“Soho House is horrendous,” said a man on our only date.
“Uhuh,” I replied. There was no way I was going to tell him that I had applied for a membership only a week prior. He was a former criminal lawyer with many opinions and seemed to want to catch me out. One drink down, and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get me into bed or prison.
To be fair to the criminal lawyer, out of all of his opinions, this one was the most I agreed with – Soho House is horrendous.
The Farmhouse is up the road from Oxford. The first time I was invited by my friend to be her +1, I was determined to hate it. Why would anyone pay to be on a farm?
You arrive, and a sage green milk float takes you to the ‘Main Barn’. Here, it becomes apparent that this is not a farm, but a millennial’s wet dream. There are huge fire pits, everything is rustic and full of CBD, and even the pigs are sexy. It’s horrendous.
For the last few years, I have been happily slagging the place off, but even happier to accept an invitation to be a +1. This was a good way to live because I could sneak in without being held accountable for buying into such tosh.
I was content with this until one visit. I arrived before my membership friend, Sian, and the smiley model man at the gate told me I had to wait in ‘the pen’ until she arrived. The pen- is a fenced-off area to hold the non-members. You must stay in this pen to be collected by a higher person/member before you’re allowed in.
I hate this place. I hate this place. I hate this place. I applied for a membership.
This procedure is like applying for a job, except you’re not proving yourself to get paid but proving yourself…to pay them. You must supply a bio, a photo, and two references from members, and then pitch to them why they should pick you.…then press send and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
6 months go by, and you lie awake at night regretting the photo you chose. Or perhaps you should have been less braggy, or more braggy, then turn on your friends, wondering if they gave you a good reference.
“I’m going to retract my application,” I announced to Sian. I said it as if this was an act of defiance and was going impact Soho House’s cash flow.
“No, you’ve come so far!” she said. She then invited me to a Farmhouse spa day, which I obviously accepted.
We spent the morning in a mineral salt hot tub sipping coffee. I then waltzed around the designer barn in a fluffy dressing gown before smothering myself in complimentary Cow Shed products. It was whilst I was rinsing myself in the rainfall shower that I decided I was going to confront the house about my membership.
“Excuse me,” I said staring up at the blonde receptionist. “I applied for a membership here like 6 months ago, and I haven’t heard anything. Does this mean I’ve been… rejected?” I squinted my eyes ready for the blow.
“We have a very, very, very long waiting list.”
“How long would you say…?”
“A year and half.”
A YEAR AND A HALF! I COULD BUILD MY OWN FUCKING FARMHOUSE IN THAT TIME… is what I wanted to say, but I knew this would put me down the list. So, instead, I smiled and thanked her.
She smiled back, knowing I’m going to wait that year and a half.
How horrendous.
.
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Happy 1st Birthday to The Quack- Thank you everyone for reading 🙂 x
THE QUACK 