Tea at The Wolsely

There are a few things you have to know about tea, or, come to think of it, coffee, breakfast, lunch or dinner at The Wolsely.

It's perfectly acceptable to be open about star spotting: when Lily Allen strides through in her Russian white fur hat and chats to Damien Hirst over scrambled egg then moves on to Giles's table for orange juice, it's open season. 

If you want to get scones without currants you have to call 24 hours before your reservation to have them especially made. 

One nervous waitress always seems to drop something, usually a glass of orange juice, on the floor. The marble makes it resound all around. 

There are two tiers for tables: the ones on the gallery, reserved for special clients. It's like the sky - where you can oversee the minions and be seen by them in return; and the ones on the main body of the floor, where it's perfectly legitimate but also strategic where you sit. Central you want to be seen, to the side for a more discreet dinner, and at the semi-circular table by the door - not cool. 

It's the most fun ever...