Chelsea's naughtiest club is back

..and it’s set to be the hottest, most hedonistic celebrity haunt in town

- SIMON MILLS

For decades, King's Road seemed to have secured the royal warrant on nightclubbing. From Sloane Square to the World's End and beyond, from the 1920s to the 2000s, the two-mile stretch of the originally private throughway - once used by Charles II to F ride out to the hunting grounds of Kew - was a veritable covert of boîtes, discos, hang-outs and debs' delight dive bars. And for what once seemed like forever, there was The 151 Club ("one five one"), the diviest Chelsea dive of all, affectionately nicknamed the "One Dive One" (and "One Five Slum") by its Sloane-sleaze regulars.

A sort of anti-Annabel's-sticky-floored, lovably insalubrious (like Henry's first South Ken bedsit) - and hidden away behind a pair of hush-hush, postbox red doors, the hard-to-get-into, King's Road after-hours was always full of sloshed young men. One habitué recalls a distinctly worse-forwear night highlighted by a PR industry friend who disappeared under a table by the dancefloor, emerging five minutes later with a grin on his face and pair of knickers in his mouth.

"I've just asked Miranda to marry me," announced the happy chin, now in Miranda's lap. "And she said YES!" Jerry Hall, Bob Geldof, Princess Diana's lover James Hewitt, the King's late god-daughter Tara Palmer-Tomkinson were all 151 regulars, along with Prince William and Prince Edward.

Prince Harry liked to avoid the paparazzi by exiting the 151 commando style, via the fire escape an SAS-type caper which quickly became a health and safety issue, the 151's proprietor ordered to spend £1,200 resurfacing the back garden in case the young prince and Talibanbattling soldier slipped and hurt himself during his next late-night manoeuvre.