A Thrilling Whirl but Heady «

A Thrilling Whirl but Heady

Tuesday 20th December 2016

The beat at first steady then rapid: at the Café, the Multis gave a wine tasting. Stulke Songingsen of Norway, resident in Sussex, presented her English wines and sparkling wines. There’s nothing she can’t do: a Norweyan jumper knitted on a single circular needle for her son, a company that is sold for millions and now English wines which have been much praised. There was a seating plan for the tasting. The Multis were with friends who turned out to be Young Tories. I was put with some other young people, also newly embraced by the Multis. One of them happened to know Marcus Cargill, England’s leading clock mender, and told me his dog, Colin, had died. So when I saw Marcus the following week, I said, ‘I’m so sorry that Colin has been took.’ ‘But he’s completely alive,’ Marcus said. The café really is an astonishing interior – jewel-like, lined with gold and a great forest of hanging lamps. It’s a dream of Byzantium.

The next thing was Landsdowne Reindorp’s 50th birthday at Berkeley Square. Rocky Rock had a superb jacket in green crushed velvet. Speeches were given from a balcony like Evita but it wasn’t necessary to save Argentina. Rocky said that Landsdowne was completely charming even after 26 years together. I was thankful to be briefed by de Commendatores of Spain that the Spanish Royal Family are loved by the Spanish people because I’d heard that they are loathed. Ralph Kitto said that I was to sit next to him at his supper party the following Friday.

Then after only six hours sleep, I launched my Sunday lunch for the Laird and Lairdess, the Cruisings, Laura Malcolm, Matt Driver, Beamish O’Halloran of the Mail and Moira MacMatron. I wore some easy hostess lunch-giving slacks in light jersey and I was showered with two poinsettias as hostess gifts. Laura Malcolm, for some reason, had hysterics about the poinsettias – which I must remember to water, or they’ll wither away. The Lairdess wasn’t at all well, but the Laird took a lot of interest in my boiler and why it’s so noisy. He said it was electrical. Otherwise he cried and recalled his great reunion with the Lairdess after 25 years of separation. He recited an appropriate poem. ‘Pass the sick-bag,’ the Lairdess said. I think the Laird also sang his latest Flanders and Swan song, which is the Horn one, where the horn is found to be gawn. It was awfully good and in tune. The following day the Laird was due to give an entertainment at the Rotary Club. When they boarded the Lairdess gave me a glimpse of inside their Toerang vehicle and the glove compartment where her prosecco is kept. ‘Why’s it got a bandage around it?’ I asked. ‘It’s to stop it rattling,’ she said.

After that there was just an intimate gathering on the Monday, an important Carol Service on the Wednesday, Val over on the Thursday to finish off the curtains and the hard upholstery pole, followed by the Red Shoes that same evening, Ralph Kitto’s supper party on the Friday, Archie Armitage and Fabien-Boris Claude’s party and Arabella von Gardendoor’s party both on the Saturday, a family lunch on the Sunday followed by a small delirious function in Peckham in the evening, then the train to the Far West on the Monday morning, Cousin Paquita’s funeral at 2pm, then the baked meats, then a carol service at 7 followed by the sixth nibble party in a row, almost. Only Sunday lunch amounted to a square ‘meal’. My Uber bill reached unknown heights. Train back to London on Tuesday morning (one hour late). Straight to Joe Allen’s, where Genevieve Suzy was hosting a lunch with her mini-daschund under the table. On return to my residence I had to go straight to bed to gain the strength for Harry Rollo and Mercury Mr Kitten’s.