Not on at Nell's

There's a team of so-called 'entrepreneurs' in the industry whose job it is to vie for column inches on the so-called 'style' pages of newspapers and magazines. And they do it with aplomb: pictured wearing designer clothes and surrounded by young, hip chicks (these people are usually men), they convince us that they are at the helm of the most fashionable boat, and riding the latest tsunami of trend to sweep over London.

There should be a collective noun for this spurious group of young pretenders, who temporarily steal our hearts - and our money - a 'cornucopia' of con merchants, perhaps, or a 'sleaze' of style gurus. Whatever. But these guys - they know who they are without me naming them - manage to bounce back from one financial disaster after another, while tempting fresh financial fools to fund their latest venture. Many of them, in my opinion, do not have the intellect to operate a pedal bin.

Bon viveur Piers Adam, on the other hand, could never be categorised thus. Always in the limelight as London's master of the ephemeral, Adam's background includes the opening (and often closing) of of-the-moment venues such as Kartouche, SW1, the K-Bars, Hanover Grand, Rock and the Stork Club.

Adam's latest venture, Nell's - so named, apparently, after Nell Gwynne, who used to peddle her oranges (a euphemism for her sideline as a lady of the night) round these parts when not working as Charles II's mistress - is a bar-cum-club operation on the site of the former Pitcher & Piano, and one-time outpost of Smollensky's.

You have to catch Adam's venues at a precise moment to appreciate their worth. With Nell's I missed the moment by about 200 miles and 30 years. I'm talking about Doncaster, circa 1973, with a done-onashoestring subterranean affair kitted out to look like a sunken cruise liner. A generous observer might refer to this place as 'post-ironic', but you have to have humour to be ironic, and this place has 'sad' written all over it.

But in a world where punters are 'discerning' in their consumption habits Nell's, if it works, will be proof positive that the public don't give a toss what they throw down their necks. The drinks list proudly boasts 'jugs of beer' and 'alcopops', and real sophisticates can order a glass of Rosemount white wine for just £3 - you get what you pay for.

And much the same applies to the food, whose journey between freezer and Armitage Shanks should follow the route of least resistance. My mate Henry asked what flavours he would get in the trio of sausages - our waiter didn't know. And neither did the chef when he turned up to try and bail the place out. But I guess if you were really hungry and really drunk, then it might hit the spot.

Heaven (and, perhaps, Piers Adam) only knows why this place bothers to open at all during the day, because it shouldn't attract anyone who is able to walk and talk of their own volition. As a late-night venue, however, it will work for a brief moment in time - especially if they do as they do in Doncaster and have a bit of bingo before the star turn.

Nell's
1 Dover Street, W1S 4LA