Visits, Visits, Visits

Sunday 22nd September 2013

I’ve ordered the tulips for next year, not completed my accounts, carried out engagements in Southampton, undertaken assignments for Dainty Lady TV (my cruise segment). Yesterday and today were Open House Days in our Capital.

The Multis have been blackberrying.

This morning I visited Erno Goldfinger’s house at 2 Willow Road, Hampstead, it being an Open House on Open House Day (normally National Trust) but today free. Of course Bruce MacBain, my private architect, was received there in Goldfinger’s day. Indeed Mrs Goldfinger chased Bruce down the road after he had left to explain – for Goldfinger was utterly impossible.

Trellick Tower, which he built – once a slum, now an icon. Also, its matching pair by Blackwall Tunnel, now adored. In the dis-used laundry room of Trellick Tower I attended a party in 1977 to mark the departure for America of Virgil Grayson’s then boyfriend, as they were called in those days. The drums of the washing machines were filled with ice for the oysters.

I do hope my home becomes National Trust after I’m gone. It certainly should. A life is quite completed if the liver’s home becomes National Trust after they’re gone.

Love the Goldfinger home actually, although would never live there. No antiques.

For reasons not declared Robert Nevil has been in Eastbourne despite that we’ve got Dixter to visit. Tomorrow I take Buckingham Palace with Val. The Corrrie Dress!

This afternoon, I attend, on the recommendation of Genevieve Suzy of the magazine world a play with musical numbers about the life of A.A Milne by Giles Brandreth called ‘When We are Sixty’. Mainly because the Gay Mother knew Christopher Robin, or rather Commander Milne.

I forgot to mention on Wednesday last I was at a preview with Genevieve of a play about Constance Spry. After we managed to infiltrate the party of a world-figure on the Daily Mail and got into the Ivy on the coat-tails where we had cocktails on the management which were quite strong for Genevieve who then argued with the world-figure whose occasion she had penetrated. The world-figure was subject to massive hate-mail one time when she referred to the circs of a person’s death as ‘sleazy’ – which is all very well except that ‘sleazy’ is now something many chose to be rather than a moral failing.

Yesterday I went with Connor Cadaux and Cèsar-Kaiser Kaiser to Battersea Power Station which was open for Open House Day . Queued for two hours with ordinary members of the public. Felt sick. Connor and Cèsar were absolutely not speaking, each accusing the other of having kept the other up all night. The Power Station is truly great from the outside. The inside reminded me of our own derelict mine buildings, that is the mine buildings on our family land, except it’s bigger.

Lovely though and a massive must-see because only that day, yesterday, to see it before it’s turned into a John Lewis or whatever.

Actually I was furious because the Evening Standard, which is a free newspaper, had the impertinence to hold a party for the so-called 1000 most-influential people in London in Battersea Power Station earlier in the week. Could not believe it. Fuming. If only I’d known in time I would have seen to it that I was one of the 1000 most influential people in London for sure. Because that’s how those things work, you know. If you announce that you’re influential, then you are.

I am influential.

Afterwards we went to the Unilever Building and finally City Hall. I forgot to behave like Queen Victoria. I had hoped to say to a guide, ‘Bring this building alive for me,’ but forgot.

Unilever – well, Matt Driver WAS Unilever at one time. City Hall – nice but nasty materials.

Tuesday I am exhibited at luncheon for Dainty Lady TV. Haven’t a thing to wear.

 

Posted Monday, September 23, 2013 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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2 comments

  1. Robert Nevil says:

    Did my wicked Uncle Ambrose feature in Constance Spry play? He studied under her and became big in the flower-arranging world while apparently remaining heterosexual: boring, perhaps, but something of a feat?

  2. Adrian Edge says:

    And was called Ambrose! Rich though and wife né Money. What could be better? Play was about Connie in the 30s, neglecting her floral art because busy with Gluck in Hampstead; that’s to say Hannah Gluckstein, execrable artist judging by flower painting actress was embarked on. Gluck came to Syrie’s in man’s evening dress. Syrie entirely wrong. More like Carmen Miranda.

    I think Ambrose must have come in after the War. Maybe a matching play about him, sneaking out of Hereford Square, getting far too involved with St Mary’s Bourne Street, longing to serve at the altar under ‘Mother’s’ all-seeing eye. ‘Mother’ was the Vicar of St Mary’s Bourne Street and conducted the funeral of Tom Driberg at which Barbara Castle present.

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