Guy needs his Punchbowl

There aren’t many London pubs of the traditional, old boozer kind where you find a bouncer on the door or large silver Mercedes hovering outside, complete with suited chauffeur. But these were the gatekeepers I found outside Mayfair’s Punch Bowl last Friday night, well-dressed punters spilling around them on the pavement.

Unsurprising, perhaps, that the pub attracts such drinkers. It’s buried deep in hedge-fund territory, and given the times "hedgies" presumably need a drink more than ever.

But recently, the pub has become more in vogue because of its co-landlord, Guy Ritchie. He, along with mates and Mahiki owners Nick House and Piers Adam, Royal playmate Guy Pelly and Tarquin Gorst, bought the pub this year from George Foreman, son of Kray brothers associate Freddie Foreman.

As Madonna and Ritchie live around the corner it’s naturally become their local. Last week, she joined her husband and their children, and guests including Trudi Styler and Jamie Hince, for Guy’s 40th birthday celebrations, which wore on until 4am.

Quite the celebrity party place. So on Friday I went for dinner there with three friends to see what the fuss is about. Because surely, it’s just a pub?

Well yes, and therein lies its charm. Fight through the hanging baskets outside and you’ll find wooden floors and wall panelling, a painting of Churchill glaring down over the fireplace, tables lit by candles in old champagne bottles and lanterns hanging overhead. But even though Madonna and Guy have reportedly spent £2.5 million on tarting it up (on what exactly, I wondered), it feels authentic and cosy.

Luckily I’d booked for dinner because every table was reserved. "Oh look, there’s a picture of Madonna," said my friend, Emily, before adding "oh no, it’s the Queen." Unable to catch the eye of the frantic waitress, I despatched another friend, James, to the bar.

He returned spluttering over the cost of his pint of bitter: £3.90. "Tough, it’s Mayfair," I told him brusquely, before perusing the menu. Prices there too are on the high side: starters, including wild mushrooms or roasted scallops, leave little change from a tenner, while main courses such as pan-fried sea bream or lamb rump hover around the £14-£17 mark.

It was fine, fresh, comfort food without being remarkable. The wine list, soon to be lengthened, leaps from bottles at £14 up to £80.

Around us sat a curious mixture of fellow customers. To our right, a table of septuagenarians — the women with stiff, Margaret Thatcher-style hair and pearls, their husbands in immaculate suits. They could have been off to the opera.