When I was a student I went through a brief phase of gate-crashing Tramp.
I had no place in a private nightclub on Jermyn Street, which to this day is described on its website as ‘a very private club for the exceptional, glamorous and famous’. But my best friend at the time was the spit of Audrey Hepburn. Doors opened for us. Adventures presented themselves.
One night a Saudi prince’s hot ex-army bodyguard chatted me up on the dance floor and, once he had my interest, told me that actually he had pulled me for his boss. He took me over to meet this boss. I wasn’t offended, not at all. It was all incredible to me. I went back to his place in Mayfair where about 30 of us were entertained by the DJ from Stringfellows, which was still a nightclub then and not a titty bar, while waiting staff in white gloves served us Lebanese meze and whatever we wanted to drink.
Things like that just sort of happened at Tramp. At the stage I was going, it had been open about as long as I’d been alive. It was still packed with It girls and Tatler types, footballers of myth — if people were looking for George Best, the question was always, ‘Have you tried Tramp?’ — and general showbiz sorts. This year it hits its 50 year anniversary, which by London nightlife standards makes it a genuine institution.
Notable among Tramp’s legendary stories are: Princes William and Harry being, according to MI5, stalked there by Russian spy Anna Chapman. Three James Bonds — Sean Connery, George Lazenby and Roger Moore — all having dinner at the same time. Ronnie Wood allegedly trying to introduce himself to Prince — at the time busy chatting to Jon Bon Jovi — and being manhandled away by one of his six bouncers (large entourages remain common).
The King of Sweden hassling the DJ to play ‘Dancing Queen’ so he could twirl his wife, for whom ABBA first performed the song at their pre-wedding gala, around the candlelit dance floor. Jack Nicholson planting a big, sloppy kiss on the lips of a guy outside who asked him for change. In more recent times super hairstylist Sam McKnight held a birthday party there at which Stella McCartney and Uma Thurman got down to tunes spun by Kate Moss. Attendees, remembers McKnight, were literally ‘swinging from the chandeliers’, an activity that got The Who’s Keith Moon banned — albeit briefly — in the 1970s after he brought one crashing down from the ceiling.
But there is in fact very little that will get you thrown out for good. For somewhere that looks and initially feels like a stuffy members’ club, it’s never had a dress code and dancing on the tables is encouraged, even the ones with the white damask tablecloths in the bar. It can kick off at any time. One of its longest serving staffers calls his workplace ‘a home from home for people who misbehave’. The only reason people get chucked out is because they’re too drunk or if they fight — meaning they will lose their £1,000 a year membership.
“Princes William and Harry were stalked at Tramp by Russian spy Anna Chapman”
Tramp is still open until five every morning, and retains its allure. When in London, Drake is a devotee. It’s where Noel Gallagher chose to have his end of tour party. Rihanna’s been in a lot, once wearing trainers, barely-there shorts and a floor-length fur coat. David Fleming took over running the club after the famous founding co-owner and host, Johnny Gold, left in the early Noughties, and says that he is reluctant to dwell on its past glories and doesn’t want to ‘sit on history’. He says you have to roll with the slow nights if you don’t want to give up sovereignty on the door to a parade of hot promoters with guest lists that will exclude your regulars.
Over the years I’ve heard people grumble that it’s too posh, not posh enough, too young, too old, but who really knows. It continues to thrive. As Fleming says, ‘People like to try the new places but in the end, they always come home.’
