Saturday 9th November 2013

Absolutely massive – and this time last week I had no idea I would be having it.

Tuesday, after lunching privately in Hertfordshire, all of a sudden Harry Rollo is giving a performance. Every one in the audience a world leader in their category. An after-party in the hall, then on to Hix, which had to stay open specially. A tremendous conflagration of greatness.

Wednesday Peter Acharya and Ned Czernowski sprang a dinner in their new warehouse apartment of palatial proportions. I wore the same outfit as the night before but with the new Prada techno-fabric jodphur-type slacks let down. Ned and Peter very fresh and recovering from recent troubles. There’s been much re-configuring of boyfriends in their warehouse apartment building. One couple were apparently settled in a spacious duplex on Staircase C, before one of them moved in with another boyfriend to Staircase B. The one left behind soon switched allegiance to Staircase A but it wasn’t long before their new boyfriends were taking an interest in Staircase D. They’re in perpetual motion apparently.

Thursday I was set for an important Art opening in Soho when Genevieve Suzy of the magazine world rang up and said her husband was hosting an art exhib by a certain generational greatness who was iconic in the 60s, knew everything and did everything.  Also, lesser known, an artist. Opening was to be champagne and an iconic Pop greatness had been on the telephone. So I was twenty minutes at Soho before on to the other show. Polly Toynbee present. The Multis would have been horrified.

I wore tiny summer slacks and my new Zara jacket which I love. Trouble is I don’t want to wear any of my other jackets.

On to a restaurant, with Genevieve, Fergus Strachan (looking fabulous after Dermarola) and Genevieve’s husband.

Last night was planned: Wozzeck with Sebastian Archer and a Mind lady. Dozed throughout but loved it. So cruel yet human. Wonderful sounds never heard before. Streets ahead of Britten. On to a restaurant where Simon Keenlyside appeared in not much of an outfit. He had been Wozzeck the man and spent the last seven minutes on stage submerged in a real tank of water apparently dead. Absolute terror in the stalls. We know, through inside knowledge, that SK loves that sort of thing (Houdini-acts in a tank), has become mega-fit and elastic and fabulous of physique.

Coat of Household Name at Polymath’s Art Opening

Sunday 3rd November 2013

‘Have you seen a hot blond boy lurking?’ Joshua Baring enquired at the Box Office as we went in for ‘Rush’, a film about racing car drivers. He referred to Patrick Lockyer, the sizzling lawyer in a whippy suit with exceptional hair, who’d gone missing, hadn’t turned up for the screening. In fact he was in a vital meeting, issuing injunctions etc as usual.

‘I wouldn’t describe him as exactly blond,’ I said. ‘More a deep gold.’

The previous week, Patrick Lockyer and I went to an underground cabaret given by Crispin St Lytham (he’s been in the Poor Little Rich Gay web for years: pianist to Ronnie Ronnie, in with Eve Ferret, Eddie Sedgewick: Marcus Cargill, England’s leading clock mender, his mother was Crispin’s mother’s best friend at Uni: Crispin’s mother said at Uni ‘I’ve got so much money I don’t know what to do’.  Marcus’s mother said, ‘Give some of it to me.’).  Crispin’s never worked but he’s with voice so self-hired a hall and did a medley illustrating his shattered but outstanding love life.  Recently, he said, a woman friend made a suggestion: ‘Why don’t you get a dog?’ Instead of a boy or man, you see. For most people an idea of what love ought to be and what it actually is exist in an uncomfortable parallel. That was Crispin’s vision. His show was blasting, radiant with scorching self-awareness, supreme Poor Little Rich Gay. How Poor Little Rich Gays suffer and never give up !

‘You’ll have to face it,’ Patrick said afterwards, ‘a black cardy needs to be replaced every year.’ He’s been greatly exercised since I told him I’ve been wearing my last year’s Prada black cardy round the house. The one before that, the best, with zip up the front, got the old dog look after a few months. I took to scraping it with special de-fuzzing instruments. Lady Baring, Joshua’s mother, who upholsters for that chat show man on TV, said, ‘Soon there’ll be nothing left of it.’ She was right. I de-fuzzed my cardy to oblivion’s point.

But would you believe it, the very next day after the underground cabaret, at the Designer Warehouse Sale at Thane Villas, London N7, a black silk and cashmere cardy by Jil Sander fell into my possession!

Cardy crisis over  – for another year.

As it happens Patrick Lockyer has been unlucky in love so far. Tormented by two Ryans in a row, he still loves love. ‘Don’t be sympathetic,’ Joshua Baring cries.  But last night Patrick was on another, non-Ryan date.

So there’s hope.

There’s more news of Joshua Baring – he’s rising high socially but faces his brother, Bover’s, stag weekend in Amsterdam.

No time today – I’m off to lunch with those hot cycling Poor Little Rich Gays!

Jil Sander Cardy Reduced

The Actual Cardy by Jil Sander: Too Precious to Wear

Thursday 31st October 2013

As you know, the Multis acquired a country estate in June. Prince Dmitri and I stayed there the first night when it was the dirtiest house ever known. For 40 years the bath had never been cleaned.

Now it has been spruced up lovely, the filthy carpets flung, but the true renovation including installation of a cellar is yet to begin.

I gained on Hasting Bonfire Night. While I was at Genevieve Suzy’s, having a glorious anti-party and non-fireworks and bonfire, the Multis were in the farmhouse. They wouldn’t go to Hastings because they don’t like loud noises. The Photo Multi spent the evening placing a new Owl lamp and styling fruit around it. There’s no TV or DVD. When I came down the next morning, both Multis were auditing cutlery while exchanging vigorous machine-gun fire. As you know, I love conflict in a relationship, so much more real and human than kissy-kissy, holdy-handy. The Multis allow themselves to be known more than most; this is their special quality. They fling themselves open and are exposed.

We visited a farm supplies shop. There was a hot boy there, the Multis had seen the day before. The Photo returned to graph him and his assisted hair. We looked at saddle-soaps in the hope of getting the stench out of the chair the Multis had bought at Lasco. It’s leather and the Blond Multi said the Lasco dog had wee-ed on it. There certainly was a smell. All staff in the farm supplies shop flocked round to suggest products. The Photo Multi bought several options, total £40. I’m yet to hear if they worked.

Back at the farm, the guests were gaining for luncheon. Tenantry, a fine Gay couple (one i/c the health spa of one of the great Knightsbridge hotels: Cristiano Ronaldo a client), the Multis’ private plumber and wife.  A very warm and arse-free lunch, excellent pork roast.

The Multis Audit Their Country Cutlery

The Multis’ Country Breakfast Table: Royal-Style Tupperware Cereal Container

Fruit Styled by the Photo Multi to Make a Tableau in the Country Home

The Owl Lamp, Placed and Angled by the Photo Multi

Useful Products in Farm Supply Shop

Monday 28th October 2013

You’ll have to re-think your present for the Multis. The Blond Multi mentioned last weekend that they only had a tiny hulk. But by this weekend – well, see graph below!

The Multis have self-hulked.

They’ve also discovered some ponds on their new demesne. They had no ideah!

This afternoon I drove out to inspect the storm damage, recalling the approach of Her Late Majesty Queen Mary who drove out for Crystal Palace the minute it was burned down. From my terrace the worst is revealed though – The Shard – it’s got bent. I’ll get a graph tomorrow. I don’t think anyone’s noticed.

A crane has fallen on the Government and Lord Arrowby’s had 24 hours to establish new premises. He’ll be reopening elsewhere tomorrow.

So much to cover – my visit to the Multis’ new country demesne and their amazing carry-on. They were auditing cutlery and the Photo styled fruit. Also I went out to a cabaret with Patrick Lockyer who managed to get through the whole evening without issuing an injunction or having to telephone Barbados.

Otherwise I’ve been at the Gay Mother’s basically vac-ing.

Yesterday I was to have spent an intimate evening at Robert Nevil’s watching Downton but it was put off at the last minute owing to Robert Nevil being temporarily of unsound mind after endoscopy (Poor Robert Nevil) and uncalled-for precautionary biopsy. I was going to visit Miss Mina Shivaratnam’s Exhibition in her home and then go on to Robert Nevil who lives round the corner. For a day I was so stricken there was no question of Miss Mina’s exhib but at last I found the strength. Wonderful display – she does woodcuts based on medieval depictions of animals. This show has an Adam and Eve theme. The apple’s red and the figures are  cut out flat in iron. They look glamorous and young and just a little bit hopeless and silly and as if they couldn’t have dressed themselves if clothes had been an option in Paradise. Such a shame though about the apple spoiling everything. But on the other hand, maybe it didn’t. Most intriguing work. There’s also a woodcut of them, which I got.

Anyway Miss Mina asked me to stay on! For a light supper! Her son’s a boxer and 28! So I was embraced in a warm family atmosphere after all. So uplifting.

I should have mentioned about the tyres. You may recall I had a nail in a tyre (my official car with Xenon driving lights)  and Kwikfit quoted £220. I went to Acton on Wednesday afternoon. A glorious afternoon, quite up to the standard of one of Queen Mary’s drives. My usual garage recommend an amazing tyre shack nearby where the man had one prominent front tooth and was eating a pastie amongst tyres stacked to the rafters. He set fire to my tyre and put a patch on the inside of it – for £10.

Finally – I found two big forks and one little one down the back of the sink. Something fell out of the cutlery drawer last night. The cutlery drawer is beside the sink, you see, and the cupboard beneath has no back (why?). I crawled in and fished out one newly-fallen fork plus two other big ones and one little one. All the best plate from 1914, part of a set, Mappin and Webb. I’ve been wondering why there were only 10 big forks for some years.

Maybe there is a link. The apple and the forks. But the forks that were fallen were found. Why were the Multis auditing cutlery?

The Multis’ Hulk Collection – Exponential Growth since Last Weekend

Newly-Discovered Ponds at the Multis’ Demesne

They Never Knew They’d Bought a Pond: The Multis’s New Discovery

The Multis Thrilled to Discover They’ve Bought Ponds as Well as House and Land

Saturday 26th October 2013

Always hard to know what to give the Multis short of a Grayson Perry vase. In the Smallmeal days (he, loathed, head of Landfill in this country, partner of the lachrymose Limpney, just had his Jubilee) I used to write him a cheque for £40 million. Luckly he never cashed.

But the Multis lack a hulk. In their new country demesne they only have a tiny hulk. They need a bigger one.

Do you know what a hulk is?

A hulk is an old-fashioned Italian espresso machine that comes in half. You put water in the bottom half, coffee in the filter and screw the top half back on. Then place on gas. After a while, Hulk will begin to glug, then to hiss and split, as the boiling water is forced through the coffee from the lower to the upper chamber. If unlucky, Hulk will sprew its scalding contents all over you and, worse, your walls. If neglected, Hulk will boil in the upper chamber.

Boiling in the upper chamber, in Italy, will bring down the Government.

Friday 25th October 2013

Genevieve Suzy, of the Magazine world, lives in the best house in Hastings. Pagan bonfire night takes place there before the usual Bonfire Night. I can’t remember why but Ann Widdecombe has complained about an anti-Catholic tendency.

I drove in from the Multis’ new demesne. They didn’t come because they don’t like loud noises. Angus Willis and Fergus Strachan were elsewhere in the Tudor House but not staying for the full evening. Genevieve had lost her voice. She was thoroughly criked in fact. Through the window , we saw the menacing procession setting out from the hill opposite. Masked, banging on oil drums, flaring under torches, dressed in yesteryear outfits of various kinds, they wend for miles.  In the party in the house were a Lesbian couple who run a pub and the art director of a massive Sunday paper. Genevieve took a call and croaked that the party was cancelled. Someone had banged their head and gone to Causality with concussion. This meant none of the other guests could come apparently.

I had wine and cheese straws. Very nice. The others refused everything. Genevieve took another call. We were to meet Fergus Strachan on a corner. We reached the corner and saw the very last torch of the procession receding. No sign of Fergus. Genevieve dismissed the possibility of him. We set out for the castle which is high up. William the Conqueror built it, Genevieve said. From there we would have a view of the fireworks and bonfire on the beach below. Many others were gathered so surely there would be a view. People allowed their children to traverse a barrier and frolic on the cliff edge. Genevieve’s level of crikation elevated substantially. After an hour and half much smoke billowed up from behind the castle. Genevieve began to cough. If she’d been a character in a TV costume drama she’d have been dead before the next ad break. We could hear fireworks exploding somewhere below. The smoke and cordite smell forced a retreat. Genevieve fell on a muddy bank and hurt her knee. The Lesbians and art director soothed her in a loving female way and helped her down a vertical set of steps into the town. ‘Are you all right?’ they said. ‘No,’ she said.

At last we saw the bonfire, a massive conflagration. They were burning Muslims, whose limbs you could see flailing in the inferno. We saw the fireworks too, which were gritty and furious. But the smoke overwhelmed Genevieve and we had to keep back as far as the world-famous Clock Golf Course.

Back at the best house in Hastings, a small boy dressed as a skeleton called with his mother and wanted music played then stopped so he could freeze in positions. He didn’t stay long. Genevieve suffered terribly in pushing out the party food. She’d baked 20 excellent potatoes. I had two, with grated cheddar. Plus houmous and cocktail sausages. The others didn’t take anything, except Genevieve. Finally Genevieve had to go to bed, with 17 uneaten baked potatoes to contend with in the morning.

Hastings Bonfire Night as Seen

Another View of Hastings Bonfire Night

Tuesday 22nd October 2013

Only Dear Precious Lord Arrowby unwillingly trudged to Frieze Art Fayre this year. Yesterday I was troubled. Why have Poor Little Rich Gays abandoned Contemporary Art? Why no more collecting?

Then I thought: on the Radio on Saturday Grayson was giving the Reith Lecture. Sid Id asked a question in the Questions and Answers afterwards. The next questioner was David Ekserdjian.

All three have been in the presence of Poor Little Rich Gays. At least two of them would know Poor Little Rich Gays by sight.

So Poor Little Rich Gays at the core, as always. Fully connected.

Otherwise my official car with Xenon driving lights has developed a flabby tyre. I attended Kwikfit. The engineer jacked up my magnificent machine in the bay. Then he lay on the floor, apparently shattered, after discovering a nail in the tyre. ‘What price a new one?’ I ventured, provoking astonishment in the figure on the floor, followed at length by a heaving up and clattering at a computer. It was to be monosyllabic to the end. I grasped from the groans that they  couldn’t match the tyre. The price was high. But I must have matching tyres.

So that means dragging all the way to Acton tomorrow where my garage of many years is located.

This afternoon also I visited the Recycling Shed of the local council. Very demanding. At least ten different skips – non-ferrous metal, paper, cardboard, plastic bottles, textiles and shoes, and another category I can’t remember where you could put plastic wrapping.

Before drinks, I attempted to improve the stained area outside my shower with Stain Block, Polyfilla, and Eggshell Oil paint applied with an artist’s brush.

The duvets have come back from the cleaners but need to be aired.

By the way, the Multis have taken to referring to Bryan. He has been double-met by friends of theirs. Bryan Ferry.

Monday 21st October 2013

Poor Little Rich Gays failed Frieze Art Fayre owing to absence in the country. The Multis were at their new country home that they were never going to be at and at Robin Smallmeal’s Jubilee (Smallmeal is Head of Landfill in this country or whatever, you may recall, and no speaks with me) in one of the great hotels of London. Only dear, precious Lord Arrowby attended Frieze Art Fayre with small grace but was rewarded with a miracle sighting. See graph below.

It’s possible Poor Little Rich Gays have collected all the art they’re going to collect. Only Lord Arrowby continues to purchase but even he has run out of room and is now sending pieces out on permanent loan. Who would have thought the flame would die away? Maybe one day it will re-ignite.

The Blond Multi said: ‘You’ll hate me for saying so but Smallmeal’s party was a great success.’ He described in detail the canapé room, the seating plan (they were top table), the fine wines and best of all, the port and brandy room for afterwards. The Blond Multi loved the luxurious array of the very best vintages and level of staff. The event took place in one of the great hotels of London and was reckoned to have cost £25,000 min. 80 dined.

Simon Limpney, tearful partner of Robin Smallmeal, was nice to the Multis having distinctly not been for some years.

The Kents at Frieze

Friday 18th October 2013

I couldn’t believe the way the Multis had styled a show flat for champagne service. In fact it was a house – newly renovated by the Photo Multi and ready for letting. Lightly furnished but on a side-table a huge ewer brought in and loaded with ice and six bottles of Bollinger as well as a one-off ‘rustic’ tray for the glasses. Four plates (from an Italian ceramic selection) of smoked salmon on speciality bread were strategically placed in the main reception area.

Detail and effort.

The Photo Multi showed the show house. Not one internal wall is where it once was. New wooden floor from top to bottom. Fully marble-ised bathrooms. And, most spectacular, totally unique cupboard insides, devised personally by the Photo Multi.

Then we removed to the Penthouse for the main lunch. Stulke Songingsen, the Blond Multi’s former business partner, came up from the country with her family. She’s opening a vineyard. The Blond Multi’s opening a coffee shop. The lunch zinged with entrepreneurial zing.

I gifted them a dog. It has one ear missing unfortunately. I found it in a Charity Shop I visited with Genevieve Suzy. Also some wicker shopping baskets for when the Multis stroll through their gardens in the new country house (in years to come,when there are gardens), pulling out the odd weed, or picking flowers for the house.

The dog’s on wheels. Stulke’s young son mounted it which was alarmingly. The Photo Multi is especially fond of these toy dogs and used to have one in the window of a previous drawing room. Passers-by were disconcerted because it looked real.

The Dog, Gifted by Me to the Multis: Its Good Side

The Dog: Its Less Good Side

The Country Baskets I Gifted to the Multis

Bathroom in the Show House

Hotel-Style Shower in the Show House

The Photo Multi’s Unique Storage Solution for Miss Hetty

The Improvised Champagne Launch-Pad in the Show House

No More Fallen-Over Mop Handle Misery: the Photo Multi’s Unique Solution in the Show House

Monday 14th October 2013

A lot happening. I gathered with Guy Bostock on Saturday at the Rupert Street Bar for his 40th birthday and gave him an intimate present not to be opened in company. Extraordinary new experience. The Rupert Street Bar!  You stand up and shout because the music is blasting. More to come. Lovely people and of course, Lord Arrowby in a Dries camouflage-type short coat.

Friday I did a pork dinner last minute. Yesterday I lunched with the Multis and gave them a toy dog on wheels. The Pink List has also been published by the Independent on Sunday. Not pleased.

Last Thursday Genevieve Suzy of the Magazine World arranged for us to attend the opening of a tower block in London’s City Road. When I got there it wasn’t even built. Just a show flat and champagne canapé reception area established – priorities quite admirable, therefore. Canapés were by a Michelin-starred chef introduced by Matthew Fort, food writer of the Guardian and not liked by Angus Willis. Genevieve absolutely knew him of course and he was charming. Very distinguished. Not a bitch. Wouldn’t be drawn re: Storey, where we dined the other day. The friend he was with complained of neglect like a gay person. ‘I saw you on Tuesday,’ said Matthew Fort with reassuring warmth. Later Genevieve said the plaintive one was mega and owned the tower block or would do if anyone bothered to build it.

Canapés had to be fought for. It wasn’t a bit like the Conservative Party function I went to once with the Multis where they pulsed out at a rate of two a minute.

On the way to the Diana film I had to stop off to buy a fearsome slab of spinach and feta tart. Indigestion only just got over.

In the end we were quite a little party at the tower block. I happened to mention the function the day before to Peter Acharya, thinking he might be going since he’s in the buildings world. He said he didn’t know about it, wasn’t due to attend. But he was there  – with Ned Czernowski. Poor Little Rich Gays always get in and always flock together for warmth and comfort.

So it was that I had the idea of the pork dinner for the following day. Val was due but in the end once again couldn’t get out of his front door. So it was Ned and Bruce McBain. Genevieve had a wedding anniv party.

Now the Diana film. I lived for it for months. So the poor reviews and lack of splash were shattering. I attended with Laura Malcolm. Patrick Lockyer was at the premiere, scouting for libel opportunities on behalf of mystery client. Top hush-hush work. But he thought the film rock-bottom. Nobody else would go near it. When the bit about Jason Fraser came up, Laura and I had loud conversation for the other three viewers in the cinema. ‘You know him, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Oh yes, he’s very charming. I’ve been to his flat many times.’ Diana’s frocks are by Kazudout, also known to me. So we were in at the core, only two degrees removed from Diana, the most famous woman in the world.

The film is nothing like as bad as made out. Engaging romantic story, stylishly told, good detail with her quilted handbag often in view. Very good decor. Her apartment incredibly grand. With her in it. Main problem was that you had no idea whether a word of it was true and that rather mattered because there was no grand theme of larger truth to sustain the drama as in The Queen with Helen Mirren. Also the more ‘difficult’ side of Diana was left out. It was hagiography.

Tower Block Opening Outfit

Canapé Menu at Tower Block Opening: Canapés at the Core of Poor Little Rich Gay life

Light Show on Side of Non-Existent Tower Block at Tower Block Opening, City Road, London