Travel review: The Belgraves

As we rounded the Belgravia corner my car-loving other half gasped: "Oh my God, look at that Ferrari!".

He wasn't the only person to have noticed the motor – a small crowd had started to gather around the car as it waited at the lights.

As if from nowhere, a photographer jumped in the middle of the road to take a photo of it, as others snapped away with their phones.

The car revved to life as red changed to amber, and the photographer took a couple more snaps before the driver, in his sunglasses, began to edge forward.

The photographer dialled a number on his mobile: "Guess what I've just seen!" he excitedly said, while my fiancé continued to watch it down the road.

"That was a LaFerrari!" he clued me in, "less than 500 exist in the whole world!"

To me, as someone for whom cars are simply a means to an end, it meant nothing, particularly here, a stone's throw from Harrods where luxury cars seem ten a penny.

If you've ever wanted to feel like you live in the lap of luxury, then this is the place to do so. We were staying at the Belgraves hotel, located just off Sloane Street, and minutes from the Kings Road, Hyde Park and Knightsbridge.

Walking there from the tube station felt like walking into another world – one where the shops are not just shops, but boutiques, and where doormen eye you up as you walk inside.

For a girl of more simple pleasures like myself, it felt alien, though not necessarily in a bad way.

It was a true experience – everything felt luxurious, from the bars and restaurants right through to the cars in the street and the Gucci shoes of the passing dog-walker.

The Belgraves, though, felt very comfortable despite its impeccable, luxury vibe. It was much more welcoming than we'd expected when approaching. We didn't feel out of place at all, for a pair much more Skoda than supercar.

The staff warmly welcomed us, and we checked in to a luxury room overlooking the cityscape. The room itself was very metropolitan – not huge, yet perfectly formed. A huge glass wall separated the sleeping space from the bathroom, covered in beaded curtains that glistened in the soft light. If you don't want to watch your beloved fighting with a hotel-sized Molton Brown shampoo bottle in the shower, you can recline in the window seat and enjoy watching the world go by below.

The 85-room hotel includes Pont St, a 70-seat restaurant, and we had an evening reservation.

I panicked when I realised I hadn't packed anything glamorous to dress in, thinking that, as a restaurant with a neighbourhood feel, I'd look like a weed amid the beautiful, designer dress-clad flowers of the locals.

But it was nothing of the sort – the service was exceptional and we were greeted, as was everyone that came down to dine, like special guests. It was very laid-back, and as we tucked into warm, cheesy breads and butter as we awaited our dinners, we really relaxed.

Andrew went for a truffle and wild mushroom mac and cheese, and I went for the asparagus, tenderstem broccoli, baby spinach and goat's curd salad with wheatgrass dressing.

The vegetables were perfectly cooked and crunchy, green and delicious. The dressing added a zingy dimension and the goat's curd, which I'd expected to be the highlight, came second to the healthy stuff. Bonus. Andrew's mac and cheese was very rich, but the sensible-sized portion left him with enough room for pud. This is where the hotel truly stood out – the doughnut balls, injected with salted caramel and piled beside a shot glass of vanilla milkshake was one of the most satisfying desserts I've ever eaten.

I could have cried when I finished the last one.

Of all of the beautiful things we saw in Belgravia – handbags, shoes, decor and cars – that Pont St pud was by far the best.