All roads to London's glorious, often colourful past lead back to the Piccadilly portals of its social doyen - The Ritz.

It's the song that instantly springs to mind. Conjuring images where penury plays no part, champagne is sipped from receptacles normally worn on the feet, and swathed in feathers and silks, Coopers, Mitfords, Asquiths, and Windsors glide without earthly care around the dance floor amidst tables lit by the incandescent glow of cinematically perfect lamps. Ah, The Ritz - where fashion fits...

Several intervening decades, a particularly nasty airline voyage and a train transfer from Hades later, I arrived at The Ritz. A rather flustered and sweaty, browned bundle with 67 kg of unspeakably obese luggage, dirty Levi's, scuffed cowboy boots and the three strands of pseudo-gold designer chains - the one remaining concession to the South of France mode de vie I had enjoyed and attempted to appropriate for the previous 4 weeks - were most inelegantly tangled in hair that did not so much peek stylishly from under my new chapeau as it did glare maniacally in quite psychotic abandon. As first impressions go, mine was better viewed from Dover. A good two hundred kilometres away.

And yet, as the famous Piccadilly portals loomed closer and closer, I felt strangely comforted. 'Take me to the Ritz, please', I had said boldly to the taxi driver who exercised some well documented class distinction and given the less than regal state of my sartorial art, obviously believed me to have ideas well beyond my manifest station. This worried me as we motored through central London bound for the legendary hotel that is held in Her Majesty's highest esteem and is precious in the hearts and minds of a good deal of the English public.

But no, they had been expecting me, the amiable doorman told me so as he waved the problem of the mammoth baggage away with a practiced ease that may well have belied the terror in his heart, and escorted me up the stairs and into the foyer. 'Welcome' they said at reception, addressing me by name and so pleasantly that I felt moved to apologise for my tardiness and strangulated state.

Piffle! The smile seemed to say, you're here now and that's all that matters. And then they led me past the theatrical grandeur of the corridor beyond, up the circular stairs to my room. Nay, my vast suite, whereupon eyeing the eponymous champagne, making a mental note of its presence for future reference, I flung my dishevelled self atop the marvellous brass bed and thanked heavens for England, and a man named Ritz.

The Ritz is an English icon, a two word description of all that is traditional, refined and rarefied about British style. As Imperial as tea and toast and as seemingly imperious as Windsor Castle. If a Royal analogy might be made, most respectfully so, I hasten to add, The Ritz is perhaps like the Queen Mother - elegant, much beloved, grand and perhaps just a little cheeky behind closed doors.

In reality there is little of the forbidding stiff upper lip at The Ritz. Consummate professionalism, certainly. Unquestioning service, always. Regality and pride, without doubt. But The Ritz is also like a fine old champagne, it has matured beautifully with age, has scores of years of tradition to complement its vintage, is elegantly packaged, and uncorked, it still bubbles delightfully with a youthful aplomb, vigour and impeccable taste.

It celebrates its sometimes shady past as only the most confident and self-possessed credibly can - a policeman's young daughter was murdered in one of its rooms in the twenties after an unfortunate liaison with the bewitching Baron Pierre de Laitre who, outraged at her rejection of his marriage proposal, strangled her and then stuffed a silk sock (not yet paid for) down his own throat. And it wears its more glorious history with a typical British understatement that hints at a modicum of justifiable pride.

The Piccadilly monument overlooking Green Park and sitting square in the heart of the West End has been immortalised in the songs of Irving Berlin and Noel Coward; F. Scott Fitzgerald felt moved to call his novella: 'The Diamond as Big as The Ritz' and Evelyn Waugh frequently grazed at The Ritz Restaurant as did Graham Greene and countless other literary bon vivants.

And a first time visitor might be surprised to discover a sense of humour at The Ritz. From porter to reception, from housemaid to front-of-house, like the smaller, boutique style Stafford and Dukes Hotels in the Cunard stable, The Ritz prizes its characters, some of whom have become legendary, like French-English Mr. Charles in the American Bar whose tie-swapping ritual has engendered an elite global membership, and George, the porter who once declined President Reagan's transatlantic phone calls to in-house guest George Schultz. Mr. Schultz was exhausted after a long day of diplomacy and had left strict instructions not to be disturbed under any circumstances. He was that day appointed Secretary of State, but it was unbeknownst to him until much later in the day, after George had ensured him of a well deserved kip.

In the past eccentricities ran at the premium. The gay young bohemians in the downstairs bar during the war dispensing whisky and witticisms; the fascinating 'Mad Norman' who was wont to peel potatoes in the wee hours attired in an Incan headdress, the bizarre 'Blotting Paper Man' who devoted the bulk of his time to cutting blotting paper into small pieces which he then balanced on his nose and blew off one by one as he stormed up and down the corridors, and Paddy, the bin man, whose home was filled with unopened pay packets dating back to 1919 whilst he awaited future appreciation of his funds. Even the Ritz' mascot, Tiger the cat exhibited some distinctly non-feline behaviour: his diet consisted of caviar and smoked salmon and he was an avid fan of television soap opera. This quite Pythonesque quality of Anglo surrealism has since been exorcised to some degree, however, there is still an unmistakenly distinct twinkle in the eye of every Ritz staffer.

After lending his prestige, connections and service to D'Oyly Carte's Savoy, and then to Claridge's, and finally to the Carlton Hotel Company, Cesar Ritz, perhaps the world's mot legendary hotelier formulated a Ritz Hotel syndicate in 1896 with one of the world's then richest men, South African millionaire Alfred Beit and several others monied backers. The plans heralded largesse hotel development encompassing points all over the globe, each of luxurious appointment and bearing Ritz' own name. The first to be realised was the now legendary Paris Ritz but the original development company had backed out largely due some much maligned English reserve and the money came instead from French wine merchant Marnier Lapostolle, whose most famous liqueur, Cesar had himself entitled: La Grand Marnier.

A five star coup of such style and elegance could only be topped in Cesar's affections by construction of same in London. But sadly, after his involvement in the new Carlton Hotel at the foot Haymarket where he had once again enlisted the designing aid of the French architect Charles Mewes, Cesar fell ill and was never sufficiently recovered to fully immerse himself in the London Hotel that would nevertheless, bear his name. An architectural paean of la belle epoque, the London Ritz was both revolutionary in its construction - being the first steel framed building in London, and decorously respectful to the Louis XVI ornamental legacy.

With uncommon synthesis, it appeased the criteria of social and architectural fashion time, craftsman, architect and patron, and also managed to combine the unique benevolence of the Anglo-Gallic symbiosis of that social time. The designing minds behind its construction, Charles Mewes and the Jewish Englishman, Arthur J. Davis, combined their Beaux-Arts training to create a magnificant hotel yielding inspired interiors. The luxurious opulence of Versailles has extravagant voice in the central palm Court where the 'La Source' fountain lords over the decor, and in the magnificent Restaurant and gilded private dining rooms that owe much to a particular French royal who upon falling foul of the Revolution, made an ill-timed allusion to patisserie and was promptly guillotined.

The Ritz opened on the 15th of May 1906, a stylistic and high society triumph and it quickly became the 'new fashion' to be seen at The Ritz - a trend initiated by the then Prince of Wales. Lords, Earls, Ladies - in particular the Ladies Diana Cooper and Cynthia Asquith who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time at The Ritz. Princes and Princesses, Kings, Queens and every sort of constellation in between centralised their social - and in the case of the two World Wars, the more political of the patrons enacted some of their strategic activities at Cesar's "small house to which I am proud to see my name attached". Following World War I, the now legendary ritual of Afternoon Tea at the Palm Court - 'Let the Eat Cake' indeed - was established and The Ritz expanded its inventory of celebrity guests becoming the London base for members of the theatre and cinema. Charlie Chaplin caused a near riot outside The Ritz as he waved regally from a top floor suite at the throning crowds below.

With the fall of France in the Summer of 1940, The Ritz became perhaps the world's most rarefied refugee facility as all manner of aristocrat, politician and royal fled the Continent. Six months prior, the first baby to be born in The Ritz, now the marquess of Tavistock, entered the world in a suite especially outfitted for the maximum comfort of his mother.

At The Ritz, Ghandi and the Aga Khan conferred, Edward and Mrs. Simpson romanced, Aly Khan and Rita Hayworth honeymooned, the balletic Anna Pavlova danced, Tallulah Bankhead sipped champagne from her shoe, Paul Getty was snapped on the steps in the now famous Time-Life photograph showing the world's richest man on his hands and knees gathering copper pennies from a burst paper bag, and Shell Heiress Olga Deterding threw her fleeing lover's trousers out the window preventing a dignified exit.

The sixties icons gathered at The Ritz: The Rolling Stones loved to stay there, Andy Warhol et al publicised their idiosyncratic films in one of the suites, and David Bailey filmed Sir Cecil Beaton singing "If You Were the Only Girl in the World" in the Palm Court for a television film.

It was during this era that Terry Holmes, the ever-so-slightly self-effacing Hotelier of the Year, Managing Director of Cunard Hotels and Managing Director of The Ritz - the most beloved of all his duties - began his 17 year association with The Stafford Hotel, in what was to become the first step towards the Ritz's most important chair. As a small child, he passed by on a double decker bus and said to his father, who was then porter at the Dorchester, 'One day, I shall sleep there'. Today, he runs the place and a more devoted hotelier, you will not find. He, like everyone of his staff, is patently aware of the formidable responsibility that operating The Ritz entails.

"Thirty percent of the people who come here, whether it is to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, to have dinner, to have lunch, or to stay here do so to fulfill a dream", he says, "because it is The Ritz. It is romantic and very, very special.

"The responsibility that puts on the management of The Ritz to fulfill those dreams is enormous. People actually come here expecting more than what they would anywhere else. That is a huge responsibility and most of the time I think that we succeed.

That implies satisfying not just the requirements of the international businessman or the incommunicado celebrity, but also the elderly ladies from Nottingham who had saved their pension for many years, just to come and spend one night at The Ritz. that, says Terry, illustrates the two polarised descriptions of Ritz clientele - the regular patron who will stay nowhere else and the ones who come to fulfill a lifelong fantasy.

"The Ritz makes news - good and bad - no other hotel no matter how prestigious will be written about in such a fashion. It is a cross we have to bear but it is also one of our biggest attractions".

Holmes is himself a resilient and determined man with a refreshing sense of humour and a raconteur's talent that belies his position although when it comes to the business of hospitality, he is deadly serious. Despite being an ardent Royalist, he pokes subtle fun some of the old English stereotypes, by virtue of his own experience: "I was once told that I would never get into management because I had little education, came from the wrong side of the tracks and 'talked funny'".

Beginning his hotelier career at the Stafford Hotel - then owned by a construction company - as Assistant Manager, he did not apply for the Manager's position when it arose in deference to the old class respecting reasons. Watching the theoretically well-qualified come and go, Terry was ultimately given the job. Feeling confident at the prompting of a friend with a forceful personality, he then marched into the management offices and demanded to be made General Manager or he would leave. They promoted him and from then, it was a matter of time before becoming Managing Director.

he was now the MD of the Stafford, the youngest MD in the West End, made Hotelier of the Year and a Freeman of the City of London, one of the benefits of which is the option of being hung with a silken rope in the event that one is sentenced to death. It is a rather ancient honour, but a considerable triumph nonetheless.

Seventeen years later, the company was taken over by trafalgar House, owner of Cunard Hotels - "the company yacht is the QE2", he says proudly. Holmes was sent to the States grudgingly - "I am patriot and did not want to leave England and very nice lifestyle here". He was deposited in a mansion in Westchester, working in Manhattan, and then with the Trafalgar House purchase of the infamous Watergate, with hotels in St. Lucia and Barbados in the Caribbean and the Bellevue in Philadelphia to follow, he set about revitalising them all before being called back to England, and the Ritz. He ran.

"Any hotelier who tells you that he doesn't want to run The Ritz Hotel is liar - the word is in the Oxford Dictionary!"

"When you walk into The Ritz, it is very imposing, it can be very intimidating - it still scares me!" says Terry, only half jokingly, "And when people asked me what I have achieved since taking over The Ritz, I would have to answer probably nothing more than any fellow before me because anyone who has run The Ritz has been right for it at the particular time. The only thing that I hope I have changed is that I have made it a bit more welcoming. The greatest compliment that a hotelier can be paid is when a client returns a third and then a fourth time and tells you that it is nice to be home".

Sitting in the restaurant for a lunch, is one of life's more indulgent pleasures. Indeed, it has frequently been referred to as the world's most beautiful dining room. "If we didn't serve food, there would still be thirty people reserved just to look at the room", says Terry. "It is that ongoing mystique, and perhaps it is slightly frivolous ..." Indeed, the Trompe D'oeuil ceiling pretends a bluer than blue sky even when the clouds over Green park indicate otherwise. The embellishments are pure period and transport the diner for a brief few hours to a bygone era.

Keith Stanley, is the young Head Chef of The Ritz, having joined the hotel in 1987 fresh from senior sous chef status at the Savoy. His responsibility to the subtextual traditions of The Ritz is also immediately apparent.

A native of Birmingham, his parents were in the industry and the young Keith has always been oriented towards cooking. After school, he completed his basic training and applied to the Savoy where he remained for three years progressively working through the ranks to become Junior Sous Chef aged just twenty-one. After a brief R & R respite back home, he returned to the Savoy and became second sous chef, and then acting sous chef at twenty-seven. Impressive credentials for one so young but as he reminds you - "Mosimann took over the Dorchester at twenty-nine!"

Keith is committed to the development of British cuisine having seen its modern evolution through better produce, training of chefs and the discipline and devotion of the new breed.

"There was a transformation about 100 years ago when Escoffier came over - he also acted as consultant at The Ritz - and the hospitality industry in Britain has since progressed from there. But it has not been easy for the British in comparison to the French", he says. "I worked at the Hotel Bristol in Paris for some time and what struck me the most was the attitude of the French public towards cuisine; the way that they are educated in a natural environment with food and wine and possess a natural respect for the product and for the chef as well. The British have had to develop themselves over the years. Now we are progressing so much - we have some terrific products and some very bright young chefs.

"Young people are alot more confident now than what they were years ago. That is good in that enthusiasm is rewarded but young chefs also need the discipline of extensive training and someone to guide them".

As such the lure of an institution is strong for those wanting a training ground built entirely on superlative reputation, but for the Head Chef, it is a double edged sword, if you like.

"There is a natural draw for people to go to places like the Savoy, the Dorchester, and the Ritz because they are all institutions. we are however, looking for continuity in our products, and in our chefs and unfortunately, you often have people who want to work at these sort of places just for the reputation of having been here", says Keith of the passing parade. "We may have a chef who is terrific - very talented but I cannot plan for him here specifically, because I know that in a year he may have left. You see, catering is such a natural passport to the world.

'It is important that the people we take on, will not embarrass us in the future. We hire the people who really want to learn and that takes more than 8 hours a day and obviously, a compromise in lifestyle. You have to spend real time in a restaurant in order to learn. You cannot contribute, you cannot be an active part of the kitchen after just six months".

With a devoted kitchen brigade of 44, who cater for 80-90 lunch covers each day, and 90-100 each night, Keith looks for uniformity of style and a hybrid of Ritz tradition with an emphasis on modern, lighter fare. "The menus display a much lighter cuisine now: a fundamental marriage of flavours with creative food but without going overboard in flavours. But we naturally have to look at what the clients want. People keep coming back and that tells you what you are doing is good. We develop as time goes on. We develop from past menus, amending dishes instead of creating whole new dishes. We must bring it back to the basic to improve and develop. There is only so much that we can create that will be perfect. Therefore, a dish may not be perfect on day one, but four months later that fundamental recipe will have evolved to perfection.

"We must bear in mind that many of our clientele have been coming to The Ritz for countless years and hopefully will continue to do so. They come here because it is 'The Ritz' and often they will have only a grilled sole for lunch - a dish of the utmost simplicity but the quality is unrivalled. Despite the fact that it is a formal dining room, there are lots of businessmen needing quick service and food that will fit in with their day.

"Dinner is different again. It is always an event when you dine at The Ritz and in doing so, the client is pleasing themselves and we are pleasing ourselves in what we can crate for them. It is a time of celebration, a festive occasion, and with that atmosphere always present in the evening, we love to accommodate the guest - it gives room for more creativity.

"But always, people expect the very best, whether they come from Alaska or Australia, because...." and the inescapable maxim is now a predicated response, "it is The Ritz".

Tradition is the recurring motif at this marvellous hotel. but who wants to escape from that sort of reputation? Modern day, more 'common' requirements are as easily catered for as a private menu for fifteen people in the Marie Antoinette Room.

I asked for a typewriter at 9 p.m. at night, and a ribbon one hour later. I required round the clock coffee, and a taxi at 6.00 p.m. on a Friday evening. I sent faxes at ungodly hours and received them even later. All of which were treated as if Lady Cooper had merely requested another champagne flute for a late arrival. The Ritz although steeped in unparalleled history is also eminently adaptable and most forgiving of the passing years. Where some would use such a staunch tradition as an excuse to remain unquestionable, The Ritz uses its reputation as a measurement of continuing elegance.

With the Trafalgar House (owners of Cunard Hotels) takeover in 1976, the grand old dowager was refurbished and rejuvenated in a gentle but ongoing series of sympathetic modernisations. A conservatory will soon be built outside the restaurant containing a brasserie adjacent to the Italianate garden, which the Queen incidentally, leases to The Ritz for the princely sum of ú10 a year - she has only just doubled the rent. The original 1906 airconditioners - a most American convenience then, have just been revamped, and the bathrooms have all been beautifully refurbished. A proper bar will once again be installed on the mezzanine level where the offices are presently and they in turn will be transported to the basement. The plans for an extra sixteen rooms which were part of the original blueprint in 1906, will now be acted upon, but even with their construction, there will only be 150 rooms at The Ritz although to the observer, there appears to be double the amount.

Name dropping is obviously an art at The Ritz and justifiably so. In which case perhaps the last word on The Ritz belongs to arguably the world's most famous woman. When in 1987, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis accompanied by her son John Kennedy Jr., returned to The Ritz to attend a memorial for Harold Macmillan, she was asked by the hotel's housekeeper if all was to her liking. "Oh", replied America's most beloved First Lady smiling beatifically, "It's like paradise ..." From someone who spent her formative years in another grand old House, that is heady, dare I say, ritzy praise indeed.