Sunday 6^th June 2010

I’m dashing for Lady Newell’s at Oxford. We’re having a Tuscan-reunion lunch.

Here are three Gay dinners; I hope you can learn from them.

Royston Buster’s pre-Chelsea Flower Show gathering was two weeks ago. I’ve mentioned it before. Table decor, glassware, napiery, location (actually London NW10) were not the point. No, the guests were poised, like show horses, trained but reserving the right to revert to the wild without notice, pawing the ground, trotting on the spot, manoeuvring. All on committees, the Corporation of London, the National Lottery Fund, the  this, the that. Exact purpose not entirely clear. Functions with speeches seemed to come into it. The opening of Leighton House. ‘Mistake to leave so-and-so off the guest list.’ ‘Good move to put so-and-so on.’ Heads of Oxbridge colleges picked over. Then someone called Ed Vaizey, an MP. What sort of terms on with the PM socially? Round for a pizza at the kitchen table – no. Summer party for 50 – yes.

Royston, by the way, is remarkable. Absolutely barking and you can tell him so. Used to be on the TV a lot, now does Chelsea Flower Show only. Somehow in charge of millions of lottery money. Chair of the committee except that he had reduced the other members to little heaps of ash. Demented with names and connections.

We must hear more of him.

This Thursday last was my own dinner. Decor. Food. Garden. I was appalled by the state of my silver. Lord Arrowby, who came in the end, charmed everybody and provided content. Peter Acharya, who lives down the road, fumed about the new set of yobs who’ve moved in. Bruce MacBain, my architect, was teased by Cedric Partridge ( museum world. Art history. Knew Margot Fonteyn. Flies often with famous painting as fellow passenger) for wearing a loose garment. What was he trying to conceal?

Then last night Peter Acharya and Ned Czernowski had a last minute dinner for the hot weather. The thing was – and here you must learn – it wasn’t in their own apartment but another, on the floor above, twice the size, double-terrace on both sides, and finished, finished, finished. Oh the finish. Great wall of lacquered cupboards in the kitchen, perfectly aligned, streaming stone floors.

So, why not relocate your dinners to improved premises?

Speaking of kitchens (see glossary), the other great feature was a lithe young man from the South Seas, big studded belt, red-top pants showing, jeans, tattoos, jewellery,  tremendous hiss-and-spit with older partner. ‘You’ve been working today?’ I said. Yes, I’m manager of the environment…. ‘He’s a cleaner,’ the husband boomed. Later they were more cuddly apparently. ‘He wants a car,’ Peter muttered. After dinner we toured the apartment and this young man became even more lithe and charming.