Achingly cool at Skylon

There are certain words that are like music to the ears: mellifluous is one and Pauillac (my favourite) is another. Then, of course, there are others that bring with them a distinct lack of harmony: 'Heather' and 'Mills' spring to mind, as does the peculiar looking word Skylon.

Yes, it sounds like a hotel on the outskirts of Heathrow, but in fact Skylon was the Thames side steel structure shaped like a tall cigar that symbolised the 1951 Festival of Britain. Unfortunately, the building was a lightning risk and so it was demolished and (apparently) made into ashtrays, but the name lives on as a restaurant in the newly vamped Royal Festival Hall, where Guy and I went recently for an Elgar extravaganza.

We've had a bit of a musical blitz over this past few weeks. It started with a concert at the Royal College of Music, which was celebrating its 125th anniversary. Sixteen of the college's most talented sons and daughters had gathered together for the first time to perform Vaughan Williams' haunting 'Serenade to Music'. It was sublime.

Gazing around the college - with its portraits of kings and queens, and letters from princes and dukes - I was reminded just how important the word 'royal' is for so many musical institutions. The royal prefix pops up everywhere: in the colleges, in the great concert halls (Royal Festival and Royal Albert), in the orchestras (the Philharmonic), and at the opera (in Covent Garden). But the importance goes further. So much of our great music - from Zadok the Priest four centuries ago to 'Crown Imperial' in the last century - has royal origins. Why, even 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' was commissioned by Queen Victoria.

The current crop of middleaged Royals continue this important link with music, but there's no sign as yet that the next generation has the slightest interest in the arts - and particularly in music (other than late-night bopping to house or techno). If this trend continues, as I fear it will, then I see another chapter in the book about the monarchy's decaying importance and relevance.

Our next musical stop was the Royal Festival Hall, with full royal credentials on show - including Elgar's magisterial arrangement of 'God Save the King' - for which the audience stood with varying degrees of enthusiasm. We'd stopped going to the RFH a few years ago: the seats were too small, the bars too crowded, the decor distinctly tatty.

But it's just completed a massive and hugely successful renovation, thanks to the efforts of that wonderful philanthropist Dame Vivien Duffield.

There's more room to sit, making a concert so much more enjoyable. Spacious open bars with charmingly retro furniture and meticulously renovated decoration give the place a really special feel. It is now the perfect, modern concert venue and deserves to flourish. And, of course, there's the Skylon restaurant on the second floor, which has breathtaking night-time views down the Thames.

Although it's essentially an in-house eatery, Skylon turned out to be a place not only for concert-goers. It was full when we arrived: lots of glossy, gossipy men and women, plus a couple of famous customers, the Pet Shop Boys, who were just leaving as we arrived (I'm sure it was nothing personal). The affable Duke of Kent was in a party in the main area of the restaurant, giving the place a certain cachet. We sat to have a glass of champagne at the excellent and achingly cool Terrace Bar, which sits in the middle of the room like an arctic oasis.

And the food was perfect - straightforward and quick, but nonetheless imaginative - exactly what you need after a musical overload of the senses. If we'd had all evening, one of us would have opted for the pan-fried bubble and squeak with a hen's egg (hurrah for the humble hen's egg - I'm so bored with quail, duck and goose), but instead I chose the delicious gravadlax, while Guy opted for a very tasty white onion soup. We stuck to simplicity for our mains: Dover sole for me and a perfectly grilled burger for Guy (you can take the boy out of Essex, but you can't take Essex out of the boy) and these were dispatched with a reasonably priced Rioja from a short, but well-crafted wine list.

All in all, I would sing Skylon's praises: it strikes exactly the right note.

Skylon
South Bank, London, SE1 8XX