From Midland Bank vaults to champagne trolleys, The Ned masterfully blends 1920s grandeur with modern hedonistic hospitality.
The resplendent chronicled tale of The Ned begins not in the present, but in the year 1924, when one of the country’s most illustrious architects, Sir Edwin Lutyens, had unveiled his imposing design for the Midland Bank headquarters.
Lutyens, affectionately known as Ned, was a man whose work had shaped the landscape of twentieth-century Britain, and it was here in the City of London where he had created what would come to be regarded as one of his finest urban masterpieces…A Grade I listed property brought to light as a fortress of finance, unearthing a settlement that exuded strength, with its every line and proportion designed to reassure those who entrusted their fortunes to the bank.
For many decades, the building stood as both a guardian of wealth and a symbol of prestige, whereby within its halls, suave bankers in tailored suits moved steadily with their voices carrying through to the corridors, where fortunes were secured and lost. Its boardrooms and vaults became the private theatres of London’s financial elite, like a closed world of influence that spoke as much of power as of prosperity.
Time, however, never stands still, and even the most spectacular institutions in time yield to change, such as the departure of The Midland Bank, where the building fell into a slumbered hibernation for a time awaiting a new purpose, glossy marble and smooth stone and all.
The architectural setup and rich history of this statuesque establishment became too precious to ignore and allow to fade away into limbo, the sacred answer soon arriving with an inspired vision to transform this monument for bustling finance into a monument for the haute-monde lifestyle brimming with hedonistic hospitality, worldly culture and the allure of luxe exclusivity; thus, The Ned was born.
Christened in honour of its esteemed architect, The Ned today stands as one of London’s most glamorous destinations, embracing their stature as both a five-star hotel and exclusive private members’ club, bringing together a rare hybrid that draws in a refined clientele as eclectic as it is rarefied.
The gleaming opportunity to spend 48 hours swathed within this debonair institution felt like both a privilege and an adventure, set to showcase a staycation encounter unlike any other, which generously did not pull me away from the City of London but plunged me deeper into its very soul right inside a building that had once safeguarded fortunes.
Bankers’ Fortress to Cultural Playground: The Ned’s Renaissance
The story of The Ned’s rebirth is a captivating one, where, by the time Soho House founder Nick Jones had first wandered through the hushed halls of the long-abandoned Midland Bank headquarters in 2012, the building had been asleep for nearly a decade, yet the colossal scale and exquisite detail of Sir Edwin Lutyens’ creation struck him instantly.
Already picturing a fresh lease of life for this sleeping giant, within hours Nick Jones was on the phone to Soho House chairman Ron Burkle, armed with a formidably shared vision to turn a Grade I listed bastion of finance into one of the most epic hospitality projects London had witnessed.
Five years of meticulous work then followed, with architects, designers, and artisans reviving this treasure chest of history where the result had unveiled to the discerning public in 2017, not merely a hotel but a world in its own right with an assemblage of courtly chambers, epicurean eateries, and sybaritic bar haven, not to neglect the sanctum of the members universe of Ned’s Club kitted all kitted with a wellness den, rooftop pool, and subterranean cocktail vault.
A monumental reinvention that honoured the past while fearlessly reimagining the future, the concept has proven so compelling that it has since expanded into the equally vibrant cities of New York and Doha, each carrying its own architectural soul but bound by the same ethos to create a space where timeless heritage collides with modern hedonism.
Tucked just a few steps from Bank Station, The Ned presides over the Square Mile where the Royal Exchange, Mansion House and St Paul’s Cathedral stand shoulder to shoulder with glittering towers of glass, and the city’s finance crowds sweep past in morning flurries all whilst curious travellers pause to absorb the lofty sights, marrying Victorian elegance with modern verticals.
The exterior aesthetics speak the language of Lutyens’ brilliance, encased in humble grandeur with colonnades and stonework that carry a permanence which the financial world once demanded to make the sense of arrival purely magnetic, whilst revealing a blend of gravitas and glamour to make one pause long enough to take it all in, right before stepping across the threshold.
An instantaneous interior transition from the first step of the toe, the Grand Banking Hall, and one time heart of Midland Bank, now pulsed with a different kind of energy, as sunlight streamed through towering arched windows glinting with gusto against 92 columns of polished African verdite marble, each one a testament to the building’s original opulence.
The checkerboard floor beneath me gleamed like a freshly set stage, while the sweep of reception bustled with a dancer’s like movement where clerks once shuffled papers, and bellhops now darted across the hall with their trolleys gliding with precision against a live band’s mellow notes drifting from the Nickel Bar.
Tiffany lamps threw soft pools of colour next to brass telescopes perched as decorative curios, above it all, a portrait of Lutyens seemed to watch approvingly as though amused by the new chapter, unfolding right under his blissful gaze.
Check-in had unfolded with the smooth assurance one expects from a house of this calibre, whereby the tea,m sharply attired in tailored suits, carried themselves with an ease that blended professionalism with charm sans rigid stiffness as if they had been waiting specifically for me to arrive.
A glass of water appeared in my hand, and bags disappeared with a flicker of efficiency to be in a few mere moments, and I was guided toward the lift, the room key pressed discreetly into my palm.
As the lift doors closed and I was carried upward toward my temporary abode, I could not help but feel that this was no ordinary check-in, but an initiation and subtle introduction into a world that had been designed for those who appreciate both the weight of history and the delicious thrill of the present.
From Cosy Corners to Grand Gestures
The Ned thrives in inviting and welcoming their glitterati guests to reside in a collection of 250 bedrooms, all echoing the spirit of 1920s glamour, where each one has been designed with a scrupulous eye to detail, blending a seamless marriage of vintage charm and contemporary comfort.
At the smaller end of the scale, the Cosy Rooms are exactly as the name suggests, snug without being stifling and tailored with period features that lend them a charming sense of character as if to whisper of stolen weekends and discreet city escapes, playing to the notion of feeling private yet playfully stylish and befitting for a Friday-to-Sunday fling with the city.
For lodgings with a little more theatricality, the Grand Heritage Rooms awaited. Located on the Grade I listed fifth floor, demonstrating a celebration of Lutyens’ architectural mastery, French-polished walnut panels gleam in the light, neatly nestled by fireplaces carved from cool marble, and adorned with sumptuous velvet furniture, inviting you to sink back with a glass of wine and never move again.
The grandeur is enhanced by canopy or four-poster beds that transform the simple act of sleeping into something decadent, while crystal chandeliers shimmer above like fragments of old Hollywood.
As for your truly, my London staycation unfolded not in cosy intimacy or even heritage splendour, but in the epic embrace of the Lutyens Suite. Perched high on the seventh floor, stretching out to a Herculean 1,000 square ft, it was a space that felt less like a hotel room and more like a curated private apartment from another era designed for guests who live as much in moments as in places.
The welcome alone was enough to set the tone, with a beautifully crafted cake adorned with elegant piping, and accompanied by a chilled bottle of flaxen champagne that glistened in the soft lamplight.
From the moment I crossed its golden-lit hallway, the suite unfolded like a story, with golden leaf lamps and a crystal chandelier creating an instant sense of theatre, all leading into a living room layered with Turkish rugs, vintage radios and an eight-seater Chesterfield sofa that seemed purpose-built for marathon conversations or late-night movie screenings.
The six-seater dining table promised private suppers curated by the hotel’s executive chef, while a polished brass trolley stood ready to spark a leisurely cocktail hour session with just a flick of a wrist. Then there was the bedroom, crowned by a colossal bed dressed in pristine white linen so crisp it felt like diving into a cloud spun from cotton and cool air.
Not just your standard hop in and hope out setup, but a statement of comfort tailored with layers that invited languid mornings and lazy breakfasts under the covers as the stillness of the room was broken only by the promise of rest, as if the city beyond had been silenced the moment you slipped beneath its sheets.
The marble bathroom was a temple of indulgence, revealing veined smooth stone gleaming under the soft glow of lamps, while a freestanding bathtub stood ready to cocoon the body in warmth, bubbles rising in a slow and indulgent crescendo.
Walk-in showers had refreshed the spirit with rainforest cascades, as the backdrop lingered with the distinctly playful British, yet rejuvenating botanical fragrance of Cowshed products.
The minibar, meanwhile, was a treasure chest of temptation, brimming with craft spirits, pre-mixed cocktails, fine wines, and just enough decadence to encourage the art of lingering.
What delighted me most was the suite’s ability to feel both stately and unbuttoned, like a grand apartment where you could entertain in your finest dress one evening, and sprawl barefoot with a pizza the next.
Plates With Panache
Seven restaurants and three bars unfurl across The Ned’s vast 3,000 square metre former banking hall, a space where history and indulgence are stitched together with elegance.
Each destination feels distinct with its individuality marked out by the rhythm of soaring columns and rows of Grade I-listed walnut counters once used by bankers, but now reimagined as glamorous dining enclaves.
It is here that chiselled Londoners and elite worldly visitants alike drift between Italian trattoria and Parisian café, and Japanese sushi and American diner, with their palates carried on a weekly refreshed tide of global flavours, showcasing each corner with its own little stage of culinary theatre.
Caviar, Champagne and the Theatre of the Trolley At Lutyens Grill
Lutyens Grill had undoubtedly reigned as the glittering jewel in the gourmet crown, revelling in its stature amongst the world’s finest epicurean eateries as it proudly holds the title of No. 39 in the World’s 101 Best Steak Restaurants, an accolade that speaks volumes about its timeless appeal.
Set in the former bank manager’s oak-panelled office, the space oozed clubby intimacy framed by Chesterfield banquettes, neatly settled by a grand Art Deco fireplace where the treasurer’s walls appeared to recite a century’s worth of chronicled stories.
Yet the real theatre lies in its old-school grill tradition; the signature trolley service where rare-breed prime rib is carved at your table and fish filleted with flourish, unveiling a timeless ritual of dining that has become increasingly rare in London, but one that here feels both nostalgic and thrillingly modern.
The perfect stage for my first evening soirée at The Ned, dinner began with a chilled glass of Ruinart Brut, the golden bubbles as light and elegant as the marble dining room before 30 grams of beluga caviar, presented on a polished silver platter with all the delicate accompaniments saw finely diced shallots, soft egg yolk and whites, sour cream with fresh chives and of course, pillowy fresh blinis as the salt-sweet burst of the caviar married exquisitely with the sharp citrus lift of the Champagne magically topped up in dainty flute, right before the final sip.
Starters followed in the form of a tart of artichoke and Beauvale cheese, crowned with a Burford Brown egg and veiled in generous shavings of black truffle, alongside a perfectly retro shrimp cocktail Marie Rose, its pink sauce silkier than memory itself. Each dish felt both familiar and elevated, like a love letter to classic dining, swirled with a glamorous 21st-century polish.
For the main encounter, the indulgence only deepened, with THAT legendary trolley gliding to our table to showcase unlimited, 45-day-aged prime rib carved before us with gleaming knives, juices catching the light as slices fell gracefully onto plates. Yet the true shining star was the Wagyu Black Kagoshima A5, rich and buttery, its succulence amplified by sides of lobster mac and cheese and decadent 15-hour potatoes laced with black truffle.
The combination was symphonic, each bite unashamedly indulgent with the flavours lingering with velvet persistence. To pair was the sommelier’s topmost choice of a 2019 Argiano Brunello di Montalcino, unfolding with layers of dark cherry, warm spice, and silk-smooth tannins that effortlessly wrapped up the meal in a seal of Tuscan romance.
The Parlour: Jazz, Truffle and a Touch of Theatrical Mischief
The dusky hideaway of The Parlour is a toothsome revelation, tucked away behind a sweep of dark, floral wallpaper where this moody cabaret-style sanctum arouses feelings of slipping into another era, as time leisurely flows at a sedated tempo throughout the evening and every corner pulses with a sultry, velvet-tipped glamour.
The curvaceous Burlesque dancers moved with knowing seductive smiles, whilst suave jazz singers let their voices coil through the air like smoke from a cigar, revealing an ambience where The Parlour is more than a dinner, but also an vibrant atmosphere tripled with an infectious sprightly performance, plus a cheeky wink at the glamour of yesteryear for a discerning crowd who revel in good food, and a little theatrical mischief.
My evening had begun with a glass of Thiénot Brut, its crisp, citrus and brioche notes fizzing playfully as if to announce that the night was not going to be ordinary right before the first course arrived, as a shared indulgence of the Baked Truffled Baron Bigod.
Unearthing the silkiest of soft cheeses baked until molten, a heady earthy perfume of truffle had blended flawlessly with a deep richness anchored by a crust of toasted baguette, as fine hestnuts had brought a whisper of sweetness together with the red onion jam lending a sweet tart counterpoint, altogether bringing a marriage of flavours that wrapped around the palate like velvet gloves.
The mains turned the evening into ga ourmet showbiz, starting with venison wellington arriving with a burnished crust so golden it almost glowed, to reveal tender ruby slices within perfumed with a myriad of fresh herbs, finally deepened with a glossy red wine jus.
Each bite proved autumnal, hearty yet refined, the parsnip purée a harmonious, silken counterpoint whilst the chicken Kiev came with a glamorous twist, with melted, glistening butter laced with black truffle that oozed luxuriously at the cut, its decadence balanced by the iron-rich spinach beneath.
Ratatouille offered a Provençal brightness while the thick golden chips, crunched satisfyingly before melting into fluffy centres, all flawlessly paired with the Lady A rosé from Côtes de Provence, dancing seamlessly with its pale pink hue and delicate red fruit notes carrying an invigorating freshness, that closed the powerful richness of both mains.
Millie’s Lounge: The British Dream Served with a Side of Indulgence
The resplendent milieu of Millie’s Lounge embodies the quintessential British dream, translated into an armour of feather-soft velvet and pristine marble, where the restaurant evokes feelings of both grandiosity and familiarity, against the hum of conversations mingling with the clink of china and the service carrying that rare blend of polish and warmth that makes you feel instantly at home.
Plush booths embraced diners in shades of deep burgundy and green, whilst stone-topped tables glistened in the light, inviting the promise of an episode of leisurely hours, devoted to truly eating well. The Afternoon Tea was no ordinary midday affair, but one that had been inspired by Darian Schmidt and Yadira Jauffrineau’s winning journey on Bake Off: The Professionals 2025, where the menu paid homage to the four patisseries that had earned them their crown.
Each creation told a cherished story not simply of their skill, but of their heritage and upbringing which was in turn translated into a realm of sugar, butter and imagination.
The experience began with a flute of Thiénot Rosé Brut, its dainty pink tone shimmering like a blush in the glass, lifting the anticipation of what lay ahead, before a pot of Darjeeling, shortly followed by a fragrant and softly floral, the kind of tea that lingered gently on the palate without overpowering the sweets to come.
A sapid ritual unfolding in fine exquisite tiers, at the base, fluffy sandwiches lined with cucumber and mint, smoked salmon with lemon and dill and egg mayonnaise with watercress had offered a savoury overture, each moreish bite neat and precise with the flavours carefully judged so as not to overwhelm but whet the appetite for the indulgences above.
Yielding to the touch was the middle base of the “just pulled from the oven” scone selection; warm and golden to, of course, be accompanied by rich, velvetyised clotted cream, and strawberry jam bright with sweetness showcasing tradition here reigned supreme, and each bite a reminder that sometimes the simplest pleasures are the most luxurious.
It is we, however, at the top where the patisseries took centre stage, with Darian and Yadira’s artistic creations jewel-like in their precision as delicate layers of sponge and mousse, lacquered shiny fruit glazes and chocolate show pieces tempered to a mirror shine. Where one offered the brightness of citrus against creamy almond, another paired tropical fruits with airy sponge, while others celebrated deeper, richer notes of dark, smooth chocolate and crunchy sugared praline.
The following morning, Millie had revealed another side of itself…breakfast; unfussy yet indulgent. I ordered the towering pancakes stacked high and pillowy, crowned with a tumble of fresh berries that burst with tart juiciness against the soft, sweet batter, and a swirl of airy whipped cream to add a playful dollop of decadence to the AM affair.
Alongside a plate of seasonal fruits glistened like sparkling gems with fresh sweet melon, juicy pineapple and bright berries all fresh and fragrant, whilst a glass of freshly pressed orange juice tied the banquet together to ensure the day began with both buoyant energy and poised elegance in equal measure.
The Vault: A Nightcap Escapade in the City’s Most Guarded Secret
Tactfully hidden behind a twenty-tonne door once entrusted with the fortunes of the Midland Bank, The Vault has revealed itself as an after-dark sanctuary of liquid debauchery unlike any other, where to step inside is to leave London behind and cross into a space where time smoothly slips away, as conversation mingles with the clink of glasses under a veil of secrecy.
Three thousand gleaming safety deposit boxes line the walls with their silent, ever-present, all to remind one that this is a room steeped in history, and now transformed into one of the city’s most alluring hideaways.
The exclusivity only heightens its allure, with entry strictly by invitation for non-members, where it comes with the tantalising sense of being part of a private world, and a VIP circle which understands indulgence must always carry a touch of drama. Low lighting softened every edge amongst the soundtrack, a hum of hushed voices, laughter and the pulsating tempo from
The DJ’s tunes, all to give rise to an ambience that felt conspiratorial, as though each refined guest had stumbled onto a secret worth keeping.
My nightcap escapade began with a Cosmopolitan, a ruby classic executed with precision by the ever-dashing mixologist brigade as a cranberry tang was lifted by the brightness of lime, to be smoothed by the crisp splash of crystal smooth vodka and finished with the softest trace of orange liqueur, creating a drink as confident as it was elegant.
Then came a spicy margarita that was nothing short of audacious, the Tequila’s raw energy tempered with citrus while the heat of chilli lingered long after the sip, leaving a glow that seemed to ignite the evening itself.
To drink here was not just to enjoy a cocktail, but to flirt with history while indulging in the present and revel in a space where secrecy, elegance and indulgence reigned supreme.
Spa & Wellness: A Sanctuary Beneath the City
Slip beneath the buzz of the Banking Hall and you discover a world entirely its own with The Ned’s Club Spa, unearthing a hidden, tranquil sanctuary where indulgence chooses to come wrapped up in a blissful cocoon of elegant style, entwined with calming serenity.
Cool and bohemian yet impossibly chic, the space unearthed a backdrop where seashell lanterns had cast soft glows against the adornments of jewel-hued loveseats, inviting languid afternoons whilst hand-painted de Gournay wallpaper bloomed with rich glossed colour and intricate details.
The centrepiece was the rippling sapphire inked oasis of the pool, a sixty-five-foot mosaic marvel that looked as though it had been lifted from the courtyard of a lavish Middle Eastern palace, uncovering regal marble pillars bearing flanked edges, as their reflections danced across the water while scalloped lights flickered with retro charm overhead.
Candy-striped armchairs lined up the pristine sides as plush pool beds beckoned with the promise of indulgence, and discreet service bells ensured refreshments appeared with effortless ease. The air carried the soft fragrance of eucalyptus drifting from the steam room, while the hammam and sauna offered an escape created to warm up the bones and soothe the spirit.
For those seeking restoration, the spa’s treatment rooms provide journeys crafted with both science and artistry. Therapists here are experts in touch blending traditional massage with innovative techniques to melt tension and reawaken the body, while dainty facials promise luminosity and wraps cocoon you in a blanket of comforting warmth, until the outside world seems a distant memory.
Beyond the spa, the Ned’s Club Gym is a destination in itself, alive with energy and precision, with over forty classes taking place each week, from heart-racing HIIT sessions to slow-flow yoga and meditative sound therapy.
The studios hum with motivation while the gym floor gleams with state-of-the-art equipment, unveiling rows of sleek cardio machines, plate-loaded weights and rigs fitted with ropes and bars for every kind of training. Whether the goal is to sweat, stretch, or simply reset, the space makes wellness feel like something to savour, rather than endure.
A Final Word: The Ned’s Enduring Spell
To stay at The Ned is to witness the reinvention of a London landmark once defined by ledgers and vaults, which has been transformed into a pleasure-seeking playground for the modern beau monde, proving that heritage need not stand still and that the weight of history can be reimagined with panache.
Once a fortress of finance, today it thrums with music, laughter and the clink of glasses, alive with an energy that feels both timeless and utterly of the moment as a reminder that the cultural heartbeat of a city is often found in the spaces where people come together to live, eat and celebrate.
To walk through its halls past the banking counters reimagined as dining enclaves or into the hidden glamour of The Vault is to feel part of a story still unfolding, a narrative where the elegance of the past entwines seamlessly with the vibrancy of the present.
The Ned does not simply host, it envelops, it seduces, and when you finally step away, you find yourself already plotting a return, still caught in its enduring spell.
