Who arrives at a hotel bar, names your fragrance correctly and then asks what you are drinking? Jasmin does, more often than seems possible. Perfume is her private obsession. She can separate bergamot from neroli at a polite distance, keeps a small notebook of the scents she has loved, and has a favourite counter in every department store west of Oxford Street.
She is twenty-two and petite, 160 cm, her chestnut hair long and straight, her eyes a warm brown. Jasmin lives in Soho and brings some of its energy west with her: bright, talkative, a little teasing and always curious about whoever sits across the table. She speaks English quickly when something excites her, which is often, and she laughs before the punchline if she can see it coming. None of that makes her careless; she notices when a guest would prefer a quieter hour and adjusts without being asked.
Her Notting Hill evening doubles as a lesson in cocktails. She will steer you to Trailer Happiness on Portobello Road, a low-lit basement bar known for its rum, and persuade the bartender into something that is not on the menu. Dancing follows if you are willing: salsa is her other passion, and she is a patient teacher with an excellent sense of when to stop. The night can close with a last drink at your hotel or a quiet taxi ride back past Holland Park.
Evenings in Notting Hill are her favourite plan west of Soho, and she is just as happy meeting in Kensington or SW7. The booking page sets out the one message it takes.
