Sixty Beverly Hills

It was hardly a taxing invitation. Mr Smith: ‘Fancy popping over to the States for Coachella Festival in the Californian desert?’ Mm. Then we could take Highway 1 to San Francisco, hang out with family, scoot back down to a wedding in Beverly Hills and stay at the much-talked-about Sixty Beverly Hills (formerly the Thompson Beverly Hills) on Wilshire. Where do I sign?

After a couple of weeks on the road, Mr Smith and I rock up at the hotel in our clichéd, but as Mr Smith puts it, ‘entirely necessary’ Ford Mustang Convertible – in a terrifying Eighties’ optic white. Looking very much the tourists on tour, our dwindling cool factor plummets further as we approach the hotel valet past a line-up of cars that wouldn't look out of place on the Beckhams’ forecourt.

Formerly an anonymous chain hotel, the Sixty Beverly Hills in Los Angeles has had an injection of style ever since the eponymous hip hotel group, and designer Dodd Mitchell, got their manicured hands on it. Though large, the hotel has been given a boutique makeover that would turn more intimate properties green. All 107 rooms have been decorated in a colour palette of rich browns and greys, and accessorised with Palamino or Fresian rugs, and chocolate-leather bedheads.

Check-in is swift and despite only one elevator functioning, it’s quickly up to level seven and our king premium room. We ignore a guy in the lift comparing his king premium room, less favourably, to a shoebox. Stifling disappointment we navigate our way down the seriously sexy and dimly lit (at 5.30pm) corridor to our room where we're more than relieved! Our so-called ‘shoebox’ is in fact a light and airy space with enough room for my six pairs of shoes – and many more I might buy. The dramatic black-and-white marble bathrooms are as glamorous as some of the Hollywood A-listers who live round these parts although ‘oversized’ is a small exaggeration, but our bunk-up makes a great base for three days.

Even though our room overlooks a couple of buildings and a rather large roof, a French balcony proves a welcome addition to the room: Mr Smith is even kind enough to let me jump on his back to see the ‘d’ from the Hollywood sign in the distance. Cityscapes, however, don’t come more dazzling as one floor up, care of ABH. Above Beverly Hills is the hotel’s chic bar and pool and in a 360-degrees spin, I can see the Hollywood sign, downtown LA, a bird’s-eye view of the route of my forthcoming shopping expedition. I confess due to the fully stocked rooftop bar (a bottle of Sam Smiths ale is particularly pleasing for Mr Smith), we don’t make it as far as the fitness centre, but a peek through portholes gives me a glamorous dose of the Swarovski-studded pool.

As a rendezvous, the rooftop bar is the winner, and here lounge lizards and Angelino scenesters sip cocktails and gaze out over the city of angels. For us, the restaurant proves no great shakes. Staff are attentive and service is sharp in this tranquil spot– but it’s probably best if you’re popping those tapas-size portions on expenses. Delicious, but definitely best to adopt a sharing-style approach to the size-0-suiting portions. A set ‘Beverly Hills breakfast’ at $80 for two seems more fitting to Chateau Marmont than the Sixty.

Ignoring the many recommendations we’ve had for In-n-Out burgers and their secret ‘double double animal’ recipe – yikes – we explore our locale and end up taking a taxi up into the hills. (Although as we discover later, those two patties doused in dressing, pickles and cheese work wonders on a champagne hangover.) After the bright lights big city, the restaurant Pace in the Canyon is worth the 15 minutes by car and it feels like we’ve escaped to a romantic hideaway. Beautifully lit and intimate, this Italian eatery has been serving organic, sustainable food for over a decade in the heart of Laurel Canyon and it lives up to its rep, the food is delicious, the local Merlot is fantastic and I am sure I spot Leo DiCaprio.

A wedding in Beverly Hills is our main reason to be here, but still we find time to ogle the more plush, polished and plastic parts of Beverly Hills as well as dreamy vintage shops up on Hillhurst Avenue. A stop at Alcove Cafe & Bakery for homemade lemonade and the freshest of salads in their sun-drenched garden is another must.

Botox or a nip-tuck aren’t on my agenda, however it would be rude not to get a pre-nuptials A-list 'blow-out' – as it is in local parlance. JM Blowdry is the brainchild of celeb hairstylist Joseph Martin and he does not disappoint. Situated off North Canon Drive & Dayton Way, this $30 a visit salon gives me Jennifer Aniston hair in an hour, and it stays with me for four days. Even Mr Smith is impressed with the swoosh.

In a city that is as larger than life as you imagine it to be and a little bit more, it is especially difficult to leave that 5am Los Angeles sunrise behind – it looks how I’d picture a Rothko painting to glow through a Diana camera on 120 roll film. As David Lynch says, ‘The light in Los Angeles is different to anywhere else. I’m lucky to live with that light, it’s inspiring and energising’. So if you’d like that extra-special light served with a swanky rooftop pool bar with well-designed rooms and clued-up staff, then open your eyes to Sixty Beverly Hills.