Slick, sleek and chic

Frank Sinatra sang about it and had it in spades. You can't buy or inherit it. It's elusive, indefinable and highly desirable. Style - you've either got it or you haven't.

Shrewd people define their own, rather than following others. Look at Camilla, who has emerged as a style icon for her generation (if you don't believe me, Anna Wintour at US Vogue said it first).

While most politicians are the antithesis of style, Gordon Brown (bizarrely and unpredictably) seems to have developed his own almost overnight. His predecessor Tony Blair was a style-free zone: we have only to look at that ghastly footage of him hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans to remind us of just how well he put the 'Camp' into David.

London is, of course, properly stylish. It's a world-class city, which is why everyone wants to live here, why we were awarded the Olympics and why so many new, stunning buildings are springing up in the capital. We've become spoilt for choice when it comes to eating out because we have more than our fair share of world-class restaurants. If we can transcend the lacklustre eating houses of the past, then why can't we do the same with the people who fill our public life?

Just what is it about Londoners that they don't get how great their city is, or that they no longer have to tolerate second best? Can someone explain to me why the only two high-profile candidates for the post of London Mayor are Ken Livingstone and Boris Johnson? I wish we could produce someone of the calibre of a Bloomberg or Giuliani - both of whom have probably eaten in one of the New York offshoots of the legendary Cipriani restaurant.

These days Cipriani is more of a brand than an institution - it also has branches in Hong Kong and Porto Cervo and sells its own merchandise, though it would probably still feature in the top five of every foodie's wish list. Its fame stems from the original Cipriani joint: Harry's Bar in Venice, opened by Giuseppe Cipriani in 1931.

The first time I went there, very excited to have got a table, I had to take a call from the Prince of Wales. 'Where are you?' 'Eating at Harry's Bar in Venice, Sir.' 'How wonderful, do send Mr Cipriani my very best wishes.' Well, it put me in my place!

When he wasn't writing about his more famous customers (Ernest Hemingway, Orson Welles and countless Rothschilds), Giuseppe was inventing the Bellini cocktail of peach purée and Prosecco. Unfortunately, his son and grandson, the current owners, have just been done for a £5 million tax scam in the US.

It's notoriously difficult to get a reservation at Cipriani in London, which only adds to its allure. Naturally. Exclusivity is priceless - though, unlike style, it always has a price tag. David Beckham hosted his 32nd birthday party here at a reputed cost of £25,000, and Rod Stewart was eating at the next table on the evening I was there.

There's an international feel to the room - it's chic, slick and very sleek. The place pulses with power and the boogie factor - you can feel it as soon as you walk in, which is probably what attracts the fashionistas, actors and models who frequent it.