Premium hotels in London are nothing new.
There is a reason why wealthy businessmen, A-list celebrities and billionaire holidaymakers don’t tend to come to Aberdeen for an opulent weekend break: London is where the luxury is.
With endless imposing grand hotels on offer, in this city it takes a lot to impress.
Yet, in the concrete jungle of London’s east end, something rather different is happening.
Shoreditch is the creative heart of London, where upmarket cocktail bars pack into the same streets filled with ramshackle pubs and independent shops.
Despite the growing affluence in this inner London district, the area maintains its original gritty, urban edge, with many walls and shop fronts plastered with graffiti by Banksy himself.
Wandering down different lanes you’ll find colourful street art ranging from wacky to downright beautiful. And the neighbourhood is evolving, making every visit unique.
Old Spitalfields Market is another must-visit of the area, and is one of the only surviving Victorian Market Halls in the capital with stalls offering a range of fashion, antiques and food.
On Sundays, Colombia Road flower market sees roads and pavements filled with flora, while nearby Boxpark offers a quirky way to pass an afternoon.
Built entirely from repurposed shipping containers, the centre offers a place for up-and-coming artists to showcase their latest work, alongside mouth-watering menus, creative workshops and live music.
The vibe is trendy and authentic, and hidden just off Old Street is another jewel in this neighbourhood’s crown, the Nobu Hotel Shoreditch.
From one end of the street it appears understated and industrial, yet from the other end it feels almost like a highly stylised spaceship has neatly landed in London’s east end, with delicate glass balconies making use of the space 40 feet up.
A lady in traditional Japanese dress is performing a tea ceremony for guests in the foyer, though after dropping our bags in our room we head straight to the spa to sweat out the city dust.
Eventually hunger pangs hit and, spying that our very own hotel restaurant was packed, we sat down at a table.
Located in a cavernous basement with polished concrete floors, the eatery gives diners the chance to see its chefs working methodically in the open kitchen, with gentle sizzling noises carrying through the space.
It may be sandwich time for the office workers on the streets above but brunch is what you want to order here.
And if you thought the name Nobu sounded familiar, it’s likely because food is what it’s famous for.
The world’s most recognised Japanese restaurant, Nobu has a brand which is synonymous with top-notch sushi – along with hip crowds and a loyal celebrity following.
For us, it was time to see what all the fuss was about.
The full brunch package offered a starter, a main dish, access to the extensive buffet bar and bottomless cocktails for two hours – ideal.
Salted edamame and yellowtail sashimi with jalapeño started us off, followed by a visit to the buffet.
From sushi rolls and miso soup to pink tuna and giant king prawns, everything we tasted felt unbeatably fresh.
Our main dishes of soft shell crab and shrimp tempura arrived and proved to be just as tasty.
Later that afternoon we explored the nearby Brick Lane, London’s Mecca for all things vintage.
You’ll find no musty mothballs in any of the fashionable second-hand boutiques around here, though you might just spot an oversized blazer complete with shoulder pads that looks exactly like something you wore in 1982.
Atika is the cream of the crop – a two-storey Victorian warehouse said to be London’s best thrift shop.
After picking up a bargain (Levi dungarees if you must know) we took a tube to central London.
Meeting up with friends, we spent the next few hours hitting some of the city’s slightly less refined watering holes. Stumbling back in the wee small hours, our little pocket of Shoreditch was heaven to come back to.
A dreamless sleep on the marshmallowy bed was interrupted only at 9am by my alarm, reminding me I had booked in for a spa treatment that morning.
More than a little worse for wear, one facial in particular stood out: The Cure.
An hour later I emerged feeling like a new person. Sort of.
My formerly dehydrated skin was glowing, and if there was any place to have a hangover cured, this would be it.
Of course I think the greasy but supposedly gourmet burger I was eating less than an hour later helped too, but I’ve got to give the spa some credit where it’s due.
And with that, our weekend of luxury was over.
Bumping back down on Aberdonian tarmac, I was already mentally planning my next trip.
