Last week I flew to London for fashion week, and I also kept a little bit of space in the agenda for the evenings. By that I mean: the coolest restaurants, cocktails, trendy clubs, and maybe an afterparty. I cut back significantly on accommodation to spend more money on dinner and wine (and of course for a little sweater or skirt). Alright. Lesson one: never skimp on a hotel. Even if you think, “we're out all day and we only sleep there.” Not true. Especially after standing on your feet for eight hours, you want to come home to a nice, large hotel room with a comfy bed. But well, we learn from that.

On the first evening in London, I made a reservation at restaurant Pont St in the Belgravia hotel. When I was told that Pippa Middleton often came there, it already gave me a nice feeling. I was in a good place.

And indeed, a lovely chic and warm hotel, lots of spotlights (I love spotlights), sleek design, nice art on the walls, and a cocktail menu so extensive that you almost dare not order an ordinary mojito. I chose something with Elderflower. I had a little Sex and the City feeling, even though I was in London.

With jazzy music in the background, we sat down at the table. Immediately spoiled with champagne and three types of bread to choose from. We chose all three. Of course. The menu was clear and there was something for everyone. For example, a burger (a luxury), a nicely grilled piece of fish, or a healthy quinoa salad. For dessert, we had delicious chocolate ice cream. I am absolutely not a regular smoker, but give me a glass of alcohol and I immediately want a cigarette with it. A charming guy took us to the smoking area, a small piece of rooftop terrace buzzing with people. You stood in the open air, but it was so well heated and there were benches where everyone could relax with a glass of wine and quietly smoke a cigarette. We walked back to our table, keeping our eyes open to see if we spotted Pippa sitting in a romantic corner, and ordered some more wine. We ended the evening with a cigarette at the door, waiting for a taxi. In the Netherlands, I stop. Really.