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The three reigning discothèques are close to Piccadilly; beside Dolly's and its rival The Scotch, Annabel's seems daintily restrained, but for that reason may be the most elegant of all; it has a series of wine-cellar rooms and a softly tuned stereo that alternates Sinatra and Ella with the native Animals and Stones. At these and dozens of other discothèques, beautiful gals with long blonde hair and slimly handsome men go gracefully through their explosive, hedonistic, totally individual dances, surrounded by mirrors so that they can see what a good time they're having.
Londoners are among the world's sportiest gamblers, willing to wager on everything from the greyhounds to whether or not the sun will shine (a hazardous bet, since the daily mean is only 4.16 hours of sunshine in the city). The Clermont Club, Crockford's and the Curzon House Club are the kings of the $3 billion-a-year fever, reigning over tables at which men and women do not gamble because they are on holiday, as they might at Deauville or Baden, but as part of their casual daily entertainment. It is not exceptional to see players win or lose $50,000 or so of an evening. Since gambling was legalized in 1960, it has been taken up by just about everyone. Little old ladies now venture their shillings in flourishing bingo halls like the Burnt Oak off Edgware Road, and Britons placed $7,000,000 worth of bets on the March 31 election.
The city that once had the worst dining out in the Western world now has a variety and a class of restaurants that rival New York or even Paris. The little restaurants of Soho are unpretentious but ever so In, beginning with the Trattoria Terrazza (especially its downstairs Positano Room). Tiberio's in Mayfair, with its band and dancing, draws the smart set for later dinners, and other popular In spots are the Mirabelle in Mayfair, L'Etoile and the White Tower in Bloomsbury. London's restaurants and clubs are, of course, famed for their superb wine cellars, and wine is a frequent companion at lunch. A new eating style is visible on all sides. In a tough workingman's neighborhood in Camden Town, a sign on a pub wall announces: "Cockles, Mussels and Scampi."
Fear in Manhattan. Perhaps nothing illustrates the new swinging London better than narrow, three-block-long Carnaby Street, which is crammed with a cluster of the "gear" boutiques where the girls and boys buy each other clothing. Nine of the shops for boys on Carnaby Street are owned by Designer John Stephen, 29, who last week took his tattersall shirts, Dutch boy caps, form-fitting pants and vinyl vests to Manhattan to put the fear of God into parents there. As for the girls, the most In shop for gear is Biba's boutique in Kensington, which is a must scene for the switched-on dolly-bird at least twice a week. Designer Barbara Hulanicki, owner of Biba's, estimates that a typical secretary or shop girl, earning $31 a week, will spend at least $17 of it on clothing, which leaves her with a cup of coffee for lunch—but happy.