Friday 4th March 2016

It’s not awfully nice getting nasty messages while at the Opera House, speaking of which the Photo Multi has said he was outraged to be offered Restricted View seats by me, Adrian Edge. He referred to a box Prince Dmitri and I took for La Traviata about five years ago. It was all that was left and cost £200. The Photo Multi insisted on sitting in the back of the box despite being offered the front seat over and over. Now he says he was made to sit at the back. Not getting the best seat or rather others taking the best seat is a big thing with the Photo Multi. Quite often, during our friendship, I would sit down in all innocence in a restaurant only to be told by the PM that I’d selfishly bagged the best view of the kitchen, other diners, street or even ceiling. Finally it would emerge that all seats had an advantage that couldn’t be tolerated.

But last night’s nasty message came from Val. Thankfully I managed to delete it before getting too far… ‘If we are to remain friends….’ it began encouragingly.

In the meantime, I’ve been plagued by smelly dishcloth syndrome not aided by Waitrose suddenly de-stocking the Scotchbrite Kitchen cloth, my fav. Instead they’re carrying a Eco cloth with environmental aspects that sheds bits when used. Am going round all Waitroses campaigning to have the Scotchbrite cloth back. I urge you to do with same. This cloth can be boiled once a week in a Flash solution (be careful not to let in boil dry and scorch your cloth) if it becomes smelly.

While I was away at the Gay Mother’s last week, though, my cloth did not become smelly.

I’m being badgered by various forces to write a book. But what about? I’ve so little time it would have to be a light subject. Also I can’t bear reading or research. My whole thing is colour, not facts. I’ve no attention span and just make remarks. Besides I’m so guilty that I’ve neglected my home. There’s not a square inch that doesn’t need attention. My drawing room chandelier has been wonky from when I moved twenty years ago. It’s terrifying how one is careering towards Death and one’s decor still isn’t finished. That wretched carpet shop in Chelsea Harbour STILL haven’t sent the sample of the Indian Water Rush Matting. Tim Page I think it’s called. When I phone they don’t seem to know who I am. The dining room mat replacement scheme is therefore totally paralysed. Next week, I’m to go to Brentford to buy a small piece of Calacatta Oro (it’s a marble) to match my bathroom skirting. So that’s progress at least. Also Miroslav looms next week for outside work.

What will happen if we Brexit? Will Miroslav et al be repatriated? Who will be our staff? Will the old codger ‘British’ builders re-surface to wreck our homes?

Thankfully I’m making some progress on the china front, although not quite as expected. Breakfast cups are my craving. But I have acquired a tea set. Angus Willis had it in stock in his Hastings Angus Willis Home Store. It’s Wedgewood Black Basalt ware, from the 30s. Four every day cups acquired on eBay have arrived (not of much signif: for everyday use) and two eBay chandeliers I’m supposed to collect from a flat in Victoria on Sunday. I’m ‘watching’ a number of other chandeliers on eBay. I want to chandelier my back drawing room, as well as get the front drawing room chandelier straightened up.  The way I’m going on I’m going to have a glut of chandeliers.

Antiques have never been so cheap, you know. Brown furniture is nothing. We must buy, buy, buy… Something has been holding me back from spending. I have to fight through it. I must spend more… It’s my latest vow. As the Gay Mother always says, ‘Money has a way of turning up from somewhere.’

Meanwhile, I went to Debo’s Sale at Sotheby’s as well as a deeply private breakfast at the Royal Academy where Royston King was to be found… Wednesday I was privately at a Downton location (residence of a rellie-in-law), then at a modern mu concert in the evening.

So my public life continues.. come back later for more.

Wedgewood Black Basalt Ware Tea Set from Angus Willis Homestore Hastings: 6 Cups. No Cracks or Chips.

Wedgewood Fossil Ware Breakfast Cup x2 on eBay: Not Objectionable but Not the Best

Apricot-tinged Glasses Bought on Visit to Stockholm: Bruce MacBain said, ‘Are They Made of Plastic?’

Tuesday 1st March 2016

The Gay Mother is now officially a phenomenon. Last Monday she attended a garden meeting and was on her feet from 10.30 until lunchtime, then lunched and remained to discuss Estate affairs until gone 3pm, before self-driving to her own home. On Tuesday, she marketed and recipe-ed, including inspecting rhubarb in the covered market in quite a severe way, before on Wednesday taking 92 years, which involved floral tributes arriving every minute so she was out in the freezing cold flower processing area, arranging, then bringing vases and bowls of flowers into the drawing room. We lunched on the day at the Michelin-starred gourmet gastro in our family village where we’re all buried. The Gay Mother has now graduated to a full three-courses plus champagne and wine, whereas two years ago at her 90th it was no first course and hardly a drop. Cousin Smurry and she had a remarkable pink rhubarb pudding. Last year, you may recall,in the same gastro a trio of rhubarb dessert bled off the rimless plate and marked my bone slacks – left a whitish blotch. So now we know that rhubarb bleaches. We were lunching until 4pm and thrilled with it all. This food is gourmet and bizarre  but robust and flavoursome.

The next day we were out in the mud taking photographs for a secret purpose; then there was more flower-arranging as well as actual outdoor gardening.

The Brie with Turnip 1st Course

The Eel Starter

The Pink Rhubarb Fantasy

Thursday 25th February 2016

I craved Hastings and dashed down for one night last week. I was going to put up at the Old Glass Walking Stick but Angus Willis, doyenne and master of Hastings, kindly offered to overnight me in one of his properties. He’d been at an auction. We spent the evening looking at lots on-line to see what they’d gone for. The Victorian stuffed birds in glass domes Angus failed to get but there was plenty of good furniture ex-American Embassy in London going for nothing. Do buy brown furniture now. It’s even been so cheap. Angus outbid the furious competition for two military chests; he also gained some old-fashioned weighing scales and a two pairs of riding boots. Otherwise we looked at Clarice Cliff and Susie Cooper on the computer. The Gay Mother had a dread that she would be given a Susie Cooper tea set as a wedding present. And she was. I used to play with it in the garden until it all got broken. But now Susie is huge and Clarice even huger. Angus has been collecting for years and knows all the patterns and how rare. Prices have rocketed in some cases and Angus’s investments have paid off. How happy we were looking at wares for sale on-line even though Clarice and Susie .. well, let’s put it this way, I can see the point but I’m not going to buy. It’s just that buying, as an activity, if only in the abstract, has such a buoyant upward lift. The next day I was so frothy I impulse bought the Wedgewood black basalt ware tea service Angus had in his Home Store. I really must improve my home. There’s so much to be done. I want to switch the light switches and sockets to vintage and I’ve grown ashamed of my white goods on display in the kitchen.

Next morning Genevieve Suzy was having a celebrity breakfast at 10.30 a.m. in her house. Cohorts of well-known people and their dogs had rallied to support her and her up-do in her role as Head of Dainty Lady TV. Her daughter, aged 7, pulled on Prada bootees given by someone huge at the Mail. Even Genevieve’s sausages were from rare pigs owned by a former pop star – I can’t remember which one. I don’t think it was George Michael.

After that I had to return to the Capital. No time for the antique shops of Rye.

Angus Willis Home Store: Ex-Officers’ Mess Silver Plate for Sale. Award-winning Display in one of England’s Greatest Shops

Angus Willis Home Store: Prep School Boy Mannekins

Here’s a Story: I bought this in the Co-op for £1.99. I’ve Never Bought a DVD Before. But I Couldn’t Resist New Diana Material of Any Kind. Only When I got it Home I Realised it is the Fictitious Film Account I saw in the Cinema when it Came Out

Saturday 20th February 2016

Lord Arrowby did his usual thing. ‘I’ll come down to Borough Market at 9.30 in the morning to be with,’ I go last Friday by text message. No reply. But such is the deep trust between us, I knew he would be there. And he was. Clearly visible to the general public through the window in Indian Buddhist garb for the Western market by Dries and Paul and Joe. The day before he had worn a Dries tapestry coat to a meeting of shuddering Greatnesses, who, with him, stalk the highest corridors of power in our Land. ‘We can’t all be in the metropolitan fashionable set like George,’ one of the others said. ‘I’m the only one who lives in a flat,’ Lord A confided in me. Now, listen carefully: current polls are 51% Remain, 49% Leave. Undecideds are crucial and will only be persuaded by rational argument. Thus Lord Arrowby briefed me. Be grateful, Poor Little Rich Gays: this comes from the highest quarter of our Land. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Otherwise we had a wail of a time recalling the more lurid aspects of boarding school life in front of the fishmonger. And further exciting talk, not to be overheard, such as is customary amongst men with drives and juices. Lord Arrowby’s parting shot re: the saddle of his bicycle you would not believe.

While I was with Lord Arrowby, Robert Nevil WhatsApp-ed to postpone dining that evening on account of a sudden cold. Lord Arrowby was not convinced. The next morning I phoned Robert Nevil. He remembered to cough once, then was very talkative while walking to deliver a birthday card to a neighbour. I think more he was a bit breakdown-esque and couldn’t face a gruelling evening alone with me, Adrian Edge. Since the passing of his mother, Robert Nevil has been involved in estate affairs, like me, Adrian Edge, and has been wracked. Also he’s engaged on a great work. It’s called: ‘No More Commies: The Spirit of England As It Shines through the Pony Club.’ Bizarrely he has insisted on writing it himself rather than letting me do it. I can envisage quite a few passages nevertheless: ‘Penny, Fiona, Bunty and Bob (a girl) led their ponies to just the spot where they would be sure to see the Queen Mother’s car passing. It was a liquid June morning and you could feel England.  The musksquash were braying deep in the woodland, as were the pee-wits and the curlews. Oh the hedgerows of England, dabbed with soft colour, such as gladioli and pampas grass…’

Lord Arrowby by Dries van Noten. NB It was a Different Dries Coat that Lord A Wore to the High-Level Summit

Wednesday 17th February 2016

I’ve been shut down for almost ten days owing to failure to send out dinner invitations. Only very small private engagements have featured after the Kensington Palace Royal frocks. But yesterday I vac-ed the house from top to bottom and threw out so much accumulation. Now feel cleansed as one who underwent colonic irrigation in its heyday must have felt cleansed (who now remembers colonic irrigation?). On Friday Joshua Baring arranged for us to dine at Verdi in Mile End Road. He has his finger on all the latest restaurants, even when absent in New York for months. At last he is back from New York. We were manic with so much to cover: the restaurant Verdi, its maitre d’ who was unusually caring; I had rabbit, Joshua had rabbit with pappadelle, we were mad for rabbit, I had deep-fried pasta (Maitre d’ said, ‘Don’t eat it all if you don’t want… it’s terribly filling.’ But I did and she said, ‘Well done.’). With rabbit in mind, we picked over squid as a menu item and Joshua said, ‘Do try squid in home-cooking.’ He illustrated with phone pic of a squid salad he’d done with olives. Lord Baring is upbeat about the Markets and looking at the old Bloc countries. He should know. He’s only retired from a high Money position this minute. Joshua said America is so boring and mad and they never stop working, while doing nothing. I recalled those yellow teeth I saw outside the Plaza Hotel in 1990 despite the limo they were getting out of and the mink. Diana’s latter-day look – no, said Joshua. Those buttons on the dress in the Testino graphs. Joshua doesn’t like them either. Joshua referred to a Syrian doctor. This season’s menswear is so drab. Joshua’s having his garden planted at Sandringham St Kill. Everything is to go in. When will we visit with Robert Nevil? Joshua mentioned a Guatemalan vet. There was the whole business of the ducal wedding and the taxis and the boyfriends. Further boyfriends have been acquired by others. These boyfriends are looking at project development such as going into scarves. Also they like taxis. Topics were flying way past closing time until we were flung out onto the street by the force of the topics,

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.

Majesty’s Gulf Visit Kaftan created by Hardy in 1079

Princess Margaret’s Mink Beanie and Sunglasses

Hartnell for Princess Marg: Surely Not? Gingham? Shirt-Waist? A Collar? What Went Wrong?

Hartnell for Princess Marg 1952 – more Like It. Bruce in the Background for Diana – Worrying

Hartnell for Princess Marg 1953: Absolute Heaven

The Controversial Green Velvet Tube for Diana by Catherine Walker

This One by Zandra for Diana in the Early Days I Thought a Dream

A Lovely Bruce for Early Diana

Monday 8th February 2016

Now I think of it, January was a triple gourmet dining experience. There were three gourmet many-coursed repasts, including New Year’s Eve – which is strictly 31st December.

We had the money left by Aunt Smidge for a lunch so we were gourmet at the once-humble hovel-inn in our village in the Far West. Cousin Smurry lunched, and also the McVities. Mr McVity acquired a mouth-wash business by accident about 30 years ago. It came bundled up with a lot of other businesses he was buying. Then he was late 50s. Now he is in his last days, unfortunately riddled but kept at bay with rays. Does one consume a gourmet ‘meal’ or does it consume one? The Gay Mother was thrilled with her choices and had three courses. I had pollock in vodka and another version of Sticky Toffee Pudding Art to match the Usk Sticky Toffee Pudding Art for Burns Night. The world seems to be full of chefs in quest of the ideal Sticky Toffee Pudding. The Laird says it is not a sponge with toffee sauce poured on. The toffee aspect must be more deeply embedded.

When it came to the bill, the Gay Mother was the keeper of Aunt Smidge’s lunch legacy so it was she who paid. ‘What did it come in at?’ I asked later, knowing in fact, having glimpsed, as had Cousin Smurry, it turned out, that we’d exceeded Aunt Smidge’s very substantial budget. ‘Oh I didn’t look,’ the Gay Mother said. ‘It would have been rather brazen to have looked in the middle of the restaurant.’

Previously I’d been explaining to her about the Royal Academy Private Views, and how they are saturated with someones such as Andrew Marr, Lord Brag, the Directors of all the other museums and Royston King. The Matisse to Monet one had just been missed by me owing to being in the Far West for Aunt Smidge’s legacy lunch. ‘I see,’ the Gay Mother said. ‘So Matisse and Monet don’t get a look in.’

Sticky Toffee Pudding Art as Seen in the Far West: That Bottle Contained a Rare Japanese Milky Stuff: Tangy

I Forgot to Mention These Controversial Coconut Bars Offered by the Laird as Pudding before We Played Scottish Quest on the Sunday in Usk

Saturday 6th February 2016

I omitted to mention that the Laird of Usk has the classic Poor Little Rich Gay trait (pronounced ‘tray’) of fingers in every pie, being in at the kill, private access, and connections.  The laments and poetry coming out of the ceiling in the Usk dining room on the occasion of the Burns Night gourmet 8-course vehicular gourmet experience and vehicle were all sung or recited by people known to him and well-known in Robbie Burns lamenting and reciting circles at important venues all over Scotland and the Scottish world diaspora. The next day, after the gourmet vehicle, we played Scottish Quest. Laura Malcolm condemned the game, but mainly because her turn didn’t come round quickly enough (too many players) and all the questions were about Scotland. Scottish Quest is a board game on the Snakes and Ladders principle but you have to travel about Scotland collecting the letters to make up the word ‘Quest’. The rarer letters, such a ‘q, require a journey by air to Orkney or Shetland. Players shake the dice but in order to get their ‘go’ they have to answer questions such ‘What type of iron is in ironbrew?’ If you answer correctly you also get some money, which you need to pay for flights and ferries. The thing is though: the board we were playing with, indeed all the equipment … yes, privately given to the Laird by … yes, you’ve guessed it… don’t hold back… the inventor of the game!

Scottish Quest: the Board was Privately given to the Laird by the Inventor of the Game

Wednesday 3rd February 2016

On 23rd January once again to the Usk close where the Laird and Lairdess reside. But you won’t believe the goings-on behind that unassuming facade. One is reminded of the Krogers – do you remember them? The drama! They seemed to the most respectable neighbours, although Russian, in a similar newly-developed development but in fact they were hissing the most frightful stolen secrets down a special radio phone to the Krelim night and day. Not that the Laird and Lairdess are spies – but their life!

We were to have a Burns Night. It turned out that, contrary to appearances and previous experience, apart from Beamish O’Halloran of the Mail (Irish so same difference) we were all Scottish. It just goes to show, when you pluck from nothing and create an event or anything else for that matter, reality somehow swings round to fit in. Never say the Middle-Aged aren’t weaving a glorious life for themselves. Remember the Victorian Gentleman’s Day Out before Christmas? I, Adrian Edge, have already been buried in Scotland, as it happens. Bruce McBain discovered my grave on a visit to Edinburgh. I’ve also got statues of Scottish ancestors in various town halls. Moira MacMatron – well, what could be more Scottish! She’s got connections to John Junor of the Express. Matt Driver’s Scottish – as well as Chilean. The Laird was displayed in Scotland, on vacation from Chingford,  from earliest years in well-managed kiddie shorts and is half-Scots.

So we were Scottish for the Burns night and all through the following day and the playing of Scottish Quest. We started with the whiskies in the sun room. The Laird explained how to fill in the chart he had created. It wasn’t so easy. I wrote: ‘Nose: nice, fumy’ and ‘Palate: nice fumy.’ The Laird had applied a strip of tartan ribbon to the back of the chart as well as importing all the logos of the whiskies onto the chart. The detail! The technical know-how! In the Gourmet Dining Room, the Laird introduced Robert Burns (he came from nothing and was very sociable; died young). Then the Laird must have pressed a switch, for a voice poured from the ceiling and the bagpipes. It was the famous lines of Burns in the Scottish language. All us Scots were pouring over the translation provided. It was very guttural, I must say. I was a little bit reminded of Percival Cruising at New Year with his buzzers for the quiz. After that the Laird-created courses began: the haggis tower on a turnip foundation, the cock-a-leekie soup, the scallops with pea risotto, the lime and vodka palette cleanser (‘My Luve is Like a Red Red Rose’ out of the ceiling again: the Laird in floods) the Wild Glen Lean venison stalked by Winston Churchill, the Selection of Scottish Cheeses (explanatory chart provided), the pre-dessert Cranachan, ‘The Deil’s Awa’Wi’ the Excise Man’ (not very sure what that one was driving at: the Laird in floods) and the Sticky Toffee Pudding. We became the unsurpassed luxury courses in their originality such as haggis tower (exceptionally delicious) as we had become Scottish.

The next day we visited a Welsh town and were slightly sneery about the properties for sale in the estate agent’s window but Moira MacMatron bought a reduced frock and the Daily Mail. In the afternoon, we played Scottish Quest, with the Laird as quiz master (another link with Percival Cruising). Laura Malcolm went mental and said it was an awful game. Although Scottish, we had to guess all the questions which were all about Scotland. Hadn’t a clue and there was no way ‘Blankety Blank’ was going to be the answer. But Laura perked up when she looked like winning and for some reason decided not to destroy her husband which she usually does when playing a game whether he is on her team or another. Possibly owing to the courses and wines of the night before Matt similarly failed to kill his wife as is his custom when gaming.

All the way back in the car, Beamish O’Halloran kept up a stream of brilliant gossip: the life of a pressman! Gate-crashing parties then getting thrown-out for being a gossip-columnist, Bubbles Rothemere, getting sued and having to hide from Lord Dacre until the fury had died down, John Junor, Terry Wogan, the Queen Mother (‘How dare you speak to the Queen Mother’ the flunkie said to Beamish after she’d stopped in her buggy at Cheltenham Races to speak to him…

Before boarding for Usk, I fetched Eddie Sedgewick from Moorfields Eye Hospital where He had been Re-Lensed. The Red Seats are for In-Patients

The Blue Seats are for Out-patients: Moorfields Eye Hospital

Encouraging Illustrative Material on the Walls of Moorfields Hospital

More Encouraging Illustration on the Walls of Moorfields Eye Hospital

The Laird’s Selection of Whiskies for the Usk Burns Night

The Laird’s Scallop and Pea Risotto with Bacon

The Laird’s Winston Churchill Venison

The Laird’s Sticky Toffee Pudding Art: He’s Been Years Perfecting the Recipe and has a Thorough Knowledge of Sticky Toffee Puddings Mis-versions in Nearly all Corners of the World

Jolly Shop in Welsh Village: Moira MacMatron Bought a Dress Here in the Sale

Welsh Property for Sale: Maybe Here I will End my Days

Wares for Sale in Jolly Shop in Welsh Village

More Wares in Jolly Welsh Shop: Sentiments Here are Repulsive to Poor Little Rich Gays

Scottish Quest: Game Disliked by Laura Malcolm until she Won: Astonishing Lack of Marital Blood-bath during Play

Saturday 30th January 2016

With the new fur hats we were quite something on the metro train to Drotters. A very old man was possibly dead in the carriage. Drottningholm means ‘Queen’s Home’. A Drottning is a Queen in Swedish.  The bus stops on quite a busy road; there’s not even a fence. Some buildings in the expanse of grass by the road, one of which is the cafe/restaurant/gift shop for visitors, a track leading up to the Palace, which is laid carelessly by a lake, quite frozen over of course in minus 15. All very social democratic, very egalitarian. No Palace Gate, no railings. It turned out that Queen Marie Evadne (or some such) had done most of Drotters in the 17th century. It’s Swedish Baroque. I like the Swedish style in all things; it’s wilfully and purposely provincial, by which I mean small scale, modest even when quite grand. Marie Evadne had done a lovely palace in the Swedish baroque style. But it was the wrong century for us. Not Gustavian. One room was grey: our hopes were up. The chandelier was sparse which is right for Gustavian. But no, the room was just rather dull. Another gallery was almost there… a lighter feel, not Baroque, some filigree decoration, some grey. But no, not the true Gustavian. After a Royal Goulash at the cafe, the only hope was to climb ever upwards towards the Royal Palace in Stockholm the next day. There we started in the dungeon looking at drains. The Royal Regalia was displayed, very spiky. No longer used, apparently. No more coronations, owing to dreary social democratic drive, I fear. There was evidence of Queen Christina. I’d forgotten about her. She was played by Greta Garbo, of course. I couldn’t say whether I ever saw the whole film, but I certainly have an image of a Gothic corridor of some grimth with Greta as Queen Christina in a white fur trimmed hood with perfect Hollywood silver screen face, misty at the edges, infinitely tragic. We dragged through a stony hall with Queen Christina’s throne in it. There were more boring rooms with medals in them even though all the Orders have been discontinued. Then galleries, bedchambers, council chambers – but all baroque or 19th century baroque. A long gallery was good, with lowish painted ceiling and great elaboration of gilt, and the White Sea Room where Prince Carl Philip had his wedding reception in June 2015. There was a photograph of it set up for the reception. They actually had little gilt chairs. Then a sudden low room and another one next to it. Exquisite, not quite pure grey, in fact the Pompeian style, with Pompeian decorative panels and red fabric panels -but as near we were going to get to Gustavian in Royal Circles. We embraced these rooms completely – everything in them was lovely –  and vowed to return to Sweden in search of the true Gustavian.

Drotters: the View from the Bus

On the Way to Drotters

Drotters: the View from the Windows of the Palace

Drotters: Queen Evadne-Marie’s Staircase Hall: Can She Have Known Salami?

Drotters: Queen Evadne-Marie’s Idea of Her Bedroom

Drotters: Almost There. A Definite Gustavian Feel. Quel Chandelier but Not Gustavian

Failed Gustavian at Drotters: Chandelier Yes

Queen Christina’s Throne at Royal Palace Stockholm

The White Sea Room Laid out for Prince Carl Philip’ Wedding Reception: Royal Palace Stockholm

The White Sea Room as Seen

Yes, Yes, Yes – it’s Near-Gustavian. This is the Valet’s Room: Royal Palace Stockholm

Exquisite near-Gustavian Corner: Royal Palace Stockholm

The Pompeian Panels! The Floor! The Furniture! The Recessed Windows! The Restrained Elegance!