At Last! How Harmonious Were Poor Little Rich Gays in the Umbrian Villa? The Searing Truth: Villa Politics Part Two

Monday 30th August 2010

As I was saying, Poor Little Rich Gays are difficult. Six in a villa and you can bank on smoke curling from the windows before long, followed by fat juicy flames.

Unless you adopt the silent lethal approach of  Robin Smallmeal, who could quell even the most monstrous of Poor Little Rich Gays (see previous post).

So how monstrous were we in Umbria? Did we prance and glance and arse? Were the contents of the fridge hurled?

Or were we calm and, awful thought, well-adjusted?  Surely Arjan Bose could do no harm. The bonsai doctor (the metaphor here refers to his exquisite size) from Calcutta, friend of Robert Nevil’s,  when asking for more had the winning ways of a very small boy indeed.  I’m sure it was nothing that once or twice he imperiously summoned Robert Nevil downstairs for some kind of private confab. Robert Nevil himself became just a little unstable at the lack of sourdough bread for his melted fennel crostini – but can you blame him? You can’t get reckless with the Summer 2010 Poor Little Rich Gay signature dish, equally successful in France and in Italy. Then there was the bundle of dandelions bought by me from the supermarket.  I offered a sample. I caught him pulling faces. Fortunately, with sublime patience, I forbore from sautéing the rest.

Marcus Cargill, England’s leading clock restorer, took against the Sangrantino grape which the Multis were promoting in their wine purchases and Prince Dmitri thought I ought to be cooking pasta in a bigger pan. This was after he had threatened to boil underwear at 60 centigrade (I do know that 60 centigrade is not boiling: it’s just a manner of speaking).

We sailed through all that, me nailed graciously to the Cross. Then the Blond Multi seized the plate of Parma ham I had placed on the table and returned it to the kitchen for re-styling. He wanted all the wrapping from the shop and the plastic separating the layers removed. I remained saintly and swerved from a scene. Years ago I would have plummeted to make-do-and-mend from high grandeur as only Poor Little Rich Gays can when determined to have their way: ‘If it’s not all eaten it’ll have to be re-wrapped. What a waste of cling-film and time and energy!’ More dangerous was the affair of the cheese. The Multis bought an antique Taleggio. What wasn’t eaten was wrapped up and put in the fridge. Or was it? Why did it keep being found not in the fridge? Eventually the truth emerged. The Multis wanted it styled on a board and left out in the open. I felt a terrible buzzing in my head. Flies! Hygiene! The Photographer Multi was getting annoyed. ‘That’s how I want it,’ he said. ‘We bought it,’ he said reasonably. There was a danger of my becoming unanchored from the Cross, a terrible force of evil. Prince Dmitri had to intervene. Catastrophe was avoided. Later there was a tender making-up.

Does this mean Poor Little Rich Gays are getting better or worse?

The Antique Taleggio Which Nearly Caused a Scene

The Antique Taleggio Which Nearly Caused a Scene

Posted Monday, August 30, 2010 under Adrian Edge day by day.


  1. Robert Nevil says:

    I assume the lovely photograph of the Taleggio was taken after it had been left out of the fridge for several weeks? Are the specks of old food on the board also part of the Multi styling?
    A very good job Arjan Bose had left the villa by then. Once taken to dinner with a highly distinguished theatre director, he recoiled from some delightfully antique cheese that was proffered and asked afterwards: ‘What WERE they thinking, serving THAT?”

  2. Adrian Edge says:

    These cheeses are very challenging

  3. Toni Oranje-Nassau says:

    A nice young Edam or Gouda is very tasty

  4. Adrian Edge says:

    Those were the only cheeses allowed to the Gay Father after his heart attack. He was proud of a special scraping device with which he scraped at Edam

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