Wednesday 1^st December 2010

Saturday:  Conrad Matheson (huge in the disease world) and Valèry Duplessis (great banking survivor) received world-famous Poor Little Rich Gays with champagne and hand-made canapés (Valèry had self-made. The detail! The choice! The accompaniments!). Nevertheless ordinary members of the public would have been astonished to see these people in an actual, even if highly decorative, home in an actual London street.

The archway between two rooms gave the Greatnesses a proscenium for their entrances – Rufus Pitman, novelist, critic, taste-shaper, in black skirts and monkey boots, Lord Arrowby, power behind the throne, stalker of the highest corridors of power, Russian in belted brown fun-fur, so expensive he claims his travel plans are curtailed.

Then there were Reggie Cresswell, the Ghanaian ceramicist, about to thrill with yet another epic work, and Harry Rollo, the impresario and performance artist, who in Miami after Christmas will give Wagner highlights from within a giant cement mixer while completing a 6000-piece jigsaw of a Baked Alaska.

And many other celebrated Poor Little Rich Gays who crave anonymity’s cloak.

Rufus was modelling an outstanding perfume, as always. The only floral for men, he said. Something de Geranium. I committed to memory but forgot. We must all have it but it’s so rare. Googling achieves nothing.  He said: ‘If Kate Middleton’s brother forms a Civil Partnership, what relation is that Civil Partner to Prince William and the Queen?’

Learn from this too, ordinary members of the public. What intriguing notes are you offering as the Christmas party season looms? Rufus is a kind of 18^th century figure as might have been found at Court, full of diversions and entertainments, material and verbal. You must be too.

Harry Rollo concentrated on gossip. A leading member of our dear Government, he explained, had a lady fuck-buddy at Oxford over several years. Experiments were with a Mum Rollette deodorant stick. We agreed that this could only boost, were it to come out. Nobody these days is total top: 50/50 is the thing, even straight men.

And what about Lord Arrowby, that handsome blue-eyed rather unlikely Governmental personage?

I have to tell you, I’m taking him back – as my part-time love interest.  A few weeks ago I was rather horrid to him. I was thinking, bitterly, of replacing him. But oh, on Saturday, he was divine.  I couldn’t abandon him. It would be too cruel. He’s a got a sensitive side, you see, like Mr Darcy, beneath the stern exterior. Irresistible.

I was going to tell you more, but no space now. There’s much more to tell. Come back.