. To reach these exacting standards, Thomas Ware procure the best possible tanning ingredients, all of which come from sustainable sources. Another aspect of their ethos. The responsibilities that Thomas Ware takes on board not only ensure that every ecological aspect is examined, but also that every
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byproduct of the tanning process is fed back into industry. Lanolin has numerous uses: collagen and elastogen are used by the pharmaceutical and surgical markets, denatured hair is used in fertilisers, and proteins derived from the skins go into the food industry. The diversity is astonishing. It’s hard to think of any other natural product that can be manipulated to such a broad range of markets and applications. The bespoke footwear market reaches out to Thomas Ware for the supple, yet hard-wearing leathers they require. The equestrian market requires thick leathers, robust enough to withstand the rigours of horse riding, yet appearing to be the epitome of luxury, holding such deep rich tones in their colouration. A cricket ball bowled at any international match would most likely have had the leather sourced from Thomas Ware. Barry showed me a beautiful, but slightly damaged leather floor tile that had been lifted from a New York apartment.
Their brief was to reproduce the fine detail of cut and embossing and match the colour and characteristics impeccably. It’s testament to the skill and knowledge at Ware’s that international clients entrust them with such meticulous work. Barry’s passion and enthusiasm for his craft is infectious. As he stops to briefly chat with employees about the various processes they are involved in, you can see it’s a passion shared throughout the company. This is all-too-evident in the finished hides; they are simply beautiful. As time has proven age old crafts such as tanning are vital to bespoke design. If it weren’t for companies that place quality of product above quantity of profit, there would be no luxury in our lives. If it were not for companies such as Thomas Ware & Sons, there would be no seductive Rolls Royce interior. And where would that leave us? TR
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Family Affair Words: PETER ROBINSON
When I was growing up, my family had a monthly tradition, irrespective of any plans, holidays or otherwise. You all attended the family dance. Dispel the thoughts of a debutant occasion with formal evening wear. This was a working-middleclass gathering of 50-somethings coming together to dance to the classics, drink excessively (but respectably) and catch up with family, friends and the community at large. My longest-enduring memory of the family dances was my grandfather sat in his dinner jacket, drinking a glass of scotch and smoking a King Edward cigar. Now, my grandfather had spent time in Canada, the US, Egypt, and Africa, serving with the RAF and Royal Navy. This no doubt aided his penchant for American cigars and bourbon. Despite my leanings toward a leaf of a more Cuban variety, my first encounter with cigars were Swishers, King Edward Cigars. The brand was founded and so named after the accession to the throne by Kind Edward VII. “Gentlemen you may smoke” were the simple words spoken shortly after the King’s coronation in 1901. A palace-wide ban had been in place during Queen Victoria’s reign, which Edward decided was a rule that need be in place no more. As a reformed cigarette smoker, I now only enjoy a cigarette or ten when drinking, but a cigar whenever the mood takes me. The Review’s style editor, David Minns, is also an avid cigar smoker, and as he holds office in the Hotel Du Vin’s old humidor, it seems quite fitting that his smoking accoutrements are always on hand. In fact, quite a few of my friends and acquaintances have humidors. So, it only seemed fitting to investigate the market in the hopes of finding the right ‘box’ for my stogies. Many a company produce carbon fibre detailed boxes that look like they would suit a strip club or two. Some are glass and are a little fancier than my predilection. What I was looking for was something leather-bound; something that looked like it had been shipped over from the far lunch reaches of… wherever. In this case, Scandicci, a small town at the gates of Florence. Founded by five partners, II Ponte Pelletteria S.p.A. now produces death goods and accessories that are among the finest in the world. The Bridge humidor is most definitely a show piece produced in hand buffed leather with metal detailing and of course, a decent lock. A well-made and styled humidor should form part of any cigar lover’s armoury. Grandfather knew it, and I know it. TR
en.thebridge.it
UP IN SMOKE : THE BRIDGE
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We are fast approaching that time of year: everything you invested in for last season’s ‘sliding about’ is in perfect working order, but there’s just something missing. Perhaps it’s that sense of capitalist validity, when you order a fresh new jacket or sneakers for the après snow season ahead. WeSC are a Swedish clothing brand founded in 1999 by a collective of skaters, boarders and clothing addicts, all working towards the same ideal. WeSC has an enviable list of what it calls ‘WeActivists’: musicians, skateboarders, snowboarders, and anyone leading their subculture really. We are huge fans of the letterman style, not to mention the tidy tortoise shades. Words: AMBER EDDILSTON
FA S H I O N : W E S C
Eskil padded jacket/ black
Homerun crewneck sweatshirt
Moose tortoise WeSC sunglasses by S
Laika fleece jacket
Mandy 5-pocket jean/ raw stretch selvage
Anwar l/s knitted sweater
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Words: GEMMA PHELAN
C U LT U R E : S E C R E T C I N E M A After a full week of cancelled performances and a catastrophic lashing on social media, Secret Cinema’s Back to the Future was finally ready to rock and roll. The secret meeting place was a good trek from Hackney Station with a hefty queue to contend with. But patrons’ spirits were high and towards the entrance, strategically-placed actors kept our standby boredom at bay. We reluctantly relinquishing our mobile phones and were greeted by a farm yard display with real live farm animals. Presumably Old Man Peabody’s ‘Twin Pine Ranch’. Further on in, just past the giant ‘Lyon Estates’ billboard, the road opened up into a life-size Hill Valley square, complete with Lou’s Diner, the Hill Valley High School, a fully functional 1950s hairdressers, a post office, telephone exchange and of course the iconic clock tower, which would obviously double as our movie screen once dusk drew in. Vintage cars cruised round the square whilst actors portraying key characters performed well known scenes from the film. It was pretty impressive. I did feel like I’d stepped back in time. But one scan of the skyline with the high rise buildings and Westfield shopping centre in the distance, and I was transported back to the future quicker than you can say ‘flux capacitor’. Avoiding the droves of guys and dolls lined up at the various food spots, we decided to ignore our post-work grumbles and hit the fair rides first. The queue for the spinning swings was small, as were our fellow riders, none of which were taller than five foot. The ride was short and certainly not worth the £3 we paid for it, but with the queues dictating our decisions, there wasn’t much else we could do without a 30-minute wait. The ‘Enchantment under the Sea’ dance seemed like the next best port of call. The live music and enthusiastic whoops and whistles coming from inside the Hill Valley High School promised excitement. A group of professional dancers had taken to the floor to perform a well-choreographed routine and the disco bug spread throughout the building as the rest of us retrorevelers joined in with the jive. I suddenly forgot all about the queues, my grumbling stomach
and the selfies I should be taking, and got lost in the out-of-this-world experience that Secret Cinema is so renowned for creating. We took to the big wheel to watch the town parade, which was possibly one of the best decisions
“We took to the big wheel to watch the town parade, which was possibly one of the best decisions we made that night” we made that night. A marching band lead the procession, followed by vintage cars and over-excited American flag wavers. As the sun sunk behind the buildings, the entire scene was fittingly filtered antique yellow, the fairy lights and street lamps began to sparkle and Hill Valley came alive. At this point, we were ushered to the astroturf to watch the movie. Well, everyone else was; we were now trying to get off the wheel so we could get a find a good spot. The collective excitement was electric as the DeLorean screamed onto the stage and the synchronisation between film and theatre was impeccable. We sat and watched the film intently conscious we’d have to scoot off early to catch the last train. There’s something innately uplifting about watching an iconic movie like Back to the Future with a thousand or so confirmed fans. Whooping along at the good bits, sighing at the bad, and obviously quoting word-for-word those immortal lines. I was never going to come away from the production completely dissatisfied, but there are a few things Secret Cinema got wrong this time round – namely the cancellations, the queues, the costs (tickets, food, alcohol, and everything else). It’s a huge shame so many punters were left with a sour taste in their mouths, because it’s the antithesis of what Secret Cinema stands for. Next time, I’m hoping they can restrike that perfect balance between production value and cost to the customer. TR
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The world of classic and vintage cars has seen a boom over the last 10 years – and with that, so have the events related to these ageing works of art. Pebble Beach in California, Villa d’Este in Como, and now Salon Privé on the outskirts of London. Going from strength to strength, ‘England’s answer’ is now based at Syon Park after a spell at the Hurlingham club. Words: OLIVER SMITH The mastermind brothers behind this event are David and Andrew Bagley. They’ve taken the format and really established it in the motoring world, not only for securing the attendance of some of the world’s rarest and most interesting classic and vintage cars, but also the expansion which makes it such a must-attend exhibition for the likes of Lamborghini, Koenigsegg, Noble and Maserati. The cars are something to behold, and once you throw into the mix a few extras, such as luxury goods retailers, pretty girls and (if you see fit) your body weight in free champagne and lobster, then you have a recipe for a very successful and exclusive event. However, it still needs to be done well – and it was. The sun shone beautifully on the day we attended. We were greeted by smiling faces and served by wonderfully helpful but not sycophantic staff. The cars were pristine and the event had a well-executed relaxed yet smart, the-right-crowd-and-no-crowding feel to it. Overall, a wonderfully enjoyable day and certainly one for the enthusiast or wealthy husband hunter.
AU T O M O T I V E : S A L O N P R I V E
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AU T O M O T I V E : S A L O N P R I V E
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COMING SOON As Christmas is almost upon us, you might be looking for gifts at the bottom of the bargain bin in some desperate attempt to placate that tricky family member. Remember, film is subjective, so as long as they haven’t seen it, you have a 50/50 chance of getting it right. Worsecase scenario, they roll their eyes and say ‘thanks’ in that tone that makes you want to pistol whip them. I have news for you: if it’s a first time offence, you will get away with no more than two quick strikes to the face, go for it. The ungrateful need a few love taps to the face once in a while.
Words: MILES EDGINTON
A Million Ways to Die in the WesT Synopsis: Seth MacFarlane convinces a cast of comedy geniuses and acting heavyweights to enjoy the same success of Ted. Possibly.
INTO THE STORM Synopsis: Mother nature delivers her usual performance of death and destruction. Nature attacks. Think of it as a modern day Twister. Same group of insane storm chasers, this time with an abundance of self-shooting cameras. That’s right, it’s another film that has used the ‘found footage’ principal. I wouldn’t say it’s a format that I embrace, but it doesn’t do too badly in this epic storm chaser. Buy this for that someone who was born post-Twister and will have no idea what pistol whipping is.
Let’s get one thing straight: Family Guy is a monolithic success and a hilarious show. It takes ‘the line’ and fires it out of a cannon, into the sun. Ted was Seth MacFarlane’s first outing into features and was arguably a great concept. What would happen if your childhood teddy came to life, and then lived with you into adult life? A Million Ways to Die in the West however, doesn’t have the same well-formed effect. A western, after all, is a hard thing to crack, especially a comedy version. It will only appeal to certain audiences. Buy this for the person in your life that will use the pistol on themselves.
Automata Synopsis: AI. Enough said. Antonio Banderas – as an insurance agent. I can imagine his face in his agent’s office. “Why not a gun toting cop?” “Well, Antonio, that part is going to Dylan McDermot”. This role sees a more sombre and conflicted Banderas take on ‘the man’ in favour of a new race of autonomous robots. Cue Isaac Asimov’s three rules and we are on our way to robot hell in a hand basket. Banderas is called in to investigate a robot violating its operating system and self-repairing, only to find a very deep rabbit hole. Download and gift this to the person in your life that wants to be pistol whipped by a phaser gun.
C U LT U R E : F I L M
The Grand Budapest Hotel Synopsis: a Wes Anderson film. Says it all really. As a fan of Wes Anderson and particularly Ralph Fiennes, expect a certain amount of gushing. The general consensus was that the film was typically stylish but deceptively thoughtful. The story is that, in the 1930s, the Grand Budapest Hotel is a popular Euro ski resort, managed by the staunch concierge Gustave H (Fiennes). A junior lobby boy, Zero, becomes Gustave’s friend and protégé. Gustave takes pleasure in delivering the hotel’s guests the finest levels of service and occasionally satisfying their sexual needs. When one of Gustave’s elderly lovers dies in mysterious circumstances, he finds himself in possession of a priceless painting as part of her will, and also as the chief suspect in her murder. As with many Wes Anderson films, the list of talent is lengthy: Adrien Brody, Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Willem Dafoe, Edward Norton, Jeff Goldblum, Jude Law, Tom Wilkinson, Harvey Keitel, each plays an amazingly entertaining character. The film is incredibly styled with certain cinematic techniques utilised that surprise and astound. My favourite line: Dmitri: [about M. Gustave] This criminal has plagued my family for nearly 20 years. He’s a ruthless adventurer and a con artist who preys on mentally feeble, sick old ladies! And he probably fucks them, too! M. Gustave: I go to bed with all my friends. Buy it for the person in your life that would appreciate an ornate scrimshaw box with an ornate pistol laid inside it.
EDGE OF TOMORROW Synopsis: Tom Cruise, playing a modern day Bill Murray in an alien invasion. I didn’t know if I was going to like this new Cruise offering, to be honest. I had watched him feature on endless chat shows promoting it, of course, but still didn’t know if it was for me. I can believe Cruise in many films. One of his most recent sci-fi endeavours, Oblivion, was a huge success and really resonated with me, but could I see Cruise in another action packed alien stomper? The trailer was haunting and massively reminiscent of the Halo and Warhammer franchises. If neither of those ring a bell, don’t worry, it’s for the best. It turns out that the plotline of Edge of Tomorrow is a familiar favourite, having only been explored once before. I can’t really go into detail as it will most likely ruin the whole idea for you. It will certainly remove any chance of an open-mouth squinty-eyed look in the first twenty minutes. It is, however, a visual and audial triumph. well worth purchase. Buy it for the person in your life that dreams of pistol whipping hoards of aliens.
A LONG WAY DOWN Synopsis: two britpack institutions, an Australian and an American tent-pole agree not to top themselves whilst forming a unlikely friendship. Lucky laddy Pierce Brosnan, dishy Imogen Poots, Academy-nominated Toni Collette and man of the moment Aaron Paul star in this black comedy that takes on suicide, angst, depression and promiscuity. Remember that bloody awful film with all the Abba songs? It’s like that but with a heady mix of 90s Four Weddings and no singing. I will set the scene for you: late one New Year’s Eve, Martin (Brosnan) decides that he has finally had enough and ascends a London tower block to top himself. Cue a band of randoms that are also intent on making pavement soup. The group band together and form an unlikely cult intent on not killing themselves with each other’s misguided help until Valentine’s Day. Worth buying for that friend you really want to pistol whip.
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GC
Paul Marciano is the founder of the GUESS fashion and lifestyle empire, an entrepreneur who aspired to greatness and realised his dream, but is never satisfied and always looking for the next market. Paul Marciano founded the Gc brand in 1997 to reflect his own personal attitude and lifestyle which inevitably gave birth to a watch imprint. Gc offers quality timepieces for men and women that combine Swiss watchmaking knowhow with fashionable design and premium materials – a smart blend of glamour and technicity.
HOROLOGY : GC Sport and elegance combine with GC’s rose gold and black chronograph men’s watch. Featuring a strong oversized steel casing, tachymeter technology and water resistance to 100M, this is a striking timepiece for those who wish to stand out in style.
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Gc SE-1 Chronograph gents sports watch with brown batons dial with date window, stainless steel and rose gold plated case, brown leather strap, quartz movement and water resistant up to 100 metres.
Gc Ladies Mini Chic Ceramic Watch. This stunning white and gold watch is powered by Swiss quartz movement. It has a sleek white design.
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TECH
ROUND UP
More tools and toys than you can shake a stick at. Words: AMBER EDDILSTON Jamo S622 The Jamo S622 provides a precise, accurate sound for such a small and unimposing speaker – like an iron fist in a velvet glove. Balancing its crispness is a soft dome tweeter unit, which adds a smoothness that makes the speaker good for long-term listening. The unit is ideal as a stereo speaker in a smaller room, or as a satellite speaker when connected to a higher model. The design is pure Danish elegance. The compactness is also handy when it comes to space. Though not for music aficionados, these speakers are a confident release from a middle-of-the-road brand – and for the bargain price, they would sit happily in any casual listener’s living room. www.jamo.com
Dali Kubik Speakers This is a sleekly designed and elegant speaker, which enables you to enjoy music from a wide range of sources and can be connected via Bluetooth, USB, optical or analogue inputs. The speaker’s casing is made from one piece of extruded aluminium, strengthening the product and giving it a solid feel. This ensures that all components can be fitted tightly onto the structure and removes the most annoying of speaker foibles – vibration. The guys at Dali have struck oil with the Kubik Free, and have used their experience and knowledge to great effect. It’s another world-class piece of household tech to add to their collection. www.dali-speakers.com
T E C H R O U N D U P : T OY S
GOAL ZERO YETI 400 Quiet, portable power for base camps, cabins and unexpected outages. The Yeti 400 Kit allows you to live life off the grid, camp in luxury, or power through an outage without the noise and fumes of traditional back-up generators. It’s your rugged, mini power plant. The Yeti’s AC inverter is like taking a wall socket with you anywhere. Power lights, CPAP machines, fridges and TV’s in a truly portable package that can sustain you off-grid indefinitely when paired with the included Boulder 30 Solar Panel. The Yeti 400 will charge from the Boulder 30 Solar Panel in 13 hours, or you can pair with any other compatible solar panel. You can also refuel your Yeti by the wall in 5 hours or vehicle in 13 hours as a lightweight, versatile dual battery alternative. www.goalzero.comW
HP ENVY x360 Easily convert from a 33.8 cm (13.3 inch) notebook to stand to tent to tablet mode with this amazingly value-packed convertible PC, featuring a 360° hinge. With optimized touchscreen performance and BeatsAudio, all your productivity and entertainment needs are at your fingertips. 360° hinge for ultimate flexibility. Work in notebook mode, watch in stand mode, play in tent mode, go in tablet mode. This innovative convertible PC has the flexibility to keep up with all your needs. Tap, swipe, pinch. No matter which way you use your innovative convertible PC, the latest touchscreen technology makes the most of Windows 8.1in notebook, stand, tent, or tablet mode. With BeatsAudio and dual speakers optimized for use in any position, the HP Pavilion x360 is designed for the best-sounding, richest audio on a PC. www.hp.com
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DEFY G5 The DEFY G5 is comprised of lightweight carbon fiber tubes and high quality aluminum components. Uniquely incorporating a limited number of easy to adjust thumb screws into its design in place of hex bolts, users can field assemble and balance without tools in just minutes. Filming with the DEFY G5 is equally easy, allowing nearly anyone with little to no training to use. The DEFY G5 is scalable, meaning it can quickly adapt to various cameras and lenses during a shoot due to the ease of its field balancing. The DEFY G5 features a full 3-axis control, three modes of operation: Slow Pan, Fast Pan, and Accessory Control. www.defywithus.com
Motorola TLKR T80 Quad Pack The Motorola TLKR T80 Extreme lets you have free conversations using an original and stylish modern radios with a wide range of features. This extremely robust license free 2-way radio has been given an IPX4 rating for its reinforced water resistant exterior. To find out more about IP ratings click here. With easy to use controls, a range of up to 10km*, a handy built-in torch and 8 channels, this is an ideal tool for communicating in any environment. The T80 Extreme model allows you to create groups, so you can make calls to your whole team or a group of people. Every member of the group has an ID and can see the name of the group on the screen display. This version comes with vibrate alert so you can work without distractions. The voice activation function makes it even more practical. www.motorolasolutions.com
iStorage diskAshur, 2000gb A portable hard drive with built-in cable and 256-bit encryption means this this storage device is perfect for storing and transporting confidential information. In a world where government officials leave USB sticks on trains, none of us want to be the high-profile data gaffe. iStorage diskAshur may not be the prettiest hard drive on the market, but it’s certainly the most uncompromising and robust, with access only available by an optional six-digit pin. The inbuilt USB cable is a nifty little touch too, so you no longer have to fanny about with seperate cables. But with data sensitivity the main focus here, this 128-bit, 2000gb piece of hardware is all you’ll need to store files or backup your PC, laptop or tablet. www.istorage-uk.com
Nicky Clarke NHD109 Nicky Clarke products continue to set the benchmark in hair care really, plenty launch each year but Nicky is still the firm favourite. With one of the UK’s top styling teams, their products are salon-tested and designed to suit individual hair types and styling needs. Nicky calls upon over 25 years of being at the top of his profession to deliver, innovative, high-quality and professionally-proven products to help you get just the right of amount of volume. Better than looking like you just stepped out of a chip shop, remember those adverts?. The Nicky Clarke 2000W Professional AC Dryer is perfect for creative styling with volume, but with maximum control and minimum frizz. www.nickyclarke.com/products/
Sennheiser HDR 170 These wireless headphones include a base unit that doubles as a transmitter and battery charger. This product is unlike any other wireless headphones – which is a compliment – and it certainly succeeds on sound. With just one analogue input, connectivity is limited, which might be a deal-breaker for some of you. The idea behind these headphones is that you hook up the transmitter to your TV or AV receiver, and then run your sources – such as your Sky box or Bluray – through the TV or receiver. If that’s what you’re looking to do, the RS 170 should be at the top of your list of wireless headphones. Above all though, this is a sexy piece of tech that will add the finishing touch to your music or computer setup. www.sennheiser.com
Parrot Zik Parrot recently claimed that these were the world’s most advanced wireless headphones. Whether that’s true or not, they’re certainly the trendiest, sculpted by French designer Philippe Starck. The headphones are first and foremost very comfortable, with ear cups lined with memory foam and an ergonomic headband. The noise-cancelling function of the Parrot Zik headphones works tremendously well, achieving a decent amount of isolation. There’s also a decent level of dynamic reach, although when connected by wire, the sound had a touch more detail than without. But this wasn’t enough to put us off. This is a high-end set of headphones that aren’t exactly revolutionary, but have certainly raised the bar, especially when it comes to design. www.parrot.com
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