Guest post by AL Kennedy
A few days ago, as I wormed my way between bouncers and flower wall hangings in Mayfair, Kensington and Chelsea, I became deeply concerned about luxury London. How is our metropolis supposed to thrive when Russians no longer pay for their Pilates sessions and £80,000 watches, when they no longer employ concierges to hire staff, write non-disclosure agreements and buy art objects? Do we have enough local billionaires who even want to live here given the bad weather, increasing general discontent and lousy supply chains? Will enough people need tapestry repairs? The once-exclusive banya in Belgravia has recently been promoted as another chic spa where even rich Brits can stew and get pounded.