All a bit airport lounge at Zeta

Fifteen minutes before I am due to leave for a night at Zeta, I am overcome by a wave of sartorial angst. It occurs to me that my standard-issue evening look (Earl jeans and Nikes) may not cut it. I dimly remember a friend having to spend an evening at the Hilton's Windows On The World bar (several floors above ground-level Zeta) flashing rather too much leg in a dress that was really only ever designed to be a top, having lent her boyfriend her trousers in the lobby, so that he could change out of his jeans. So I call and speak to a staff member, who says: 'No, there are no restrictions on denim and trainers as such. But do try and make an effort, eh?'

In the event, I inadvertently bypass the gratuitous door presence (two heavies - one Ricky Martin pretty, one hip and balding - and a self-styled Meg Matthews wannabe in an over-logoed coat) by taking the back way in, through the hotel lobby.

No amount of khaki-clad, lithe-hipped, super-camp waiting staff can disguise the fact that Zeta is just another Hilton bar with pretensions. Leather banquettes, over-sized paper globe lampshades and bamboo trimmings do not detract from the regulation-issue airport-lounge-style ceilings, or the vacant carvery section. And no amount of meaningless rhetoric and clumsily fashioned life/booze philosophies on the drinks menu can compensate for the over-elaborate cocktails - though the Buzz Lightyear with added guarana is very good.

The Saturday-night crowd is as bridge-and-tunnel as you like, the women ranging from Posh-Spice-alike to sub-glamour model, and are predominantly interested in flirting drinks out of the ageing hotel clients and the smattering of England rugby players. And the bar staff, though very amusing in a comedy-accented way, are spectacularly inefficient.

Whisky Mist At Zeta
35 Hertford Street, W1J 7SD