Thursday 27th September 2012

I flew in late last night and out again tonight on 23.25 flight.

Couldn’t resist Peter Ainger’s book launch at the Doge’s Palace at 5.30 this evening. Am to wear that blue/grey Topman slub suitlette (the one that got grazed and had to be re-bought)and my new Prada clucks in the style of golfing shoes (Prada factory shop)and then travel back to London in these pieces.

But really am not rich enough for this kind of thing. Should have flown business class on expensive daytime flight. Taxis throughout. 4 star hotel min.

But have plunged to a 3 star one-night cheap. Great irony. It’s bang opposite the Ca Pisani where I ought to be and indeed have been.

Room bearable but the breakfast suite smelly and run by depressed slattern who had put cyanide in the fruit salad, I’m sure of it.

You feel unloved in a three-star.  Or in danger of death.  All I’ve got to cling onto is my Frederic Malle Geranium pour Monsieur, bought on the way to the airport yesterday at Les Sentiers, Belgravia, the niche perfume specialists.

I’m having to rebuild my collection after it got blasted by the heat of Tuscany. Sel de Mer by Heeney lost its staying power and Millésime Imperial by Creed just went bad.

Be warned, Poor Little Rich Gays here and throughout the world. Keep your niche perfumes out of the heat.

Buy a portable perfume fridge.

Now I must stir myself for the Fortuny Museum. You remember when I was here in December it was in restauro.

And I’ve so much to tell you about last Saturday’s party – given and attended by some of the biggest names on earth. Cars and drivers at the door, rest assured. A household name with an aubergine rinse on the kitchen worktop. A huge, huge inter-planetary mega-figure, if you like pop music, and his whippy Polynesian wife on the dance-floor.

You’re dying to know.

And an entirely new and unexpected way of ending the party was found.

Electric styling in the Venice 3 Star

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