“Is this perhaps the drug-fuelled fantasy of a rock chick or a Mafia boss?” asks Fiona Duncan, who recently visited the hotel to offer her verdict.
“Liberace lives,” is her reasonable conclusion.
“There’s velvet fabric, embossed leather or chequerboard tiles on other walls, fur on ceilings, white plastic studded with crystals for upholstery, dripping chandeliers, a creepy mirrored chill-out room, loos that are deliberately unmarked, impossible to find and astonishing once inside.”
“The English restaurant provides a welcome contrast to the ostentatious surroundings: sensible, freshly prepared and very well cooked.”
“There’s Persian pony skin on the walls of the bar, which feels like an opulent Napoleonic .”
“Our room was a modest blood-red-and- black affair in crocodile skin, fur, velvet and chiffon, lit by chandeliers.”
“The bedrooms are each built around a wildly ornate bed, with copper baths filled from the ceiling.”
“One expects to see bowls of cocaine and sofas draped with half-naked women.”
[from best friend email]