Tuesday 12th July 2011

There’s no doubt – this is the third Summer Party by Lord Arrowby, that formidable governmental figure with a wild side, since this blog began and the Poor Little Rich Gays began to take shape in the world.

There have been developments, new extremes have been thought of and realised. You’ll be astonished. Mercifully the News of the World did not undertake one final reckless hack-in.

As you know, Lord A has been my love-interest for 15 years. In that time he has grown in champagne, 3/4 wrap-around terraces, flooring, lighting, designer clothes and above all artworks.

But that’s not the whole story.

We started on the streaming wrap-around: Rufus Pitman, one of our leading novelists, was in a gold-embroidered Indian coat, with black shawl and a stunning complex floral fume (name to be supplied). The day before, he said, in the newsagents, another customer had commented on the shopkeeper’s agreeable choice of disinfectant: ‘That was my …. (name to be supplied) at £119 a bottle!’ Rufus bore it though.  Raj Zoraster was over from Geneva, accompanying Rufus. ‘Duchamp!’ he said correctly and at once of my second summer scarf.  Reggie Cresswell complained that he’d been ordered not to get ill by the organiser of a publicity event for his new ceramic – which, by the way, has been declared the number one most talked-about item in Britain. Extraordinary when you think how few have seen it or ever will see it. He even outstrips Alan Hollinghurst, whose new novel (we’re all reading it), bestrides the bestseller lists.

They were asking about Anthony Mottram, my old boon companion of 40 years. Robert Nevil, I said, is to be with him in Bulgaria for the Orphans (he’s there now in fact). It’s been a raw time. We fell out 18 months ago over the kitchen question and my role in his life in the light of…there were developments back in the spring. There was a function. Minimal morse-code exchanges have passed between us.  But neither of us knows morse-code. Poor Little Rich Gays may be more human than the Earls Court gays, they may be tinged with greatness, but they have their hellish, impossible side .

There were young people at the party! Finn Magnus, the hot boy doc, announced a last-minute boarding for New York. Well, he’s not really a boy; he must be all of 25 ( wasp waist and clinging pink jumper with nothing underneath!); known to Arjan Bose of course. All PLRGs know each other in the end. I don’t think he’s hugely interested in hotels but Harry Rollo and I certainly were: ‘The Pierre, the Pierre,’ we went. But Finn showed a PLRG tendency all the same: I can’t remember what it was.

A stunning finished beauty of well under thirty rose out of the floor, with a lovely sheen to the clothes, superb silhouette (everyone’s got a silhouette, of course, but so few are any good), and two rows of black jet beading on the shirt. He was not for every day and clearly thought I was over-keen. Another young man was talkative and friendly:  we had Topman and Prada in common. ‘This summer scarf I’m wearing – what is it?’ he said.  I was mystified. ‘Lord Arrowby put it on me. It’s not mine.’

So it was: Lord Arrowby was whirling in and out of his bedroom. ‘Summer scarves, summer scarves,’ he was going, hurling priceless swathes, plunging ever deeper towards the Poor Little Rich Gay core. Summer scarves, as we know, have been at the heart of Poor Little Rich Gay life this summer. ‘It is a Dries, this is Etro…’ His own outfit was a plain white shirt, highly flimsy, highly patterned shorts and an Indian pendant showing Krishna. Then without warning it was spray-on stretch tapestry trousers by Paul and Joe, no shoes, and a different necklace.

I ran into Bruno-France Bruno, the great mystery PLRG, last seen in apparent command of a massive hotel particular in Paris. Now he’s in London. Thrilling to have him back. He said a huge name had just left the party, but I can’t remember who: not Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. It was some artist. On the other hand, he said, ‘That person over there is a stripper and porn star’. Guy Bostock, Lord Arrowby’s ‘mate’, said he’d been offered porn work but had not taken it up, despite massive pecs. I should mention that his employment is normally elsewhere. This was a freak offer, not through official channels.

Then Ildebrando di Bianchi came in, radiant with new love and intimate with his lover. I had a small collapse. Maybe I should have taken that path. Had Anthony Mottram been there, as he once was at one of Lord Arrowby’s parties, I would not have felt so exposed. It’s enough to have one person in the world who knows everything about you. On the other hand, perhaps it’s not too late, maybe it’s time to venture down new thrilling avenues – and take a youthful lover.

Finn Magnus's Pink Jumper: A Summer Scarf Can be Seen Going By on Crutches in the Bottom Right Corner

Lord Arrowby's Second Outfit - Paul and Joe Slacks

Lord Arrowby with Summer Scarves