September «

September

Thursday 28th September 2023

Robert Nevil and the Maharajah picked the damsons. I made jam. Their cleaner has left. She said the cleaning products which weren’t hers but she said they were had been interfered with. So she flung down her cloth and left the stage in fury.

I couldn’t help mentioning that they’d got a cobweb in the doorway.

We had a dinner on the never never at Boisdale, Canary Wharf. Beamish O’Halloran lavished, being paid in Boisdale pounds for each of his words that appear in the Boisdale magazine.

Laura Malcolm said, ‘What’s your conversation?’ I said: ‘My main topics are: my change of energy supplier and my health check at the doctor’s (cholestrol at 5.4)’. She cracked open with boredom.

The Cruisings came but we hardly spoke because of the cabaret starting up. It was an Aretha Franklin tribute act. On the whole the clientele was from Canning Town – the only people who have any money these days are plumbers, electricians and builders. A surprising number of the men looked Gay even when in a conventional family configuration – what Ivy Compton Burnett called ‘a full normal life’ which she said she wouldn’t have wanted.

There was a strange daughter who went down in the lift writhing and proclaiming her mother wanted dancing for her 73rd birthday. She was like Cassandra from Up Pompeii! We got out on the ground floor but she stayed put and rode back up again.

Unusual.

Robert Nevil and the Maharajah visited the Gay Mother. Whole day doing Hindu temple cooking in advance. The Maharajah was not so humous-keen though. I’d made a vat. On the second day it was found to have gone off. What will the gardeners make of humous on the compost heap. The Gay Mother couldn’t have enjoyed it more… picking over the Archers with Robert Nevil. Other topics included: management of cows in India. I wove a web re: old families of the neighbourhood. We saw where one was run over chasing after her puppy in the road in 1934 and also her grave. Our programme was full: Viennese-type cafe and kuken morning visit to our family mansion where rellies were staying – a different Dutch painting is suddenly the most valuable; evensong in the private family chapel of the neighbouring family related to HM the Queen, who has been in that chapel (the connections), another church visit where the Carnocks are buried (v. difficult to get the Maharajah and Robert Nevil to take much interest, even though two Lord Carnocks were brothers of Harold Nicholson and the present Lord Carnock is Adam Nicholson although he doesn’t refer to it). They were Instagramming some other headstones in that graveyard of unusual design in slate.

The Gay Mother loved the tomato curry.

I also took a private evening at Wisley (£5000 pls, for a Fellowship), Rheingold and Peter Grimes.

That’s enough for a life.

And I forgot to mention: the saga of the Gold Handbag in the Sue Ryder Shop, plus the Freddie Mercury Sale at Sotheby’s where 15 Rudi’s fetched £68,000. I wore Sandro for the sale. Needn’t have bothered. It wasn’t dressy.