What could be more pleasant that an afternoon’s Sloane spotting in Pimlico over a plate of fresh mackerel?

“Ya, I’m like totally over committed… so I can’t take on anything else right now,” explains a long limbed carefully shaven gent in his early twenties to a lady friend.
Reclining club-class style in his chair, dressed in tennis gear and clutching a glass of rose at The Orange on Pimlico Road he does look stretched, admittedly.
When having lunch in Sloane-ville, I find the food tends to play second fiddle to the entertainment. And last Friday I was lucky enough to spot a Made In Chelsea style gent on my way out the door after another brilliant meal at this utterly reliable gastropub.
With joy, I observed my posh subject’s friend, a dark kohl-lined eyed beauty with Cleopatra hair, meet his words with silence, plus a slight, almost imperceptible, nod of the head. A level of listlessness that takes years of public schooling.
People watching/mocking is fundamental part of eating out, so I couldn’t have been happier to walk into the sunshine, knowing I’d seen a real life equivalent of Hugo Louis George Taylor, complete with that cloying voice, dripping with self-interest.
I love eating at The Orange. There’s just so much to get your teeth into…