It’s her birthday and she’s big with third child. All the times we were out together seem no time away from now and it leaves me wondering what I’ve done with all the interim.  I remember pulling on porn-star clothes for the party where she met her husband.  I remember when she blagged us into the obscenely excessive magazine launch I had the ( Read more... )

Friday night starts with a private view in a gallery selling paintings that would make ‘nice’ prints for Ikea, to patrons that have never been there, for the price of a houseful of their furniture.  The champagne is colours are good, but to my untrained eyes they are lazy, derivative and over free with motifs as themes to pull the punters in.  I ( Read more... )

It’s meant to be a book* launch, but it’s more of a lunch. The restaurant has been taken over for hospitality and entertainment. No books to be seen anywhere: instead tables are scattered with shockingly delicious tapas and the author who invited me is in cook’s whites in the kitchen. He’s loving the heat of it and is thrilled I’ve come along, even ( Read more... )

Last weekend, there were fireworks in Notting Hill, but they were polite and tidy ones, too distant for their scale, with polite and tidy Notting Hill people in a polite and tidy communal garden.  It was strange to watch winter fireworks wearing only a t-shirt and light jacket.  After, I went on to BBC Babe’s birthday, where the theme was ‘trashy ( Read more... )

I’ve been bitten all over by mozzies: I must have been too tasty for my own good on Saturday night. That’ll teach me to wear a backless slip of an outfit when out all night in the countryside. Posh Bird had a big birthday and decided to do it in style: marquee, meal, and music, though music wasn’t the strength of the night. I think she fears she ( Read more... )

Friday

A friend DJ’s for a fundraiser. Mainly a young crowd of well mannered media faces new to me. There’s an American actor there. He’s from a different era. When he dances he makes me think of the men you might have found in Jackie Collins’ ‘The Stud’. Thirty years on. He even has a gold chain around his neck, nestled in his Greek suntanned hairy ( Read more... )

Like my new icon? Now I just have to update the look of my LJ; but that can wait.

Last weekend I was at a friend’s birthday, in the depths of South London. Well actually, the heights, and I certainly felt it heading up the hill to get there. It was worth the ascent though; oozing with delicious food and people.  I find it so funny sometimes, to rock ( Read more... )

Monday was a slightly strange day.  ( Tales of bad men and good art. )

Saturday I went to a night in Brixton, at which The Bays played.  They make dance music, but they’re all about live performance, which makes everything seems extra precious: it provides it with an added purity.  They are the antithesis of the DJs are rock stars culture and phenomenal for it.  If you get the chance and that kind of thing is in any ( Read more... )

Yesterday, the oldest niece came down from Scotland with her father, and I entertained her for the evening.  I gave her choice of The Gods Are Not To Blame at The Arcola, On the Shore of the Wide World at The National Theatre or late night shopping at Covent Garden or Oxford Circus. Her father poo pooed the last option, but I said that there had to ( Read more... )