Sunday 1st July 2012

Is the Euro Crisis? So many Poor Little Rich Gays are not on speakers at the moment. Actually, it’s the Kitchen question au fond.

As you know, Poor Little Rich Gays revel in Kitchen mania. No, not cupboards and granite work-tops and let-in sinks. A Kitchen is correctly the younger, charm-drenched boyfriend or ‘partner’ of the older Poor Little Rich Gay who also funds lavishly.

The term ‘Kitchen’ was coined by Anthony Mottram of Prague, my oldest and closet friend, currently estranged, who was once teaching a 19-year-old Czech young man English. He got ‘chicken’ and ‘kitchen’ muddled up (they’ve the same letters but in different places: bet you’ve never thought of that before). Well, if a ‘chicken’ might describe such a delightful, fresh young person…

Do you get it?

But Kitchens …. their sweetness, perfection, liveliness, the utter heaven of romance. Why, oh why, should they gain gainful employment, are they found with their fingers in the till? Why, oh why, do they tend to substances in the wrong amounts?

Kitchens create complications in more ways than this.

Yesterday I went over to Val’s after Harrods (don’t forget those late sale 70% bargains: you’ve got to get all the shops covered that one last time NOW. Who knows what they’ve brought out from the back: One more time, the noble roll call of the battlefields: Knightsbridge, Brompton Cross, Ledbury Road, Floral Street, Oxford Street). Outside Harrods I stepped on some chewing gum and transferred it to the carpet of the instore Prada concession boutique.

There’s an underlying bitterness towards frockage that sometimes comes out.

In Bath last week, the Gay Mother (she’s fraught with business affairs too) and I happened on a ruined churchyard. Old Bathwick church. Someone has cleared the brambles from the graves and provided labels as substitutes for the now illegible inscriptions: Mrs Brisbane, mother of the 1st Governor of Queensland after whom the state capital was named, Ann Lee, a loyal servant…

Poor Little Rich Gays encompass death; Earls Court Gays bleach it out with their bleached teeth.

At times Poor Little Rich Gays crave eternal rest: no more struggle with stains, no more battle for new frockage,  no more racking head pain over kitchen, bathroom, stairs, bedrooms, drawing room, the only drawback not being alive.

In the Bath graveyard some fragments survive. The final resting place of those persons has come round again as a romantic wistful spot.

Come back soon for my new Sales frockage; what I bought… and THAT Topman suit jackette saga in full!

Old Bathwick Church, Bath

A Grave Label, Old Bathwick Church, Bath

Staff Memorial, Old Bathwick Church, Bath: Where Would Poor Little Rich Gays be Without Staff?

Something New: Car with Eyelashes, Seen in Covent Garden on Tuesday