Wednesday  27th March 2013

Plunged into logistical nightmare because of last minute cruise arranged by Genevieve Suzy of the magazine world. Val and I are to board at Barcelona and cruise to St Tropez next week, not on a paying basis. Just after Easter it would be, wouldn’t it?

I’ve taken my seedlings over to Robert Nevil’s for safe keeping.

But Saturday night was at Sandringham St Kil, where Joshua Baring, our youngest Poor Little Rich Gay, dined and lunched me with a sleep-over in between. He’s developed a country retreat at St Kil, a celebrated town heaped with 17th century buildings in strange watery flatlands inhabited by people possibly not alive. On previous visits the home was unrenovated but now it’s a dream, done with paint and Graham Norton level of upholstery (his upholsterer and curtain maker also supplies Graham Norton).

But at any minute he might board for New York. As indeed might Patrick Lockyer and Jesus, the under 30s in the party.

Joshua had just regained from New York. There he interviewed a mega-star for a magazine and went to a bar and met a man, who said the people he was with would be leaving shortly. Flattering. Another man undertook to dance with Joshua and even to finger him. Pushing back Joshua’s hair romantically, he exclaimed, ‘Your hairline! How old are you?’

Joshua is just thirty and there’s nothing wrong with his hairline. He proclaimed this story with triumph – oh the excellent cold perspective of the Poor Little Rich Gay, remarkable in one so young!  Patrick Lockyer, however, is preserving his hair with radical drug therapy actually intended to combat a life-threatening condition. He doesn’t in fact appear in court, just issues gagging orders from his desk. Nevertheless he regrets he didn’t start earlier because he’s got a small hole in his hairline on one side, so he says. He wears little skinny outfits to work. Jesus is not worried about his hair.

But all of them might board for New York at any moment.

The lack of home. Patrick’s tried Clapham but it’s too far from the desk where he issues the demands for silence. He’s moving to Museum Street. No ownership. Jesus is near Columbia Road Flower Market but soon to move in with a boyfriend before boarding for Columbia for six months.

At any minute any one of them could board for New York.

On Sunday morning we had serious conversation. They all know someone called Owen Jones who could destroy the known world as far as I can see. He’s ferocious at Haringay Public Library protesting against the cuts and appeared on Newsnight with David Starkie during the Summer Riots. Jesus is worried about lack of trickle-down and the widening gap between rich and poor. As for me, Adrian Edge, I am agonised but do believe in capitalism.

Mercifully, Joshua had unlimited champagne. He did three courses for dinner with a very finished patissiere level custard tart. Jesus and Patrick Lockyer were laid flat by the eating. So good was it, they ate too much then said it was all Joshua’s fault. There was excellent bickering in the front parlour and Joshua said they were fools. They were put to bed with buckets nearby but didn’t vomit. Patrick’s problem really was that he wore only a skimpy t-shirt, white with black dots (dalmatian). In this weather, he quivered from head to toe like a whippet, despite the dalmatian tendency of his fabric.

But it was all for style and nothing would coax him into a jumper. Fearless and fortitudinous, Joshua forged on.

Joshua Baring’s Lunch Table at St Kil: Note the Whites of Floor and Walls, Chosen from 600 Possible Whites. The Lunch was Lamb, Recreated from The Ivy