White City House

Whether in Amsterdam, Shoreditch, Berlin or Somerset, I’ve only ever had pretty extraordinary times at Soho House (overlooking the occasion I interviewed the most narcissistic entrepreneur at the east London edition), so admittedly the bar was already high when I came to visit its White City outpost. I’ll admit that west London is not my usual stamping-ground in the capital, and certainly not White City,
which straightaway conjures up images of shopping centres (thanks, Westfield). But it’s here that Soho House has taken over the former BBC television headquarters.

As I enter, I’m greeted remarkably warmly by the staff, one of whom later remembers my name (attentive staff always equals a very good sign). Throughout the building, there are nods to the broadcasting history: as you wait for the lift to the bars, there are several photographs of past weather presenters including, naturally, Michael Fish. There’s even that most recognisable childhood image (to those of us of a certain, pre-streaming age, at least) of the famous test card, featuring a girl playing noughts and crosses alongside a clown.

The staff make my day when they tell me, a waterbaby, that the swimming pool has just reopened after being closed for the winter. My friend, who is visiting from Paris, and I make a beeline straight for the rooftop and we’re both quickly in heaven. Afterwards, we hit the basement spa, rotating between the indoor pool, steam room and sauna. It was busy down here, so perhaps don’t expect a purely relaxing experience.

We venture to our room and catch up over tea (not as quite as hedonistic as the people next door, who were ordering the cocktails-on-wheels service). Like the rest of the hotel, the room has a mid-century-modern feel throughout, with retro patterned curtains and Sixties-style lights. Like its many siblings, White City House does what the group does best – which is thinking of everything. There’s a cocktail kit in the minibar, a selection of different Cowshed shower gels to use depending on your mood, and glass-bottled Soho Skin products, including a cream cleanser and serum, which you can take home.

That evening, we dine at the Club Restaurant, snagging a corner table in the busy space, while in the background a band plays soulful numbers. My friend keeps me abreast of which influencers or famous people she can spot in her vision. At breakfast the next morning, it’s surprisingly quiet upstairs – perhaps everyone is nursing a hangover in their rooms – but I bag a table at the back, with newspapers to pore over, ginger shots, a shake and some porridge. 

I’ll admit that it takes a lot of effort to leave the building – the service is impeccable and I am fully cocooned here. There’s also a cinema and ping-pong tables to keep you entertained. But I had tickets to the much-raved about ‘Accidentally Wes Anderson’ exhibition booked, so somehow summoned the will to leave. I walk there, taking advantage of the decent weather and opportunity to weave my way through west London.

On my return, it was straight back to the rooftop for some Palomas and vegan Pisco Sours. Before I know it, it’s 2am and we’re the last folk standing. We receive the biggest bill I’ve ever had – not that it mattered, as we were soon raiding the minibar, finally calling it a night at 6am. Later, the hangover was cured with Bloody Marys and huge breakfasts. I lingered a little longer, having been permitted to stay and use the facilities. From wholesome to hedonistic, I’ve had the full Soho House experience. I leave one BBC building for another, bound for Media City in Salford to return to my freelance radio-producer role. Over and out.