Tuesday 4^th January 2011

Reggie, the World Class Ghanaian ceramicist, who is unveiling a miraculous new life-size piece in July, has acres of champagne carpet as well as acres of champagne.  Poor Little Rich Gays had to take their shoes off and range them on the lower steps to his apartment before ascending for the New Year celebration.

Too bad if shoes were your central statement.

Reggie was wearing the gilded Levis, one of only 100 pairs ever made, given him by the company in recognition of his last sumptuous, many scene-ed ceramic. I don’t think Harry Rollo, internationally-known performance artist and impresario, also present, had brought his own limited edition purple tweed Nikes, awarded in similar circs.

Extraordinary, the things you get for being world class.

No seething mass, no more than twenty in the vast flat, created by Poor Little Rich Gay architect, Bruce MacBain, of course, who was there. So peaceful and unshattering, perfect for Lord Arrowby, that top Governmental figure and my part-time love interest, who had been re-directed from another failed party at the last minute. He can’t bear crowds. I was completely absorbed for five hours which, as I’m sure you know, is almost a record for me. Thrilling to see Bruno-France Bruno again. He’s been living in a palace in Paris for the last five years. Complete mystery person. But always in the know.  If there’s been a big fire, he was in it, if there’s a Duchess, he knows her. Once he told Rufus Pitman, the novelist and critic, that he’d befriended Barry Manilow in Old Compton Street that morning. Rufus was like ‘Oh yeah.’ But then a huge limo passed by and there was Barry Manilow leaning out and waving manically at Bruno-France.

And darling little Roscoe Charles, always so friendly, not seen for years owing to absence in Los Angeles, either high-end car dealing or movies or both ! Once rather intimate with Reggie, although, I think I’m right in saying, not the sort to take much interest in ceramics.

That’s the thing about Reggie – Harry Rollo’s the same – these absolutely talented people are Poor Little Rich Gay in many ways, but they completely lack arse and side about their work. No, ‘Is my car at the door? Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am?’ They live for art and suffer.

Reggie had made four excellent dishes to go with the champagne. He’s vegetarian, you know. My pheasant story (see previous posting) must have been awful for him. Lord Arrowby throughout travelled a perfect Poor Little Rich Gay arc. First of all he wanted to know what our New Year goals were. ‘You must be ever onwards and upwards.’ I could only think that once I had resolved at New Year never to eat an Iceberg lettuce again. Then he was worried about his future. It could all come crashing down apparently. No more work for Lord Arrowby in the highest corridors of power (not very likely, I think). Finally he was overwrought and missing his friend, Rufus Pitman, who has gone to Calcutta.

On the whole, I think my New Year’s resolution should be to find more time for Lord Arrowby.

We ended by looking at pictures of mutual acquaintances on Gay dating websites, where they show rather more of themselves than would be usual even on a beach. But Valèry Duplessis was looking forward to next year’s food.  ‘Last year,’ he said, ‘was Ottolenghi.’ Now it’s to be  radical favour combinations. There’s a book coming: mushroom and blueberry.

Reggie Cresswell's Famous Gilded Levi's