Last Minutes Save the Day and Jewels Arise

Thursday 17th December 2015

As you know last Tuesday I was to drop off the end of the world with no further engagements until today, which is The Sleeping Beauty this evening. But Merle Barr at once came up trumps with Carlos Acosta. Then I managed to diarise Patrick Lockyer for Monday at Nopi and Merle Barr again for last night when suddenly there was a surprise turn of events and we were in a big scene. Today Genevieve Suzy has been on the phone. We had only one hour in which to generate snobbery about Christmas tree styling for one of our most lucrative organs (side work from Dainty Lady TV). On Sunday she and Lord Suzy roasted a beef piece they’d got at Sainsburys last minute and I was bidden. Also on Saturday morning I saw Lord Arrowby but I’m saving that up for later for it was huge.

So the sweep up to Christmas has been jewel-studded and garlanded after all.

Carlos Acosta – have you heard of him? He’s a ballet dancer, known privately to Harry Rollo of course. Merle Barr had a spare ticket for his farewell show at the Colosseum. He’s to return to Cuba, to from whence he came. I’ve not followed the ballet since the days of Margot and Rudolf. QF I wasn’t that keen even then. It all seems such a struggle and really a branch of gymnastics. The audience for Carlos was quite dowdy (Merle excepted of course) and ladies had brought their caramel-cardied husbands. Nevertheless when Carlos came on as Actaeon in tiny satin shorts and nothing else, you wouldn’t believe the frank animal noises made by these women.

Patrick Lockyer gained Nopi on Monday for an evening styled long-distance by Joshua Baring in New York. But it turned out PL had never been to Nopi before. It’s the high-end version of Ottolenghi, in case you don’t know. I tried the orange wine which is a new thing, a white wine made as if it were red wine – i.e. skins left in the mixture. Result fairly appalling: a cloudy sour drink. Patrick said it was like apple juice gone awff. He wasn’t wild about vanilla with lamb. My chicken was quite nice, just a little ordinary. I could have done it myself. The red salsa to go with was awfully sweet. Lucky Val wasn’t there. By chance he was on the phone this week condemning sweet with savoury not for the first time. Patrick as always was a great swirl of injuncting and adventures. He’s just back from a secret location where there were goings-on as well as injunctions. Local interest was intense and erupting out of every corner. Some of those wanting injunctions can’t even read apparently. Patrick was very prancing and glancing with devastating penetration on the subject of bombing Syria: what a legal mind which makes each point in a single stroke.

Then we came to Wednesday. Merle Barr managed to get us into Angus Willis’s Vietnamese dinner for Charlie Hurling and Archie Brahms at the priceless Shoreditch warehouse. I was hysterical with excitement. Charlie Hurling is the one who thinks of the worst thing to say and says it with thrilling effect. When we got there, we found that Muriel McGlorian was looming from the Guardian party. If I were to say that her fashion level and finish did not quite chime with one’s idea of the Left Leaning, she’d be the first to tear me to pieces. The family life of Charlie Hurling! More and more came out. What an environment! No girlfriend or boyfriend of the younger members was safe from the attentions of the older ones. Phone calls often went: ‘Mummy, Mummy, Daddy’s getting off with my girlfriend.’ Or, ‘Mummy, Mummy, Daddy’s getting off with my boyfriend.’ It was sex, sex, sex, I tell you. Now Charlie wants to wind down. He can’t go on taking 150 flights a year: the jobs in Vegas and LA, the endless openings, the whirling property portfolio. But when it came to planning skiing after Christmas, Charlie ruled out January and February because of openings… so I wonder. Can a Poor Little Rich Gay wind down?


Posted Friday, December 18, 2015 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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