Friday 17th October 2014

The D’Oyly Cartes were sailing by in their yacht when an idyllic vale sweeping down to the sea near Dartmouth hove into view. They plucked it at once for a house. Now it’s National Trust. Grey of roof and wall, almost a manor house, there’s a distinguished air – but ought not to be. Built in 1924, Arts and Crafts blended with Art Deco, many a desirable stockbroker residence in Hazlemere or Goldalming is its cousin. The D’Oylys had the Savoy as well as the operettas – they were rolling. But Collaton Fishacre only has seven bedrooms and three bathrooms. I felt a liking for them. Lack of grandeur and arse. If one has money it’s important to keep it, not squander. Craving a vast mansion is often the undoing. Within the house – well, I can’t describe it. By rights everything one despises – those awful low dressing tables with built-in mirror that used to be stacked up in junk shops 20 years ago. The frightful 20s furniture seen in suburban homes throughout the land. Even short curtains for the Tudor-Bethan windows. And basins in the bedrooms! But now, partly because it’s become history, become a thing, partly because the D’Oylys had the best of the hideous, Collaton Fishacre is all right.

The Gay Mother and I couldn’t get far in the garden because of the rain. A magnificent swamp cypress was our limit. I’m beginning to take an interest in conifers. Returning we found a walled-area full of flowers – absolutely astonishing for October. In the shop the coo-ing National Trust lady said it was Lady Dorothy’s Garden. Just couldn’t believe the National Trust people all being so unbelievably nice to each other and all the visitors. This is now part of the Heritage experience, it seems, the divine simpering loveliness of the Past.

Lady Dorothy’s Walled Garden at Collaton Fishacre – Amazing for October

Collaton Fishacre – The Main Drawing Room

Short Curtains in the Small Sitting Room at Collaton Fishacre

Collaton Fishacre – The Lav. Bruce MacBain would Never Have Allowed that Waste Pipe to Show

Collaton Fishacre – the Sunk Bath in the Bathroom

Basin in the Bedroom AND Short Curtains at Collaton Fishacre

A Basin in the Bedroom – Tiles were Also Used at the Savoy Hotel

Basin in the Bedroom and Curtains Under the Basin at Collaton Fishacre

Thursday 16th October 2014

Just back from an extensive tour with rigorous programme. The Gay Mother wanted to visit the church where she was baptised 90 years ago and which both her grandfathers, one as its 1st vicar, the other as founding trustee, launched over 100 years ago. Now the church is redundant and needs to be saved. They were having an open day there. Thankfully but unsurprising given that the family of Edge were fingers in pie, the building turns out to be of the highest quality, an exceptional Arts and Crafts example with an outstanding organ. Of course. As you know,  the family Edge has throbbed at the heart of this Nation for 200 years and more. Where were we not seen ? – the Great Northern Railway, the Great Western Railway, Napoleon, Brahms, Archbishop Lang, Archbishop Fisher (horrid to Granny), J.M.W Turner, Joshua Reynolds…

The Gay Mother bore up well to the desecration. ‘I suppose that’s where I was Christened.’ She gestured to the Font now surrounded by debris. Even a lav seat nearby. Someone was playing the organ, whose sound is light and joyous. They’re hoping the church can be a concert venue. The lectern, in memory of her grandfather, has been taken away to another church. ‘As a child, I never liked the pulpit,’ she said. ‘Reminded me of cold meat which I hated.’ All the fittings in the church are of the highest quality (the kiddie Gay Mother should have known better) and the reredos, with marble bas-reliefs, very fine indeed.  The whole church, pleasing and free in shape, in fact almost square, with intriguing areas of brilliant light coming off the sea and others dim and religious, is an exceptional return to the Gothic in the Edwardian era.

Next: we visit Collaton Fishacre, then Cornwall where we take a UKIP hotel.

Superb Carving and Reredos in Gay Mother’s Baptismal Church

The Pulpit Disliked by the Gay Mother in Childhood – Reminded her of Cold Meat

Detail of the Reredos: V. Good Work Surely

Here the Gay Mother was Baptised in 1924

Sunday 12th October 2014

I’ve left London after shopping. You won’t believe where I am – in an annex recently refurbished by IKEA. Outside the window, hard, sour, clapped-out UKIP voters are tee-ing off. The grounds are a golf course. The Gay Mother and I have done all we can to get in the way. But back to clothes: a crisis was looming, I knew it. That hot weather in September was bound to come to an end abruptly  and I’d have nothing to wear.

It was Tuesday morning that I abandoned everything and lunged at the shops. At Topman they’ve introduced Ultra Skinny suits. Jackets have gone in – they must hug the torso. But they’ve still bum-freezing, thank God. If they ever bringing back sacky, baggy jackets, I’ll give up fashion. As for high-waisted trousers…. But I don’t think they will. Do you remember trousers with pleats and the waist under the armpits? We actually wanted them in the 80s. But trousers have been slim and low-waisted for almost 25 years now. This season they should be spider-narrow at the ankle.

At Topman I bought a little doll’s suit in pearl grey. But really I had no direction for the season. I went to Prada. I texted Genevieve Suzy, who was mulling over cafe au lait for St James’ Palace. Oh yes! I may have left London. I may be in UKIP corner. But when I return I go with Genevieve straight to St James’ Palace to meet the Duke of York. I said to Genevieve, ‘What’s the direction for the season?’ At Prada they were fetching me trousers from the backroom. The young woman returned. ‘Heritage checks are a huge theme in the Collection,’ she announced. I felt as if struck on the road to Damascus. Heritage checks! What’s more I’d already seen them. Topman was wall-to-wall Heritage Checks. I’d seen them but they’d not been revealed. Now I knew the direction for the season. The Prada Heritage checks I would have bought even for a fortune but they didn’t fit.  Then the Prada lady gave me another excellent insider flash. ‘It’s been a nightmare season,’ she confided. ‘Our trousers were so narrow and now they’ve gone wide.’  How buoying up – wide trousers not wanted even when offered by Prada. Yes! Yes! Yes! My faith was affirmed.

I went on to Zara and bought a bright blue suit made of stiffened plastic sacking – just so as not to be completely dominated by Heritage Checks. At Harvey Nicks Heritage Checks have not yet been realised. But really the high-end designers, apart from Prada (but even they are conservative as to silhouette), are no longer the leaders of fashion. It’s all just as Ricky Rock and Lansdowne Reindorp were saying only last Sunday at the Multis’ country demesne. Astonishing how much Poor Little Rich Gay thought turns out to be world-shaping.

While the Prada Lady Was in the Backroom, I Laid Out my Topman Purchase on Her Counter

Prada Heritage Checks: This Season’s Direction

Wednesday 9th October 2014

Knocked out after the fever of Lord Arrowby’s oysters and bare legs, I was conveyed near extinction on Saturday night to the Multis’ new cafe. I don’t even remember my outfit. But bucked up sitting next to Merton Silverwater who’d come down from Hampstead with Vanessa Feltz and two chiwawas – at least so she said, but I never saw them until the very end. They didn’t even squeak. Vanessa had a headache after Yom Kippur and Merton was wearing any shawls and prints with a splendid kite-shaped white plane in between. She goes to trunk sales and is one of the few allowed to order in advance from designers. But she was full of the wonders of Genevieve Suzy, of Dainty Lady TV, at the Photo Multi’s Birthday Party on 1st May at Claridges Hotel. Genevieve’s turquoise kaftan and gold up-do were sensational, Merton said, and Genevieve had insisted that she dance – ‘You only live once,’ Genevieve purred suggestively. Really these married women.  Now Genevieve is moving towards café au lait for St James’ Palace. Oh yes, we meet the Duke of York on Tuesday! I’m to be in Bott Ven if spared. Merton had been to Russia and had a Soviet experience when the Yousoupoff Palace was slammed shut in her face because it was lunch-time even though they’d been queuing for hours.

7 am Sunday, as I’ve said, Val rang and seemed to think it was a sensational brain wave of mine when I suggested he go to hospital if his ankle’s bad. By 10.30 Robert Nevil, Bruce MacBain and myself, Adrian Edge, had gained Great Dixter Plant Fair. We were gestured into our parking space by Fergus himself, only one of the greatest gardeners alive in England. The Fair had stalls from Sweden and Provence. I spotted the platonic ideal of a Robert Nevil lunch guest lunching at his residence – a woman of 90 plus, ‘art’ outfit with jerkin, slab of A-line skirt, rope of hair worn up, chronically flat shoes, usually widow of someone who was willing to help Morgan Forster out in a crisis, booming blue-stocking voice. Later by the clereodendron bungei, we met one of Robert Nevil’s actual committee friends in the Pony Club – again an absolute classic – ragingly middle-class, frightfully energetic, quilted bag and jerkin both in champagne tone, gold chains, rings and earrings. None too bright. She said the Pony Club were putting everything into saving the porch when there was so much else to do.

We bolted off to lunch at the Multis’ nearby demesne. This lunch had had a rocky birth and several times nearly never happened, with an ever-changing guest list as persons were brought in and out of view. But the Multis created a magical Monet-like setting on their terrace with an outdoor lunch in October all in white. And Ricky Rock and Landsdowne Reindorp gained. They’ve never been seen in the countryside before, only in New York or London. They live partly in Palm Springs but deeply praised the less expensive clothes lines. Ricky said Mango was heaven. Why bother with high-end Designer? I do agree. I’ve more to say on this theme later. Lansdowne was a dream of fine wools and scarves, all from Zara. But when I think that Ricky Rock was the one who said, 30 years ago, that it was hopeless shopping in sales because you couldn’t get what you want. He also said, of a Versace swimming trunk costing a then unbelievable £70, ‘Well, it’s a whole outfit.’ The Multis and Ricky and Landsdowne picked over quite a few mutual acquaintances all of whom were found to be impossible but in different ways.

The Multis have established champagne stations in unlikely places all over their demesne.

The Multis Begin Evening Service at The Cafe

Outstanding Pizza Served at the Multis’ Cafe in the Evening

These are Chiwawas

The Miraculous, Saintly Lunch Table at the Multis’ Country Demesne

Pony Club Lampshades in Honour of Robert Nevil at the Multis’ Country Demesne

An Unusually Placed Champagne Station at the Multis’ Country Demesne

Tuesday 7th October 2014

What a life! Many would not believe it. Last Thursday I dined with Joshua Baring, the youngest known Poor Little Rich Gay, at Polpetto in Berwick Street – it’s a relation of Polpo and superb. Joshua is currently lying in the gutter looking at the stars. He is dying back in order to ascend and has eschewed what is commonly called a ‘day job’. This is similar to how Our Lord was Crucified that he might Ascend Unto Heaven. Joshua performed at dinner a whole slab of the Joan Rivers show with Melissa where Joan is about to undergo cosmetic surgery and says she might die. Joshua did all the voices. We were of one mind that Joan was the greatest: so horrifying and true. Then he did a charity function at Donald Trump’s Club, formerly a famous 1920s mansion, which he gate-crashed in the wrong clothes with his multi-millionaire friend. His account of this place was that it was made of cardboard and poster paint but Landsdowne Reindorp and Rick Rock, who showed up on the weekend at the Multis’ Kent demesne, didn’t see it like that at all. They should know. They live in Palm Beach, some of the time.

I mustn’t dwell though. The main point of my life at the moment is the rate of production of social events- rather like Barbara Cartland’s novels. On Friday I dined at Laura Malcolm’s. Matt Driver is aiming to put a stop to hot desking, which is where you don’t have a desk in your office. It’s hated apparently. He also said he stains his outfit at meal-times more and more these days. I got stained at Great Dixter on Sunday but I leap ahead. At Laura’s we revived Lynsey de Paul, who sadly passed last week, on YouTube and decided she was definitely a woman. Saturday was Lord Arrowby’s bruncheon for his birthday. A famous family attended with three unbelievably striking children. Rufus Pitman supervised a game where we guessed each other’s handwriting and what it means. My negative side came out because I had nothing nice to say about the handwriting I got. Lord Arrowby was dressed for soccer by various designers with bare brown legs of excellent quality. All his kitchen cupboards kept flying open in an alarming way. He was attempting to cook mackerel but I biffed him out of the way because he could hardly light the gas, despite running the country. Then he began scooping out oysters and Finn Magnus, the hot boy doc, stepped in a bit that flew to the floor. So Lord Arrowby’s flatti could be wrecked if oyster gets tramped through it. Finn is buying a place so we’ve got renovation to look forward to there. The lady from the famous family didn’t know what Lord Arrowby does even though they holiday together every year. Rufus Pitman said, ‘He’s a lord who runs the country.’ In fact you could see the country he runs from out the window – the view of Big Ben and Victoria Tower. ‘But,’ Rufus said, ‘he needs is a wife. What is the point if he can’t say, “Lady Arrowby is in the snug”.’

The famous-family mother looked troubled. As you know, I had thought at one time of marrying Lord Arrowby but he would lose his edge were he to become too domestic. Also would there be time for clothes shopping? Rufus Pitman, who is more uxorious, is evidently still keen on the idea.

The crisis at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (will it be sold to developers?) muttered its way through the occasion. Lord Arrowby modelled his apres-ski jumper with built-in shawl. We encouraged him to have spray-on tights for his legs below to make a contrast with the bulk of the knitwear – or rather it was mainly me. I envisaged a Florentine look as seen in old Florence art. I think secretly Lord Arrowby would rather like to be a full-blown sex-bomb along the lines of his bosom friend, Guy Bostock.

I haven’t even begun on my Saturday night and Sunday programme. Madness though was rearing in several ways, not least with Val emailing to announce the unaccountable collapse of his ankle and then phoning at 7 on Sunday morning. I said, ‘Thought of calling a doctor?’ He said, ‘A lot of people complain about you but you do come up with the most sensible suggestions.’

Lord Arrowby Models his Latest Apres Ski Purchase

Saturday 4th October 2014

In fact also pre-birthday for I omitted to mention that Harry Rollo, the impressario and performance artist, gave a perf on Monday which lasted for three staggering minutes. I can’t begin to describe it but never before could three minutes have made such impact and been at once nothing and everything. Afterwards we went to Cote. This was a surprise and Harry writhed in torment. Somehow we weren’t supposed to have been there. Cote is a chain-restaurant, possibly French  – and they didn’t bring the drinks. Harry and Rufus Pitman (for it was him) discussed getting to a Kate Bush concert. Harry’s taxi had been blocked at Knightsbridge. He’d no grasp of Hammersmith, the scene of the Kate Bush concert. Somebody said, ‘Did you think of the tube?’Harry writhed some more: ‘I have no wire-cutters, no heavy-lifting equipment, no breathing apparatus… quite impossible.’ Rufus Pitman said that with his 40th birthday forthcoming he was going to invite all his ex-partners. There was a phase of bad taste which would make no sense written down in which Poor Little Rich Gays were seized with delirium in the face of tragedy and almost died laughing. ‘Why is this funny?’ somebody said. Rufus Pitman also described how he had visited Australia recently and fed a wallaby. Ayres Rock was the sensation of his life, even more, it was implied, than Chatsworth.

Tuesday was a day of rest and I’ve already transposed my birthday on Wednesday up until tea-time – which was taken with Anthony Mottram, ‘consultant’ of Prague. Oh yes, we roared along after almost five years of estrangement so with almost five years of conversation to pack in. Thus I was late setting out for the birthday dinner kindly given for me by Frankie-May Doreen and Giles Ullerston. As already mentioned, I took a taxi, throwing caution to the winds for once on my birthday, but it made me queasy lurching round corners as it short-cut through the lanes of Chelsea. Robert Nevil was of the party as well as Laura Malcolm, Matt Driver and Prince Dmitri Hersov. When I mentioned that I was seeing Joshua Baring the following night, Robert Nevil said, ‘Oh yes, he said he’s dreading it.’ So then I pinched Robert Nevil quite hard. The others were not impressed. Later we discussed good plants for late season colour and for shade with Giles Ullerston.

Thursday 2nd October 2014

What a day, crowded with incident – yesterday. Today I can return with some relief to my usual condition of glittering pessimism which I call reality. On the other hand, to have a day off from that was a relief too, although a challenge.

But yesterday was extraordinary and classic. There was a surprise appearance. But first thing, my toast collapsed and I was covered in marmalade. After that, I gave a small luncheon at the Multis’ new cafe. Val gained as well and gave me a road map of Italy as a protest against Google maps and the awful blue blob on the iPhone that led us down a dirt track and into someone’s garden in Tuscany – such an awful modern villa as well as the wrong one. The Multis couldn’t have been more attentive and confiding. Both confided that they are introverts. The Photo Multi said that as the cafe was about to open he felt particularly introverted and reluctant to expose to the world the cafe, which had had its windows blanked out during the construction phase. ‘Love means having to let go,’ Val proclaimed. We mediated on the theme of introversion at some length. It is unusual to have interesting conversation at a birthday or high celebration. The Blond Multi said he needs to rest after people. Extroverts gain energy from company. They like sitting in pubs with mates. Very few Poor Little Rich Gays can bear this pursuit – of sitting in pubs or having mates. Introvert does not mean you are shy and retiring. Introverts are often at the top, leading, making speeches. Like the Blond Multi himself who loves making speeches. Really the introvert only sees things as they are because other people rarely achieve while sitting in a pub the splendour of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or at least that level of concentrated fascination.

So the nippy elegant cafe luncheon proceeded. We had fine wines and there was some prosecco left over and the Photo Multi said I should take it home with me. ‘How lovely,’ I said, ‘to be with friends and not alone on my birthday.’ ‘You’re never alone,’ Val declared, ‘as long as you have your memories.’ This remark recalls in tone the Royal memoirs of the Edwardian era of which we are so fond. Finally a fashion student known to the Photo Multi stopped by our table in an unusual jumper. ‘I don’t like it,’ Val said. ‘It looks like somebody’s project.’ He then made the Photo play the Portsmouth Sinfonietta doing ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ on YouTube on iPhone. How we roared and fell to the floor. I’ll say no more. Google at once and listen to the Portsmouth Sinfonietta playing ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’. You’ll be astonished.

Arriving home, I found I was drenched with prosecco from the explosion of the bottle in my bag.

Then began Part Two of my birthday – a tea and a dinner to follow. It was a gruelling programme but thrilling. I actually took a taxi as a treat, but felt queasy from the lurching round corners on obscure short-cuts.

‘I don’t Like It,’ Val Said. ‘It Looks Like Somebody’s Project.’

A Prosecco Stain from Where I Sat While Telephoning After Being Drenched in Prosecco

30th September 2014

Tomorrow I undertake a gruelling programme but thrilling. I lunch at the Multis’ Cafe, Val is to join (he’s taken up book binding), stop off at a leading hotel for a glass of champagne at 6.30 with a surprise person (you won’t believe it) before going on to Frankie-Doreen’s for a quiet private dinner. I do hope there’ll be time for shopping. I haven’t even begun to get a grasp on the Autumn look. Apart from the new turquoise mac by Prada from Prada Factory shop Montevarchi, I haven’t a thing to wear. Did I tell you that there’s a hole in my Balenciaga cardy, reduced from £768? It developed just as I was leaving for Hastings the other day. Genevieve Suzy said, ‘You’ll just have to get through the evening with the hole in it.’ I tried to mend it on the train. I’d brought a needle and thread. Genevieve pointed out what I never knew – that that little nick in the side of a reel of thread can be used to cut off a length and makes a clean break. But really, she said, the cardy should be invisibly mended at Seven Dials. Don’t try it yourself. So that’s where it is now.

Otherwise on that train journey we discussed gussets. She revealed that Angus Willis and Fergus Strachan are a one-pant couple. They wear each other’s pants, not at the same time of course. But they don’t have separate collections of pants. What about gusset-management? I said. Do they bleach their gussets? She didn’t know.

Lord Arrowby is to give a brunch for his own birthday on Saturday although the actual day is Sunday. This is unheard of – the giving of a brunch I mean. No more has been heard of the skiing holiday. He’s been frantic trying to save the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Maybe it’s for the best, because I could be killed on the slopes. A few are.

My Balenciaga Cardy Docked Before Going to Seven Dials for Mending

A Border Done by the Photo Multi: Good Textures and Rhythm

The Photo Multi’s Border

Thursday 25th September 2014

I’ve been meaning to give you the Multis’ new cafe, which had a soft opening a few weeks ago. You remember I dropped everything to gain it. Since then it has boomed and I will lunch there for my birthday on Wednesday. Bruce MacBain and the Photo Multi between them created it. Striped butterscotch marble, so succulent, is honed in one mass of floor and counter while above white discs and harlequin glass lampshades in different shapes and colours hang. It is cool and airy and vivid and baroque all at once – a unique achievement. There is nothing like it. Already droves of whippy-waisted style-lovers have flocked through the doors.

On the other hand, Angus Willis, in Hastings, has launched evening service. Diane Abbott lunched at the Angus Willis Home Store in the back premises lunching facility. Every National has covered this outstanding lunching facility. Bob Geldof was seen lunching after the Daily Mail coverage. As far back as January Gizzy Whizzy of the Sunday Times lunched. So evening service was inevitable and came into being last Friday. Genevieve Suzy organised a party including the Multis and the award-winning interviewer (Cameron, Brown and Blair as well as Benzadrin Bhutto) Binny Glast and her girlfriend, HT. HT runs a Gay Choir or a Lesbian Gay Transgender and Transexual Choir.  The Blond Multi said, ‘You must be Leftie.’ The Photo Multi was full of devolution (it was the day after the Referendum). He’s determined to get those Labour Scottish MPs out of the way. Martina Navratilova said to Binny, Binny revealed: ‘Some people are happy to let themselves go like you but my book is for people who aren’t.’

I had mackerel with tomatoes and as a 1st course brown shrimp with kol-rabb. Then a local cheese with a spiced pear. Absolutely great. So simple and right.

Marble as Never Seen Before in the Blond Multi’s New Cafe

The General View of the Blond Multi’s New Cafe – a Unique Interior

Lamps in the Blond Multi’s New Cafe: Rich and Various

The Elegant Luncheon on Offer at the Blond Multi’s New Cafe Hard By Canada Water Tube Station

The Evening Feel at Angus Willis’s Home Store, Hastings

Such Utter Simplicity Takes Years to Achieve: Angus Willis’s Home Store Dining Facility, Hastings

Wednesday 24th September 2014

We mourn the loss of Debo. Robert Nevil couldn’t bear her but she wrote the best opening of any newspaper article in the Graph ever: ‘What are tiaras for?’

She couldn’t stand reading. Evelyn Waugh gave her a copy of his biography of Ronald Knox;she remarked, ‘I would have looked no further but a friend who was with me at the time happened to notice that all the pages were blank: the perfect present for the non-reader.’

Non-reading turned out to be an excellent starting point for writing at which she was very good.

It must have been in 2010 that I went all the way in my Official Car to Chatsworth from London and back in a day because someone told me that if you went to Edensor village open day and fete you would see her and she’d give you eggs (or her butler would). But by the time I got there she’d gawn in and there was a notice saying, ‘The house isn’t open this year – sorry.’ I always meant to go again the following year to Edensor village fete but never did.

Now she will lie in the churchyard next door to her final residence. As she used to say latterly, ‘Not far to go.’