What’s January Being Like?

Sunday 21st January 2017

One January maybe ten years ago I wasn’t required the entire month and had all that time to make marmalade. Laura Malcolm always used to refuse to go anywhere in January. These days, as the shadow of the valley of Death deepens, activity is more frantic than ever. Barely two blank days after New Year and the last minutes start pouring in and pouring out: Angus Willis and Fergus Strachan dined and had the first known January Christmas dinner (as already mentioned); Prince Dmitri dined and did his best to be philosophical. I took Brexit the Musical above a pub in Little Venice, I took Rosenkavalier with Renee (also as explained before: Reggie Cresswell can’t bear Rosenkavalier. He is currently in India with Rufus Pitman and Raj Zoraster who grows more frisky and Tigger-like by the day. Rufus has abandoned the German Alpine look for a look derived from the Indian Alps i.e huge shawl of the finest quality). Eddie Sedgwick had an opening; I took London Art Fair. I dined quietly with rellies in Pimlico. Anthony Mottram materialised from Prague and we lunched at Bocca di Lupo. Serena Davenport had her 60th birthday party at a stately home hotel. I sat next to Roxanne General at the dinner who condemned Topman when I said I was wearing Topman and said she’d never missed her sit-ups every day for the last 25 years. She runs many schools and gets everything at Bicester Village. Her gown was Matthew Williamson, down to £85 from £880. On my other side was Hester Fuchs who is very keen on birthing and therapies. She urged me to eat more fat. It’s got marvellous properties, she said. But I was brought up with fat being evil and can’t change now. We played a tremendous gush-free ‘This is Your Life’ for Serena which was much more touching than a lot of gush would have been. Roxanne said she hadn’t prepared her contribution but rose and was superb.

Of course, in the background all the household work and work on clothes has been going on (I wouldn’t say seamlessly) which make possible the outward functions. I’m on the fourth batch of marmalade and the January sales targets are almost all met. These days, with my wardrobe stretching as far as the eye can see with less expensive items, it’s almost impossible to grasp what is needed to lift it. Serena, at her 60th birthday, said she’d been selling off items on eBay for the last 3 years. A light Spring coat, shower-proof but not a mac, not rough-looking as so much is nowadays, but good enough to be worn at funerals, is the most glaring gap. Also possibly everyday bootees and a fine knit from APC in a mysterious blue like the one by APC I tried on in Harrods but it was too small. Always just out of reach, the knits and loveliness one craves. Finally (is it finally?) the home itself – we’ve almost completed the programme of polishing and it really does look as if a restorer for the dining table will be forthcoming. I’ve made a decision re: that bookcase.

Lionel Moore phoned up at 96 while I was exercising. ‘I’m 96,’ he bellowed. He’s having a party to celebrate his late partner, Eric Vaughan at Wilton’s Music Hall. Lady Plowright … Phoebe Nichols. It will be huge. Lionel appeared v. excited about the whole thing. I was explaining to Laura Malcolm about the time Lionel saw a tall woman at a party in New York who looked familiar. It wasn’t until Edna O’Brien said in her Irish way, ‘Dew knoo Mussis Onassis?’ that he realised it was Mrs Onassis or Mrs Kennedy to use her other name. Another time President Reagan explained to Lionel the wisdom he had imparted to one of those v. distinguished Oxbridge-educated PMs from the Caribbean. ‘If your people could only save up to get a tractor – maybe one for each family – then they could plough the land and grow stuff and it would be great.’

Which brings me onto the present President. Harry Rollo and Mercury Mr Kitten have been out protesting on the streets of Los Angeles. I think their banner must have been self-made: it said, ‘Keep your tiny hands off MOTHER EARTH’. Marvellous. But what is to be done? ‘President’ Trump and his wife, Malaria, are the unacceptable face of the Poor Little Rich Gays.

My New Bag by Visconti had Arrived. V. Pleased with it. It is Stiffer than Old One and Sits Upright Like the Queen's, Giving Feeling of Having Life of its Own. Put Old One on the Street: It was Snatched up by Furious Snatching Mother and Daughter Team who Barely Paused Before Taking Possession and Parading Forth with my old Bag in Glory

My New Bag by Visconti Arrived. V. Pleased with it. It is Stiffer than Old One and Sits Upright Like the Queen’s, Giving Feeling of Having Life of its Own. Put Old One on the Street: It was Snatched up by Furious Snatching Mother and Daughter Team who Barely Paused Before Taking Possession and Parading Forth with my old Bag in Glory

 

 

Posted Sunday, January 22, 2017 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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