Monday 19th December 2022

Joshua Baring was sensational at dinner. I managed to get hold of some shin of beef, ideal for cold weather but not likely to be popular with vegetarians, let alone vegans, or indeed Hindus. The 1st course was No First Course and the pudding was Nigella’s Cherry and Almond Crumble – whoops! Almonds – out, out,out. For Joshua Baring, nuts are horror. He must never have them.

Narrow escape there.

On arrival, Joshua Baring was in an important new coat by Comme des Garcons with a huge, fully boned, fluorescent orange skirt to ward off Wokery, while the upper part of the garment was a more conventional charcoal wool.

Curiously the coat had a Trans aspect. We plunged straight into money. Joshua said the idea that Rishi Sunak is rich quite ridic. I do agree. With £30m, you’d be lucky to get £750,000 a year net income.  No hope of a collection or race horses, probably two homes at most (one of them might even be a flat) and barely any staff, certainly nothing like an entourage. You might very well have to self-cook and self-shop from time to time. There would be clothes, bags and entertaining to be kept up with. £50,000 a month might sound like a lot, but when one bag costs £10,000, knits start at £850… well, it would be very challenging.

The huge event was Joshua’s time in A&E with his cleaner. The Royal London Hospital. Joshua did all the voices as only he could do. Ambulances were called to Joshua’s radical home while he was out but the cleaner was in. She, an operatic Brazilian, was overcome, in and out of consciousness, when in quite wild and calling for her son to come from Brazil. There was no choice but removal by ambulance to Casuality. Joshua was somehow summoned to sit with her. She became confessional. While cleaning, she raved, often she became peckish. If her clients had been baking, she would root out the results and eat them. ‘I know, Purificacion,’ Joshua exclaimed. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the disappearance with my madeleines and my mille-feuilles.’ Purificacion was thrilled at the truth before lapsing into delirium once again, and as suddenly recovering: ‘How should I know? I never… Now everybody will think… I drug addict…’ Gradually the truth emerged. While in operation in another house, of some friends of Joshua’s as it happens, she had been seized by hunger. Poking about amongst their possessions she had found a zipped-up bag. Unzipped, oh glory, it contained biscuits. She ate two of them. The drawback was that they were cannabis nibbles. The maximum dose was one eighth of a biscuit. Two was more than even the most advanced ‘user’ would attempt.

It went on and on – the waiting on A&E. There was a young woman nearby rabbiting into her phone to a friend about how she couldn’t breathe and Would you believe it, the doctor told her to go home. Not fucking likely. I mean, like seriously, I can’t breathe. Who do you think you are?’  She’d got Netflix and a multitude of snacks. She was dug in for the duration. Purificacion was surfacing in increasingly belligerent mood, threatening the Police. The damage to her reputation was insupportable. Drugs! Unthinkable! She’d never taken drugs. How could this have happened? In the end Joshua was provoked beyond endurance: ‘You stole the biscuits, Purificacion. What will the Police say about that?’ At last she was quietened and apparently in retreat from the door of death – so Joshua left her there.

Wednesday 14th December 2022

One week it was The Messiah at Sa Paulo di Londra, the next Winter Wonderland… My friend Miss Carlisle sings in the choir at San Paulo for The Messiah and kindly gave tickets. Afterwards, Royston King said, ‘Do you think Handel was Gay?. He was a big beefy chap, after all.’ Miss Carlisle stood up well to this in Pizza Express as well as other statements. She had Royston all the way home as it happened, their residences being proximate, and was thrilled with him.

The Messiah in San Paolo di Londra… I said, ‘This cathedral is so foreign in feel.’ Royston said, ‘Not a bit of it. It’s the only purely Anglican cathedral.’ The Messiah kind of shimmers and trembles under the dome. It’s the echo really but magical all the same.

Next week it was Winter Wonderland. The Royal Parks have a delightful village hall type of party at the Venue in Hyde Park. One is reminded of Her going to the WI at Sandringham. Red Christmas napkins in paper, mulled wine, a cheese board, sausage rolls and other pastries. The former Leader of Greenwich Council was full of the Funeral. It was the main topic really. I couldn’t believe it. All these weeks later. But there was also looking forward to the Coronation. The member of the Royal Household present and the Civil Servant from the Department of Culture, Media and Sport are huge leaders in planning it. The Queen is considering crowns, as we speak. It was absolutely finger on the pulse, in at the core, totally central – as a party.

We got a free ride on the Big Wheel. This time, unlike last year, Royston managed to VIP the queue out of the way. It’s lovely to ride round on the Wheel. One has no idea where one is except in a bizarre neon toy world. Then we went in the ice show. Last year somebody broke one of the ice sculptures trying to take a selfie. You’re not supposed to go near them, of course. The whole thing is really hateful, being exactly what Death will be like, i.e. minus 3 degrees, and everything frozen and dead.

Dear Precious San Paulo di Londra, England’s Baroque Masterpiece

San Paulo di Londra: Inside. Sorry to Me it feels Foreign: Maybe I’m Wrong 

Winter Wonderland: the View from the Wheel. Is this the Future?

Ice World at Winter Wonderland: a Horror Show really

Ice Horse in Ice World at Winter Wonderland: Wonderful but in the Wrong Way

Thursday 8th December 2022

The National Garden Scheme Annual Lecture was given by Arabella Lennox Boyd. Lovely gardens she’s done but with that hard edge of the designer, always having to use ‘reliable’ plants i.e. a small range and few rarities. That Rose, ‘Felicia’, and certain kinds of Nepeta. But deeply lovely. Her main aim has been loveliness, not a profound insight into cultural identity or anything like that. An audience member asked her what to do about squirrels. She said, ‘Get a gun.’

Afterwards was the dinner for a selected few at Mossiman’s in Belgravia. I was taken by Royston King. The Chairman and his husband arrived by bicycle. Mary Berry was in Royal Blue with a sequin event at the shoulders. Luckily she never saw I was there so I escaped the special glare she saves for me, Adrian Edge. Mary Berry really doesn’t like me. I was placed with the Gardens Editor of Country Life. She turned out to be the wife of James Dellingpole, who promptly removed her just as the main course arrived. He said they had to catch a train to Northampton. What kind of conspiracy was that? I wonder. Nevertheless his wife clearly had no doubt of the train need. After all the courses, by contrast, Rachel da Thame left by taxi.

The talk was of how to save everything, including poultry. Money was swirling so you couldn’t tell if people were actually gardeners or had it done for them. The pinnacle though was that Royston was cornered by a Baroness who said, ‘You must get into the House of Lords and here’s how to do it.’ This Baroness, by remarkable coincidence, is a neighbour of the Gay Mother’s who once saw her in Church. Val wanted to be elevated to the House of Lords at one time. My worry is: will there be a House of Lords in the future to be elevated to? There’s talk of dreary elections to get into the Upper Chamber, which will never do. The whole point is elevation.

The Bicycle of either the Chairman or his Husband parked Outside Mossiman’s for the After Dinner

Wednesday 30th November 2022

But I’ve forgotten what the second one was. It was inflation-busting. That’s all I can tell you.

The first, though, remains vivid. You may or may not know, but Roundup Gel (it’s a weedkiller), essential for pasting on weeds that have got in amongst other plants and can’t be rooted out, has increased in price by 300% – from £12 to £30. So…. why not put ordinary weedkiller into a plastic cap and apply with a Q-tip to the leaves of those tricky unwanted invaders? Also bits of pyracantha etc that have seeded in walls and can’t be got out.

Sorry, organic fanatics, but weed-killer does need to be used from time to time but very sparingly.

It’s not exactly a brain wave, but I’ve abandoned Jeeves of Belgravia as my official dry cleaner. Not least because they no longer have any shops. But the costs were astronomical even in the fat years. I took my Prada black evening slacks to a very cheap establishment nearby. Believe or not, there are quite a few dry cleaners on streets. Not wrecked. My Reiss white velvet jacket okay but not clean. Then it got further marked at Harry Rollo’s gala in Milan. I wonder if I will be able to resist the powder blue velvet alternative Reiss are now offering once it’s reduced in the sales. The colour is superb. The garment could double up for day-wear and would in fact give day wear a much-needed evening lift.

Sunday 27th November 2022

In the morning Reggie Cresswell said, ‘Why would anybody want millions?’ Not a question I would ask. In the afternoon the answer came: to build the Villa Necchi. Coming up the drive of the Villa Necchi, I thought, ‘I know this place.’  It was a location in the Gucci film with Lady Gaga. A 30s, special order villa, built by the Necchi, a wealthy industrial family. We hadn’t been there five seconds and we were in Heaven. The Villa Necchi is absolute bliss. The best of everything, every detail thought of and the wonderful flaring space yet the rooms you can imagine being cosy in. The walls are veneered in fabulous woods; sublime craftsmanship. They started with the idea of a supremely Modernist interior, utterly pared down and minimal. But when they got the house back after the War (Germans had been there) they had a re-think. They couldn’t resist a few chandeliers, a few antique pieces, a monumental curving marble fireplace. More recently since the house has been open to the public, various people have bequeathed their collections so the place is now teeming with ornaments, porcelain, top drawer paintings and general gorgeousness and exactly how a house like this should be. Upstairs somehow a Princess of Savoy had got in and taken a room which was done over in gold damask with Louis Quinze abounding, a marvellous example of Royalty having their way and wrecking what was supposed to be completely – like that time Princess Margaret refused to go into the supper room at a private function and there was seriously the prospect of hundreds of little gilt chairs and an entire supper going to waste. But that time, fortunately the greatnesses assembled managed collectively to steer her in..

Finally was the total climax of Harry’s performance. He’s not tried Italy so much before and there’s the danger that if it’s not Nessum Dorma they’ll go mad. But they didn’t. They adored. It was new. They’d never known anything like it before especially not the fairy who’s not even human and although given by a human that person isn’t human either. It’s that new. Oh the miracles of the performance beyond performance and terrible loss at the end. If only it could have started all over again.

Afterwards there was a tremendous canapé reception with even some bruscetta for Reggie in a staggering Gustavian (but it can’t have been in Italy) reception room with huge width. The next morning Reggie cancelled the Brera while I was in transit for it and re-directed for the Ambrogian Library which only eventually had even an entrance. There was a highly unusual Caravaggio there – but doubtful it was intended as a complete painting. Other works were displayed but my nerves gave out. I was seized with pre-boarding tension and the visit was over.

Villa Necchi: The dining room. Meant to be Ultra Modern but they Couldn’t Resist a Chandelier

Later Fireplace after Modernism Abandoned

Villa Necchi: Superb Plaster Work Ceiling

Villa Necchi: Reggie Loved this Floor Detail

Fabulous Garden Room at the Villa Necchi: Plants between the Glazing Panels 

The Princess of Savoy got into this Room and did This

The Princess of Savoy’s Room at the Villa Necchi: Royalty Present

Sunday 20th November 2022

Reggie Cresswell longs for rustication, almost as much as he craves vegetarian food with no cheese. In Milan we found a supreme example: a building rusticated entirely, from the pavement to the skyline. 19th century unfortunately but better than nothing. Otherwise the main idea of Milan seemed to be to have a traffic system so entwined that no road was going anywhere apparently, rather like a ball of string that’s got out of control. Buildings of interest occurred, but random and all grubby. Quickly the city dissolves into uniform outlying suburbs from the early 20th century, not unpleasant but boring. Harry and Mr Kitten had found a canal and an antique market which sounded more promising but we never saw that. Byzantine churches of huge ancientness in red brick with stone dressings are a surprise element. And there’s an enormous old castle.

Within though we saw world class items. I hadn’t expected that. The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci was arranged specially. The public had booked it solid, so we were ushered in by other means. I’ve never thought much of Leonardo – the Mona and so on –  but this work is superb. I was knocked out. We were brought up to believe it so damaged as to be not worth bothering with. But no! The figures are full and dynamic and the impossible challenge of composition brilliantly overcome. How do you do thirteen people sitting at a table? It’s going to be too wide and they’ll just be in a row. Leonardo has the brain wave of making the supper room a dramatic receding vista with alcoves at the sides for emphasis and windows at the back looking out onto the landscape. Then the Apostles, although essentially in a row, are arranged with great variety, in groups of three, some standing or facing in a different direction. Christ occupies his own force field in the middle of the picture. It’s as Art should be – a design but real – and making little of the burden of being One of the Most Famous Paintings in the World. The room it’s in is remarkable as well – just a bare medieval barn really with high vaulted ceiling, uniform cream. And there it is, half way up the end wall, The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. The extraordinary thing is the building took a direct hit from a British bomb in the War. The placed was smashed to smithereens. But the painting, and another one on the other end wall, survived.

So it’s totally three cheers and well done to Art.

In its bare White Chamber

Rustication! Reggie Cresswell’s Favourite: Rare to find it Cap a Pe 

Wednesday November 16th 2022

In a moment of madness, I booked. It was when our friend Lynne Truss was threatening to wipe out simply everything; even pensions to go under her rule. All the same, crazed, I booked: short haul Economy bearable.

Mercifully in later life I’m not been seized with the urge to travel. Quite the opposite. Why do retired persons long to be tourists? It’s such a reduced status. Really one is nobody, unlikely to be on a guest list of any kind. I’d rather stay at home and be known.

But if there is an occasion I will board. Anthony Mottram and I toyed with Bulgaria in November because a film has been made based on the life of the theatre director in charge of the Orphans’ Drama Festival at Shiroka Laka and Bulgaria is entering it for the Oscars. But really it was too far to go for an event with no English spoken, even though one had met Kyril of Bulgaria at St Cyprian’s Clarence Gate. In Milan, on the other hand, Harry Rollo was to give a performance, or a series of performances in fact, at the highest venue of all.

So, in a moment of madness, I booked. Once booked you’ve got to go, and have outfits planned, in this case, four day and one evening.

I haven’t been in Italy for six or seven years. Recently of course it’s had to be severely avoided on account of you know what, and terrible measures. I was bidden to a grand bar to meet Harry Rollo, Mercury Mr Kitten and Reggie Cresswell. One thing hasn’t changed in 45 years – the reporting to the kiosk to pre-pay for drinks then the handing of the docket to the barman. Terrific grandeur of the barman, who looked ready to challenge one to a duel for the slightest infringement. I didn’t dare to touch the nibbles laid out on the bar. We dined very high in a modern restaurant called Langosteria, full of rich youth with a specific toilet maid but from another age- black dress, white apron trimmed with lace and cap the same. The food was fish, which poor Reggie can’t touch of course. The vegetarian policy was ‘make do with the vegetables’ which were quite high in fact. A uniform orange hue was achieved with all the dishes with a novel pasta recommended to be taken after the main course.  I enjoyed the dinner and the purr of money and outfits all round. Harry is very taken with Milan although the cathedral can’t be explained. Where they are lodged, in the fashion district, there are no food shops. This is because, Harry said, the fashion people eat their own gloves and hats instead. Frockage, in other words, is the food of life, as we have always known, but never before so perfectly realised as by Harry.

Sunday 11th November 2022

Engagements are waning as our Nation declines and as my powers wane.

The Annual General Meeting of the Metropolitan Gardens Association took place at the Conway Hall, which was like a school. Basement room, unashamed strip lighting. Even a smell. The Lecture was about pollination corridors. Was dreading a climate change harangue but it wasn’t too bad. Just about establishing gardens in urban environments in sufficient proximity so insects can travel from one to the other. This is already happening in the City of London and needs to be got going elsewhere.

In another room, champagne and eats: a man was a dead ringer for Jeremy Irons in some of the best tweeds I’ve ever seen. But actually was a Bulmer, preoccupied with cataloguing drinking fountains. The other Bulmer (the cider family) lives near Robert Nevil’s country farm. In fact Robert Nevil was received there at children’s parties 70 or 80 years ago. It’s a very nice mansion.

There weren’t as many hot gardening gays as usual.

Royston King said he said some Windsor Venison in the oven so no dinner after. We only managed a short spell in a ‘pub’ worrying about the Monarchy.

James Stourton’s launch of his book about How we Conserve Our Heritage was at St Cyprian’s Clarence Gate. Three members of the Royal Family: Sir Timothy Lawrence, whom we’ve had before at Chelsea, the Earl of St Andrews and a third, spotted by Royston: ‘That’s King Simeon’s son. He was at Cliveden last week.’ Although I was tasked with securing the introduction, it was Royston who managed it of course. I got: ‘Hello, I’m Kyril of Bulgaria’. Extraordinarily nippy waist. Royston said Sir Timothy was free flowing about the death of the Queen but people kept interrupting. They’d been at Balmoral for two weeks beforehand. Her passing was ‘not unexpected.’ Separately Sir Timothy said that he’d ‘put my wife’ on the night sleeper from Glasgow so she could attend a wedding in the South. I’m not quite sure how you put a Princess Royal on a night sleeper. But that’s what he said he’d done.

These Royalties couldn’t be more normal and charming. Loyd Grossman also –  dynamic and ambitious, no holds barred wanting to know who was there,  although 72. Another man – a ringer for Bill Nighy – had a theme going of his immensely valuable manuscripts. No idea who he was.

One felt bucked up for Our Nation. My goodness, money, power and success is good for people and keeps this country going and the heritage preserved. The dear darling Heseltines were present, as well as Simon Jenkins, dear precious Tim Knox, head of the Royal Collection, and Joe Palin, son of Michael, who’s done tremendous work of conservation at Barts.

Dinner afterwards had been planned but was axed by Royston. He said the canapés were our dinner and in any case I appeared hardly able to stand from the champagne.

Wednesday 9th November 2022

10 years ago Joshua Baring took 30 years. Now he’s 40. 40 years of Joshua Baring was marked with the total occupation of a Shoreditch restaurant called Lyle. Although a harsh industrial cement box, in it a menu flowered like no other. All the staff were men and not Gays. Indescribable. Seasonal, a foraging element, a pheasant broth, but honed and styled.  Usually this sort of food tastes of nothing, but miraculously robust flavour was retained. The chicken liver parfait with prunes was piped onto sourdough with all the flourish of the Bournemouth School of Icing – my Aunt Olive was once a week in Bournemouth on a cake decorating course. At Lyle seven courses of art and elegance were given.

Nobody else would have chosen Lyle, only Joshua Baring with his finger on London’s pulse, including the best dry cleaners and fabric sources. And the guests? 40 or 50 were received. Can you imagine the ££££? Easily £100,000, I would say, not including Joshua Baring’s jacket by Dior (of which more). But what of the guests? In a way they were subsumed into the menu. There was a whirl of flown-in Gays, some Netflix stars and at the other end of the spectrum Anne Glenconner, Princess Margaret’s old lady-in-waiting. What a range! The throbbing core of Our Nation was present: the money world, TV, the magazines, the books, then the old stalwarts, the Ducal Nephew, as well as Patrick Lockyer, who sues for Celebrities and doesn’t look a day older than he did at Joshua Baring’s 30th birthday party ten years ago – proving that pharmaceutical intervention works.

No question about it: this function marked arrival and no hint of departure. Joshua Baring has arrived and will be staying. It’s strange how long it takes to arrive. Few arrive before 40, I imagine.

I was seated with Bovver Baring, Joshua’s older brother. Heaven. We’ve got our thrilling secret underworld of denial and refusal. Also a woman from Channel 4 who might have been dreaders (Channel 4 – so ghastly) but is more at the fun, Arts end. In fact from what she said she is rarely at home because of filming and never watches the news. She made no mention of needing to cancel me, Adrian Edge. Finally Robert Nevil and myself had audience with Sir Akbar Framingham, a leading Parsee, a figure seen by me in the distance 45 years ago in Oxford’s golden gardens when I ‘hung out’ with Twirly Godfrey – of whom mention was made. ‘Is he dead?’ Sir Akbar enquired. I said he was not dead when last heard of. Katherine Duncan Jones, on the other hand, is dead. Robert Nevil and Sir Akbar had funeral and mem talk. ‘Nuclear war,’ Sir Akbar said. ‘Some people are most concerned about it. But I see no point in worrying about what you can’t control. If we all get wiped out, then so be it.’ ‘Quite a relief in many ways,’ I added. Despite the glory of the occasion, in these ‘permacrisis’ days, as one’s private strength fails, one falls more and more into a craving for the grave.

Outfits must be mentioned. I had planned a new grey suit by Sandro. It was planned, newly bought at reduced price, for months. But at the last min, like a fool, I had a wen for the Palm Beach look i.e. bare ankles, white slacks, blue blazer and loafers. This was because Laura Malcolm by amazing coincidence was weekending with Troy Banner and Lansdowne Reindorp (of Palm Beach) in Wiltshire. She’d never met nor heard of them before. Crazily, I thought I’d have the look in stock but didn’t really. So ended up in white tux by Zara and black Prada slacks. Disaster. Exactly what Joshua Baring was wearing. Except his white jacket was silk wool by Dior, bespoke, easily £8000. Horror! The contrast.

I do fear that with Rishi Sunak’s high frockage in charge, the high street labels are going to start looking cheap. He has no plan for a clothing allowance that I’ve heard of. In fact ferocious taxes for the rich. So what are we to do? Theft the only hope.

Disaster: Joshua Baring’s £8000 Dior Silk Wool Jacket versus me, Adrian Edge in Zara

Wednesday 2nd November 2022

‘Will they revive jumble sales?’ The next idea she had was British Restaurants. ‘Perhaps they’ll bring back British Restaurants.’ ‘Did you ever go to one?’ I asked. ‘I think, once,’ she said.

These revivals would help with the Cost of Living crisis, you see.

Otherwise the Gay Mother’s theme is apples. On windowsills, on posts in the garden, on shelves in the larder are dotted apples, both cooking and eating, from trees she planted 7 years ago at the age of 91. A friend of hers said, ‘What to do you think you’re doing planting apple trees at your age? You’ll never live to see any fruit.’ Unfort that friend was took (although hardly to be blamed, at 97), but the Gay Mother was not.