Saturday 15th October 2011

The Gay Mother has gained First Class from the Country. On Monday we board for Florence. There was no tea or coffee service to the seat in the train, only vouchers for the buffet (pronounced bu.u.fay).

This year I took one dinner, on Tuesday, at Shoreditch House  for Frieze Art Fayre, saw Grayson in a Mourning Doll Get-Up of black net, met a Peter Doig-owning psychologist who knows the Multis and took an exceptional interest in their passion for La Pont.  It was their attendance there, at the Paul Bocuse Celebrity Chef cook-in or cook-off and consequent restraint from the  Frieze  dinner that allowed me  to represent them.

I failed utterly to see any Art in the entire course of the week. Perhaps this is the purest form of attendance at Frieze Art Fayre. I didn’t even gain Trenton’s Gallery for the private view there before the dinner, let alone the plastic tent in Regent’s Park where the main Fayre takes place. Instead, passing in my Official Car with Xenon driving lights this morning, on the way to newly-pinned Val’s as a matter of fact,  I saw Art Types crossing the road, unmistakably going to and coming from the Art event. One lady was in a knitted mushroom frock severely ridged in hoops from top to bottom so that she resembled Zebedee from ‘The Magic Roundabout’. Her boots were high and bronze in hue.

At Shoreditch House the dinner was excellent. It was a recession-style buffet with queue but a huge improvement the at table service of takeaway-type food last time.  I agreed with the financial brains behind Trenton’s Gallery that I should spend £40 million on Art in my role as representative of the Multis. She invoiced them the next day.

Freshly-pinned-at-the-hip Val said today in his best Noel Coward manner: ‘This Liam Fox and Mr Wherrity – where they terribly in love?’ He was unmixing a bag of mixed nuts, jam-jars lined up, and planning a banana bread with pecans.

Grayson in Black