The Fable would do better as an American Psycho theme bar

The Fable is three floors high and two days old, a monster newly hatched on the Holborn Viaduct; deep below is the valley of the River Fleet, which is genuinely fabulous, but absent from sight.

The Fable has the following interesting schtick — fairytales. The question, of course, is whose? Here, cries the PR nonsense, lie the breadstick fairies, who I thought were all dead and lying at the bottom of the Thames, poisoned or just killed by ennui. ‘Inspired by the wit and wisdom of Aesop, the fantasy world of fairytales and our spellbinding adventures around the globe, the Fable is a dynamic all-day bar and restaurant,’ it babbles.

Really? Does the City have any dreams left to monetise? I thought they had been stamped out by tax lawyers, but no; here you can consume a ‘Once Upon a Time’ Fable Party Package, which contains three bar platters or one party keg, or, worse, the ‘Happily Ever After’, which comes with a wheelbarrow of beers; an ending of sorts, but not a particularly happy one, unless your childish dreams are beery and horticulture-themed, both at the same time.

The Fable is well-policed by people in earpieces and fashionable hats: what kind of person wears Mrs Mop and Cockney Wanker chic these days? Is it austerity wit? Inside there are baby lawyers (from Hogan Lovells mostly) cheeping for alcohol and advancement; they are very young and dress like Patrick Bateman and the prostitute he murdered in American Psycho; if the restaurant followed its customers, the theme would be prostitute murder; where are the Peter Sutcliffe martinis? ‘I’m horny,’ cries the music, which is as loud as it needs to be in a restaurant whose clients cannot listen to each other or themselves: ‘Horny, horny, horny.’