Friday 7th September 2012
At the merest mention of the Paralympics I well up and as for the Closing Ceremony to come…
On Tuesday morning I bathed in the Mediterranean for the last time this year, then mounted the air for London to begin the Autumn Season which is to take place mainly in New York (oh yes! big news!)
Such a lovely visit to Virgil Grayson’s and Cedric Partridge’s… Cedric as deliciously up to no good as always, very full of the Duke (or whoever)who is selling the Poussin, Grayson now a God-like figure, undoubtedly the Guru of the architectural branch of the Poor Little Rich Gays – which is a big branch. He urged me to eat a strange pink fruit growing on a thorny bush in his garden where absolutely no bougainvillea is allowed. You obey of course and would willingly die. There was trouble about an asparagus fern. The gardener got the wrong kind, the one liked by florists.
Virgil’s garden is a miracle. Let the graphs speak for themselves. Every plant of utmost distinction, the ensemble of grey, green and silver with the tiniest touches of colour so restful and fascinating.
Then there were the new people, divine,although I’ve know Archie Armitage for years, through Bruce MacBain, my private architect. Archie’s own buildings are very fine but to me he was mainly a muscle God. Can you imagine the thrill of zipping him into his wet suit? Now I find he likes The Four Last Songs, must have the Jessie Norman recording, and reads brainy books! Perhaps we should have an opera evening! Fabien-Boris Claude helped me with my computer. He reached out – great streak of kindness but not drippy, drippy, nice-y, nice-y which Poor Little Rich Gays can’t bear. Quite formidable, I should say, and argumentative. Got banned from Bible Studies in childhood. Always addresses Archie as Archibald.
Loved them all.











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That garden needs some nice bright dahlias to cheer it up
No, no, no!