Where were you, Wills?

I never expected the path to the Underworld to feature so much bamboo. Or to have such great cocktails. But if this is hell, I'm going to be very happy there.

Mahiki, named after the mythological Polynesian path to wrongness, has quickly established itself as the party place of choice for young (and not so young) hedonists.

From junior royals to Jade Jagger and Madonna, everyone who is anyone has shimmied among the foliage in the Dover Street tiki bar, so it was high time for my visit, with my glamorous pal Victoria.

As we were shown to a table in the bar, Victoria stated her intention to "pull Wills into a lavatory cubicle while Kate is busy and distracted getting a drink".

Luckily for Miss Middleton, she and the prince are skiing in Zermatt this week - Vics can be very persuasive.

After studying the cocktail menu for a matter of nanoseconds, we decided on the campest looking drinks we could order: a pina colada, served in a large pineapple, and a lethal coconut grenade, which arrived in a coconut - both are under a tenner, so well within our less-than-celebrity budget.

Even though we'd just stepped off the Victoria line, it felt as if we'd been teleported to a tropical beachside bar, albeit one where drinkers were clad in well-cut suits. The co-owner, Nick House, wanted to create a bar that stood apart from the usual same-old, same-old London bar/club. His mission was to make it fun, unpretentious and to "recreate holiday fun and madness".

Sipping cocktails from large, hollowed-out fruit is a great leveller, and there's no VIP area in the two-floor venue, not even for the future king or the queen of pop. They park their royal hides on the same wicker as the rest of us. There's no guest list either, it's free to get in during the week (only £10 after 10pm at the weekend) and the bar prices are similarly enabling.

We had to be up early the next day, so it seemed unwise to explore the cocktail menu further. But, not known for our collective wisdom, we ordered the Neptune's Bounty next, a potent cocktail served in a seemingly bottomless brass diver's helmet (sourced directly from Java, apparently), meant for four to share and a bargain at £50.

"Oooh, I haven't had a group drink since I went on a Club 18-30 holiday," said Victoria as we discarded two of the straws. We stopped short of getting stuck into the Treasure Chest (£100) though, a drink designed for eight and favoured by Prince Harry.