How do we know when we’ve arrived when we travel? Because we recognise the image we’ve already seen. We think we’re chasing new experiences but we’re actually chasing our memories.” Dr Gillespie

Ah, London. According to some things I read, there’s nothing but high rise buildings, reams of cement and formulaic, biscuit-cutter hotel rooms, unless you happen to be connected to royalty. Well, step into the immaculate Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where a square patch of grass that’s seen more attention than Kate Middleton’s wardrobe wins the accolade [...]

A golden sofa waits in the lobby of the Radisson on Mercer Street, its spine forming a glamorous backdrop that cannot be ignored. It’s nearly upstaged by the gilded birdcages and the gold leaf shaggy sheep – but not quite.

This glitzy…

There are hotels. And then there are hotels. Places so imaginative, so extraordinary and so unusual that they stand out as experiences in their own right. The Egerton Hotel in Knightsbridge, London, is one of those hotels…

Like many a hotel in London, a Union Jack flag hangs over the doorway of The Rubens at the Palace, the fabric swaying with all the haste of an oak tree expanding its roots. Unlike many hotels in London…

A clock plods through its strict rhythm as the clink of china echoes through the drawing room. A Union Jack plays hide-and-seek at the window when the teapot isn’t watching and a platter of cucumber sandwiches make themselves comfy for afternoon tea.

In the aftermath of the London riots, a group of volunteers decided to show the world what social media could really do. This is their story, told by Sophie Collard.

Ask many people where London’s cathedral is and they’ll confidently point to Westminster Abbey – which isn’t a cathedral and isn’t even in London (at least not the City of London). The correct answer, of course, is St Paul’s… except that it isn’t. Not quite. London has…

It’s my birthday this week so you’ll have to wait a day for the next travel update. I have some urgent cupcakes to attend to…

Emerging from Clapham Junction’s grey and predictable train station, I saw him straight away. A scarlet Mini Cooper, unflappable sixties gear, a glamorous assistant and the promise to show me London in a whole new light.