Mottram and the Mozart Balls Explained

Saturday 17th October 2009

Saturday!  My favourite day of the week. A Saturday in January or July when the sales are on – paradise!

Today my quests: those brown waxed jeans –  every branch of Zara to be covered, plus pants (TK Maxx), plus a new loo brush for the upstairs bathroom, plus at Frieze Art Fair I dropped my glasses, so I must get some more (£250 min., I suppose). Speaking of eyewear, I forgot to mention – at Frieze, the original David Hockney black-rimmed glasses much seen in the crowd, the frames even thicker though. Suit very few, but violently fashionable. Also very difficult vertical shoes with many straps for ladies. I’m hoping the photographer Multi will send a picture (they’ve arrived! See below).

Tomorrow Mottram and I go to Frieze; artists from the Central of Europe whom he buys are showing. Then we’re in the stalls at Covent Garden. It’s Tristan.  So it’s outfits, outfits and, of course, I’m aching to blog. I’ve got a lot lined up for you. The MPs’ expenses affair – I’m compelled to comment – and the Bulgarian Orphans are back in the news. There was a TV programme on Thursday. You may remember that Mottram is deeply involved. On Monday the Gay Mother arrives and on Tuesday we go to Madrid. What will we do there?  What will the hotel be like?

Hotels are crucial, as you may have gathered.

Mottram, you’re wondering, what’s he doing in London?  He was coming anyway for the opera but also now for the aunt’s funeral. He arrived on Wednesday, in the midst of all this great flowering of art, bearing a vast box of Mozart Balls, as a hostess gift. They’re chocolates. A speciality of the Central of Europe.

I’ve told him and told him.

No more Mozart Balls. Never give chocolate to a Poor Little Rich Gay. He knows I’m trying to lose weight. It’s all quite deliberate. He pays a private doctor in Prague to tell him he’s not overweight. He wants me the same (overweight, I mean). I’m about five pounds over. Bulging stomach despite Pilates and sit-ups. It’s all the eating. And I want to wear those little Prada black plastic slacklettes again. What’s more the Balls are absolutely horrid. These ones, it turns out, have that white bloom from being in the sun but it makes little difference, so beastly are they in the first place.

Of course, I can’t keep away from them. On Thursday I had three. After lunch, my heart lifts at the thought of a Mozart Ball with coffee – and then another. I tried to ram some down the cleaner. I might just leave them in the street.  With age the will weakens and weakens. Never let go I always used to say but now…

It’s a shame.  ‘I find you too negative,’ Limpney declared in dismissing me from his presence.  But Mottram is an outstanding personality. I long to show you.

Maybe I do already

Mottram with Mozart Balls

Mottram with Mozart Balls

 Difficult Shoes at Trenton's Gallery: Photo by Multi

Difficult Shoes at Trenton's Gallery: Photo by Multi

More Difficult Shoes at Trenton's Gallery: photo by Multi

More Difficult Shoes at Trenton's Gallery: photo by Multi

Posted Saturday, October 17, 2009 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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  1. Lady Parvula de Panzoust says:

    I insist my maid wears the “more difficult” shoes when she brings me anything. They are not difficult for me. As I am sure you know dear, life is perfection, if only I hadn’t a corn. They do not look like corn-harvesting shoes. Much too amatory.

  2. Olympia Thaniakionassios says:

    Delicious Mozart kugeln, like Ferero Roche my favorites. Better not to eat in bed because if you drop one and roll on it make the sheets very messy. Enjoy.

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