Warehouse dress, Topshop boots.
Last night was spent sampling canapes and sipping champagne at my preferred London hotel, The St Martins Lane. I usually dismiss this venue for being overpriced, despite my love for it’s minimalistic decor and delicious cocktails, but an invite to a private party was impossible to resist. I pulled out my new favourite dress, braved bare legs, and even laughed through a slightly awkward debacle when a painting (thankfully cardboard) toppled over our table. The night closed with late dining at a quiet Indian eatery, and an annoying rainy search for a taxi home. Lesson of the night: Order a taxi from the restaurant…
