CNPS numbers spotted 1 (785).
Date 38 was at the swanky 28th floor Windows bar and restaurant at the Hilton Hotel in Park Lane. I had only decided on this this morning and had rung up to book and check the dress code. "Men must wear a jacket for dinner, but no tie is necessary and no jeans are allowed," I was told by the woman on the phone. 38 was already at work by this stage so I checked what she was wearing: she told me she was quite casual, but not wearing jeans so everything seemed to be on.
I arrived a bit early and got the lift up to the bar. A middle aged man with leather trousers and a bright yellow jacket and tie got into the lift with me. He looked like some kind of rock star, but I did not recognise him. I suspected that he might be a big star in Norway (though he wasn't wearing moccasins, which regular readers will recall are a symbol of status for the leathery skinned celebs of that nation).
To be honest he looked a bit of a sight. Had I been Ian Hilton (the man who created the Hilton chain, starting with just a shed in his back garden - Fact) I would have immediately instituted a policy which banned such garish clothing from his fine hotel. The possibly Scandanavian possible rock star was within the letter of the current rules, but not the spirit.
The staff upstairs seemed to know the man (who turned out to have a rather plummy english voice, which gave him no excuse for his fashion choice (it would be acceptable for a Northern European musician, but no normal human being).
An officious man forced me to wait by the door as another patron was seated. I found his manner rather brusque and though I had put on a suit for the occasion felt that he didn't want my long-haired type in here. He was happy to welcome a man whose clothes would make a canary blush (canaries are unique in the avine world in that they are the only bird capable of blushing, but their feathers turn purple when they are embarrassed- Fact), but snooty with me.
Finally I was admitted and allowed to take my seat. The bar afforded a wonderful view of London, but rather like the Atlantic its pretensions of sophistication were undermined by a somewhat sleazy element amongst its patrons. Not only was there a (I now realised) rather drunk man in a yellow jacket, but a familiar array of balding men in suits with a gaggle of younger and more attractive women. I am no expert on these matters, but once again I had the suspicion that their may have been women present who were being paid for their time by their gentlemen friends. But as long as they weren't wearing jeans then Ian Hilton had no truck with them. After all, no-one wants to be in a sophisticated bar where someone else is wearing denim, but everyone loves a prostitute.
Conscious that 38 did not know what I looked like and keen to avoid an incident with the man on the door, I texted my date to let her know which table I was at. I added "Don't worry, I'm not the one wearing the yellow jacket." She replied that she would be there shortly.
A cheesy band were playing awful music and I laughed to myself at this strange place and wondered why the rich and pseudo rich can have such bad taste.
38 was soon at the door, but there seemed to be a bit of a problem. She approached my table and I greeted her, but she said, "I'm not allowed in."
I thought she was joking. She wasn't wearing jeans, so I could see nothing wrong with her attire. "I'm wearing trainers," she told me and I could see with my eyes that this was not a lie, though the trainers themselves were almost totaly obscured by her trousers, "Apparently that is against the rules."
Well, not according to the woman on the phone this morning.
The doorman was now by our table and in a bit of a state as 38 had sat down. "I'm afraid you will have to leave," he informed us.
"Can't we just wait until he's finished his drink?" asked 38. I had been drinking a bottle of Evian as I waited. "I'll keep my feet hidden from view," she added.
She had a point. No-one else could see her shoes under the table, so they were unlikely to offend anyone. Which is more than can be said for the yellow jacket and the hookers (perhaps there could be a rule that escorts must be kept hidden under the tables at all times, though might lead to some problems in itself).
I tried to defend my date and the aspursions that were being cast upon her, telling the man that no-one had warned me of this when I had rung and that I had a table booked at the restaurant.
The man went off to talk to his boss, leaving us sitting at the table. I was unsure as to whether this meant we were allowed to stay. Should I order drinks?
It took a little while but finally we had to go out of the bar to show the boss man the shoes, so he could decide if we were allowed to eat and drink in his over-priced facility.
He was insincerely apologetic, but told us that trainers would never be allowed in a place such as this. "I can turn a blind eye to jeans and even to men not wearing a jacket, but we can't have training shoes here."
"Well, why didn't the woman say that on the phone?" I asked. "She was rather insistent about the jeans and jacket thing, but didn't mention trainers at all."
"When did you ring?" he said.
"This morning."
He went to check the reservation book and I told him my name, but then he stopped himself, "Well, it doesn't make any difference anyway. I can't allow trainers. I am sorry."
But he wasn't sorry at all.
Perhaps I am being paranoid, but I think they were pleased to have an excuse to get rid of me as much as anything. I have a feeling that if Posh Spice had turned up in trainers she might have been let in.
I wasn't all that bothered and didn't really want to give these idiots my custom anyway, so we left without an argument. It was actually rather a good way to start a date and might be worth replicating yourself if you want to give an evening some frisson. If you can be sure your date will be wearing trainers this gives you the opportunity to look flash, but not actually have to shell out any money.
In fact I didn't even pay for my Evian and had also had four or five free posh nibbly things too, so I was maybe almost a fiver up on the deal.
We went somewhere else which was not so lofty or snooty and had a great time. It was nice to think that the prostitutes and yellow jacketed men were up there looking down on us.
