Saturday 9th November 2013

Absolutely massive – and this time last week I had no idea I would be having it.

Tuesday, after lunching privately in Hertfordshire, all of a sudden Harry Rollo is giving a performance. Every one in the audience a world leader in their category. An after-party in the hall, then on to Hix, which had to stay open specially. A tremendous conflagration of greatness.

Wednesday Peter Acharya and Ned Czernowski sprang a dinner in their new warehouse apartment of palatial proportions. I wore the same outfit as the night before but with the new Prada techno-fabric jodphur-type slacks let down. Ned and Peter very fresh and recovering from recent troubles. There’s been much re-configuring of boyfriends in their warehouse apartment building. One couple were apparently settled in a spacious duplex on Staircase C, before one of them moved in with another boyfriend to Staircase B. The one left behind soon switched allegiance to Staircase A but it wasn’t long before their new boyfriends were taking an interest in Staircase D. They’re in perpetual motion apparently.

Thursday I was set for an important Art opening in Soho when Genevieve Suzy of the magazine world rang up and said her husband was hosting an art exhib by a certain generational greatness who was iconic in the 60s, knew everything and did everything.  Also, lesser known, an artist. Opening was to be champagne and an iconic Pop greatness had been on the telephone. So I was twenty minutes at Soho before on to the other show. Polly Toynbee present. The Multis would have been horrified.

I wore tiny summer slacks and my new Zara jacket which I love. Trouble is I don’t want to wear any of my other jackets.

On to a restaurant, with Genevieve, Fergus Strachan (looking fabulous after Dermarola) and Genevieve’s husband.

Last night was planned: Wozzeck with Sebastian Archer and a Mind lady. Dozed throughout but loved it. So cruel yet human. Wonderful sounds never heard before. Streets ahead of Britten. On to a restaurant where Simon Keenlyside appeared in not much of an outfit. He had been Wozzeck the man and spent the last seven minutes on stage submerged in a real tank of water apparently dead. Absolute terror in the stalls. We know, through inside knowledge, that SK loves that sort of thing (Houdini-acts in a tank), has become mega-fit and elastic and fabulous of physique.

Coat of Household Name at Polymath’s Art Opening