Thursday 12th May 2011
You won’t believe the height! The saturation of greatness! At one point the corner by the window was occupied by three persons only, all of them world figures. I refer to Kernow Hellizon’s launch last night. All today I’ve been wrenched to a halt every twenty minutes: to think that he was actually there. I actually saw him.
But it’ll have to wait – for first I must go back. I’ve done a terrible thing. How could it have happened? Rufus Pitman, author of Bums and Buns at the Seaside, a riveting novel daring to show Gays as they actually are, held a dinner for the dedicatees of that work, a bizarre crew of greatnesses and leading Poor Little Rich Gays, including Bruce McBain, my personal architect, Reggie Cresswell, the world-renouned Ghanaian ceramacist, Conrad Matheson, the disease expert, Valèry Duplessis, a gorgeousness with a proper job, and Lord Arrowby, that stern governmental figure who stalks the highest corridors of power in a backroom capacity. This last, by the way, is my part-time love interest. There’s shortly to be an announcement. But no final decision has yet been taken as to whether Alexander McQueen or some new talent.
Somehow, boarding the next day for Rome, the Farnese Ceiling, then Easter, then the Wedding, then the ducklings, I was overwhelmed by events and failed to cover the Rufus dinner. Now I’m just waiting for him to confirm his perfume before launching in.
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It was Pour Monsieur by Chanel. The most obvious ones are sometimes the most utterly tantalizing. Also (or is it just me) they’ve reformulated it somewhat in the last year, giving it a startling liquorice note?
Dear Rufus Pitman
You are so on-on-ball with your perfumes, and yes aren’t the classics sometimes quite the best? Do you remember Monsieur Worth, with its geraniums and tobacco? When I was 12 I presented my parents with a joint Christmas gift, a bottle of Worth Je Reviens and a bottle of Monsieur Worth. You see, I had seen them advertised jointly on Jersey television.
(Deep sexy voice in 1970s French accent: “Worth Je Reviens et Monsieur Worth… made for each other. You’ll see.)
But daddy told me chaps didn’t on the whole wear scent, and mummy gave hers to the cleaner.
N Taudevin
I just can’t believe it. That was exactly the fume I bought the next day at Gatwick, having discovered it on the Photo Multi that Monday. I thought it dangerous – so near sweet and sickly, going right to the boundary. At H Nicks I conducted further investigation because the PM didn’t know its name until he could graph the bottle and send the result. I got Pour Monsieur Concentrated.
I love the Jersey background!
Never mind the fume, whose fingers were those around the duckling, who was wearing that thumb ring?
It belongs to one of the ‘team’ brought in from the urban farm to rescue the ducklings.
You should know that you have made the 1000th comment on poorlittlerichgays.com
What prize would you like?
Oh Lord! A super injunction and more from you on Twitter.
The Book warns against wearing Pour Monsieur unless you are absoutely sure you are the sort of person who can. It’s so very chic and well put together that the authors of The Book say, if memory recalls, “beware of wearing a fume that’s seen more of the world than you have.”
Doesn’t apply to us, natch.
I’m glad you enjoyed Walkure. I toyed with it and indeed got tickets to see it in Brixton. But then I wasn’t sure about seeing opera in cinemas, however marvellous, and took myself off to St Petersburg instead.
Wearing Pour Monsieur at a revival of Tarkovsky’s Boris Godunov tomorrow night at the Kirov, I believe.
My great grandmother always loved after shaves (shaves?) rather than perfumes (fumes?). She would never give away what she was wearing but she was always asked. To this day no one ever found out. My mother thinks it was horsey though – perhaps the equivalent of Polo today
A horsey fume sounds just up Robert Nevil’s street, he being author of the History of the Pony Club
I love it that fume is so difficult. I mediate upon The Ring soon. The question is: Will we hear Jonas Kauffman singing Siegmund ever? Because never again will they make studio recordings of operas, so it is said. So any chance really must be grabbed. It was utterly superb. Reggie Cresswell was present by chance in a neighbour seat. How happy we were. I was with Val, who was drunk for two weeks over Easter, but now back to making professional standard sandwiches (‘wiches’) with self-made and perfectly shaped bread.