Real legs and fake people

The Soho Hotel is an actors’ hotel. They come for press junkets and interviews that reveal nothing because there is nothing to reveal; in fact, I have long suspected that this consuming nothingness, screamed across newsprint with all the conviction of denial, is the point of them; anything to evade reality and bring forth the realm of stupid. So it doesn’t matter that the Soho Hotel doesn’t know what it is; that is a benefit, quite possibly a design. Actors don’t know who they are either, and this is why they feel comfortable in the Soho Hotel. It is another mirror.

It is part of the Firmdale Group, which has upholstered a series of London hotels in large, gaudy prints. They favour huge blooms, small ones being of no interest to cocaine users.

It is a former warehouse with a neon sign spelling its name and a Union Flag. There is a sculpture of an obese cat in the lobby as a warning to actors who might eat.