And (appropriately) situated on ‘The Palm’ is the gaudy jewel in the crown: The Atlantis hotel. The place decided that it is a six-star hotel and is the pad that they flew over Kylie and Lily et al for the launch, along with a slew of magazine editors in preparation for a plethora of fawning, freebie-oiled reviews.
It’s hilariously vile; overweight, over-rich football hooligans saunter past statues of mermen, Liverpool FC replica shirts flapping in the slipstream. Guests admire the central statue that resembles something from ‘Scrapheap Challenge’ while working up an appetite for their visit to the in-hotel branch of Nobu – Lily Allen goes to the London one, didn’t you read?
BUT as much as Atlantis is clearly the most detestable place I’ve set foot in since I took a flight with US Airways, I find it impossible to fuly condemn somewhere that has a FRICKIN’ WHALE SHARK in its reception area:
He’s called Sammy, and he rules. How much are rooms, again?
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