Tuesday 19th April 2011

…but I’m too tired. I can’t get Rome quite right and functions are piling up. I’d thought to have two pre-paschal nights at home alone but this evening Virgil Grayson, the world-famous archtect whose home on the Côte I stayed in last summer, accepted to dine but he didn’t want to be late.  He’s actually of some age but still competing to build museums. He bounds back and forth between our major towns. A Greatness was over from Rome. That was the occasion for my dinner. Confusing, I know, me having just been in Rome.  Bruce MacBain also dined. I said to Virgil, ‘Come at seven, we can be seated by 7.30 and I can get the service over by 7.35.’ Rather like dinner at the Court of George V. He said,’7.35? I’ll have to leave early in that case.’

But a brief dinner is valuable and perfectly possible. Poor Little Rich Gays, braced for achievement, cannot linger. Besides, before the War, dinner was always over by ten and lunch was forty-five minutes.

My menu was satisfyingly spare, pared down, in pale greens and yellows: leeks steamed, with chopped egg, parsley and vinaigrette, then chicken pieces grilled with preserved lemon and oregano. Finally a Passover cake made without flour or butter. Once Passover coincided with Easter, so, as far as I’m concerned, it will do for evermore. No cream, no cheese, no chocolates.

Preparation time: 1 hour.

Virgil left at 9.30.

And now Peter Acharya has come up with Private View tickets for the Miro Show at Tate Modern tomorrow. No champagne or canapes though. I said, ‘Let’s bring our own.’ Apparently Miro is not liked, but  a Private View is a Private View.

Somehow, I’m to get away to the Gay Mother’s on Thursday, lunching on the way at Bath.

But come back tomorrow: I’ve lovely Roman thoughts and news and style tips brewing up. My graphs with the new camera as well – I’ll make you feel Rome.