Tuesday 6th May 2014

I write from the river Cruise ship near Wittenberg. Last Thursday the Multis took over Claridges for the 50th Birthday of the Photo Multi. You never saw anything like the palatial hotel rooms banked with flowers, the champagne and purity of the canapés. There was a beetroot macaroon and a miracle asparagus cone (how was it done?), to name but a  few. Lady guests had given everything in frockage for the Gays . Among the greatest was Genevieve Suzy of the Magazine World: ‘Am I too Penelope Keith?’ she said on entrance. Not a bit of it. She had an Elizabeth Taylor piled coiffure and a long gown in turquoise, not eau de nil as advertised. She recalled Grace de Monaco at her height. She was supreme and her deportment, her sailing into the grand hotel showed complete command of any grand hotel.

Guests in every direction, jewelled, be-scarfed, in glory. Matt Driver came in black ten-gallon hat, his second son Kelm had a hot ‘Mod’ suit and a charm necklace adorned with heavy gold figures. Ivor Driver was fashionably late in a pearlised leather Elvis bomber jacket. His form was brilliant and he sat with Sebastian Archer discussing the Universe, on which the latter is an expert. Later Fergus Strachan, radiant in cream, had quite a set-to with Sebastian about the Universe. For me, every conversation lasted for two sentences. Robin Smallmeal, loathed, Head of Landfill in this country or whatever, shot poisonous glances which I forged through to shake hands. No light devastation was forthcoming from me in the end, but perhaps my great grace will be better remembered. Guests weren’t quite able to believe that they were there. So thrilled were they, many so generously included after one or two meetings with the Multis, but none after none, they cascaded diamonds. To be at Claridges, at such height, such largesse, such manna pouring down, few had ever hoped to know in their lives.

At 8pm, the Blond ‘Captain’ Multi made a speech. Like a world-class DJ, he was hooked over the mike, magnificently unmoving, his timing perfect. Then, unbelievable, fish and chips in miniature chip-frying baskets was produced and after that small bowls of Indian food. Astonishing! The Multis had introduced the Lahore Kebab House, London’s cheapest restaurant and their favourite (an extension was built especially for them to sit in), into Claridges. Waiting staff looked bemused. But what could they do? I flashed with Angus Willis in Romanian Shoreditch look. His Tudor House, Hastings had been on The One Show just hours before. By the way, the poor Geldofs, including the widowed husband, visited Angus’s Hastings shop on Monday.

So many people, many known to me, but could I remember their names? Much trauma. Then César-Kaiser, the lover of Connor Cadoux of the Australian Poor Little Rich Gays, attacked my stomach as protruding so I pulled his nose. He’s quite a bitch. Previously he said that someone had dutifully mugged up on the ‘Poor Little Rich Gays’ only because he was lunching with me. He and Connor are asked to Tuscany this summer but he doesn’t want to go so they’re not answering.

It was time to depart the splendid function, which seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see in vastness, before the jewel cracked and shattered into tiny fragments.