Friday 21st January 2011

So teeming in fact I find I’ve forgotten all about my chestnut brown Prada slacks seized in the Sale. They’re still at the shop, after mending. Gone completely from my mind. Also, the Photo Multi send a graph  of me at a country lunch in 2006 or so. I’m wearing a black jacket. At first I thought I recognised it as part of a suit once in my possession but further graphs revealed jeans.

I don’t know that jacket. I never thought I’d forget my frockage.

We had Esme Manning’s birthday dinner at Laura Malcolm’s. Esme wore a blond mink jacket belonging to her mother. Fabulous lining. ‘Gloria’, her name, sewn in. ‘It’s been to many a rabbinical function, this jacket,’ Esme said. She was radiant. Laura has acquired a new builder, to put right Miroslav’s little errors.   He’s called Powell, as a first name. But it appears he’s had other names. He refers to Poles as  ‘jam rolls’, which is cockney rhyming slang. Laura writes down everything he says. He’s full of self-drama, which appeals, from a distance. ‘Posh birds love me.’  ‘Some trees grows all twiggy. Me, I keep on going  straight up.’

Lord Arrowby is having a texting season. He’s also been graphed in a low magazine at a gay club in a little dolly blue summer shirt with embroidery, special Designer glasses kept just for evening  and elaborate neck interest – a huge cascade of silk scarf.  He refused Paris whence I board in 30 minutes, for the Monet Exhib.  Also to wear outfits. But still I hope that he will come swirling down the platform at the last minute in a mink coat, through clouds of steam, just as the  whistle is blowing, with a massive orchestra soaring. That’s the sort of romantic drama he’d go in for, despite being an awfully stern Government figure.

We mustn’t forget either that Lord Arrowby has suddenly sprung up as a tea-pot collector on Antiques Road Trip although masquerading as another. More of that later.

On Wednesday we went to London Art Fair but took no interest in the art. Eddie Sedgewick revealed that he doesn’t use shampoo which was awful. What a agonising gap in shopping! Then a salesman from one of the galleries offered a raffle to get a free print by some well-known artist. Eddie said: ‘I know him. He’ll give me one free.’  We were troubled by shoes. Other people’s, of course. The outfit above may be doing something but what is the point if anchored by nothing shoes, and scuffed and old too?

The art was lovely but exhausting. Eddie said: ‘I love the old art.’  He meant 20th century.

Here are some Christopher Wood. I’d buy him if I had £200,000

Christopher Wood £295,000, 3 x the Price of the Other One. Why?

Christopher Wood: Only £95,000 But Has Got More Colours in It

Many Poor Little Rich Gays Hark Back to Their Schooldays