Forget The Ritz: Inside the Paris hotel loved by Madonna and Charli

Paris, 2am: the windmill outside the Moulin Rouge slows to a stop. Surely that is the signal the party’s over. However, a two-minute walk away, another neon sign lures Pigalle’s party set. The letters spelling out ‘Bus Palladium’ climb vertically up the side of a 12-storey building on Rue Pierre Fontaine. Paris, 2:30am: in the basement of Bus Palladium, Parisian nightlife is in full flow. Like the set of a Netflix coming-of-age drama, the room has been dressed with a gold streamer curtain and glitter balls, and there’s a room made entirely of mirrors. The vibe is luxe, but not snooty. The DJ’s turntables are on the dancefloor, rather than lording above it, and the crowd is packed in tight enough that on a Thursday night (or should that be Friday morning) I have to muscle for space. Everyone’s older – thirties and up – stylish as hell, and have absolutely no intention of going home. Bus Palladium has some serious credentials: Madonna launched her Confessions II album here durin