Death in Kensington Amidst Royal Frockage «

Death in Kensington Amidst Royal Frockage

Tuesday 16th February 2016

When I arrived at Kensington Palace for the Press Preview of the Royal Frock Show, there was one of those tents the forensic police erect pitched in the park outside – right near where Princess Kate Middleton and Prince William Middleton live. Some awfulness had occurred and forensics were scouring the scene. Within were the Royal frocks of Princess Margaret, Princess Diana and HM the Queen – well, 18 dresses and only 2 of HM’s which had somehow fallen into the Estate of Princess Margaret. One was the orange kaftan-esque piece made of the State Visit to the Gulf in 1979 when no bare flesh was to be seen. Majesty therefore adopted a form of Islamic desert dress, made for her by Hardy, next to whom I once sat at dinner. He complained about declining grammar but was quite explicit about old people on the lav, as well as astonished that Eric Vaughan and Lionel Moore had done the dinner themselves. Lionel Moore, by the way, only the other day proclaimed, ‘I’m fucking 94.’

But back to KP… I was curator-led through the rooms and led to a small cabinet where a case contained a selection of Princess Margaret’s accessories. Princess Margaret’s accessories! I nearly screamed and fell to the floor. Behind the sunglasses it was as if that haughty presence was still there. Her mink beanie too conjured again her face below it. Royalty only die to themselves. Only they experience their death. Otherwise they live on.

Now what about Princess Diana? Two early frocks were a dream of little-girl princess. One by Zandra and the other by Bruce, whom again I once sat next to at an Earl’s Court Gay gathering. Then came Diana’s latter-day pared down look, created by Catherine Walker. Joshua Baring’s mother (more of him soon) had Catherine Walker for her son, Bover’s, 1st wedding. But I didn’t like the green velvet tube dress by Catherine Walker in which Diana was graphed by Testino. I didn’t like the hard green colour, the masculine lapels, the thick, awkward velvet and least of all the rather common and purposeless buttons.