Readers who tire of hearing of the Crone and the Cackler’s get together will be glad to learn that reports of the trip are drawing to an end. But there are some excellent photos, and it seems a shame not to share them with you.
A wet Monday found the duo glumly staring at the rain coming down in stair-rods and considering their options. The Cackler expressed a desire to see the White House which, that day, was to boast a pink ribbon in honor of breast cancer awareness. The thought of trekking to Jackson Place to see the home of the first family festooned in saturated satin filled the Crone with dread–until she remembered the Hotel Washington, licensed premises that overlook the White House.
It has been years since the Crone was last in the hotel and, during that time, it has very much changed for the better. It has been taken over by the W chain and is now the last word in opulence and style.
The downstairs lobby has pinstripe-suited soft furnishings cheekily supplemented by sofas upholstered in hooker high heel red patent. It makes the lounge look like it is filled with Members of Congress and Ladies of the Night. Tongue in cheek high taste–beyond that, the Crone couldn’t possibly comment. The general ambience is French boudoir. It was all too much for the Cackler who had to sit down and order a nice cup of tea.
A velvet rope and a hostess bar the way to the lift for the roof terrace but, it being the middle of the day, the haggard and hungry managed to make the grade to ride roofward (at night, only the beautiful people are so elevated). Once upstairs, it was Kir Royales all round and the most delicious selection of appetizers–crab cakes, calamari and chicken samosas. They almost forgot to look out the window and over the White House.