Saturday 24th July 2010

I am surprised by my architect, Bruce MacBain, while applying a clothes brush to the interior of my new car in the street – I board tomorrow for Normandy for the annual heterosexual interlude at Laura Malcolm’s Norman fastness.

He crept up behind me. I absolutely screamed.

Pre-boarding tension isn’t the word. I still haven’t mended the split seam in my Alexander McQueen pale grey jeans. And they’re essential for the look I want in Normandy. I’ve been too busy applying bleach with a Q-tip to my less than satisfactory Balenciacga white jeans. Then in ironing dry a fly got squashed on them.

Had to start again.

Anyway, I said to Bruce MacBain, ‘Why not stay for a scratch supper?’ The Gay Mother gave me two duck legs. I’ve been with her this week.

It looked a bit bleak.

We were joined, after a drama, by Tancredo Viamare, Bruce MacBain’s partner, who’d been painting one of his bathroom’s white. ‘What does that mean – white?’ Bruce MacBain quizzed.

Tancredo wasn’t really able to explain. It seemed he referred to Brilliant White.

But somehow Poor Little Rich Gays conjured bounty out of a barren store cupboard. We ended up with:

Raddicchio grilled, with balsamic

Cherry tomato, basil and mozzarella

Iberian acorn-fed ham

Olives

Pecorino

Spagetti with duck leg and peas

The Gay Mother’s blackcurrant puree

In the middle of it all, the Gay Mother herself rang up. ‘What’s fromage frais?’ she said.

Well, that’s where it all began. More later.

The Gay Mother’s currant situation you wouldn’t believe.