As Kenneth Williams in the Julian & Sandy sketches would say, ‘the party’s over, it’s all over my friend’. Shouldn’t there be another comma in there somewhere? Last night was the conclusion of my Savoy story for this year. The occasion was Nicky Haslam’s Cole Porter review. Talk about a guest list: Jerry Hall, Bryan Ferry, Anthony Price and Judith Watt. But the guest of honor for me was my dearest friend Patricia Carruthers. She did my proud last night and charmed the room. What of Nicky? I had no idea he was such a marvellous, marvellous singer. Wept several times and not a dry seat in the house.
It was a big night for the Savoy with all the brass in the room: Kiaran, Bromance and Brett to name but three of my favourites. Patricia and I were told off for singing along by some bitter queen. I forget the name. I thought we were rather good. Anyway, that put me in a foul mood so I laid into Brett about not speaking to me. How ridiculous. The man invites me to a magical night and all I can do is think ‘now Mommie Dearest has nothing to bitch about. Let’s invent a situation’. He is gorgeous. End of.
But there was a happy finish. When I went for my last cigarette in Savoy Court, Miss Hall and Mr Ferry were waiting for taxis with their respective partners. Charm isn’t even in it. Miss Hall is as beautiful in person as she is in front of a camera. Mr Ferry was charming and very generous to compliment by black sequin Tom Baker DJ that was copied from one he has worn on stage tailored by the brilliant Richard Anderson.
I am so sorry not to have the Savile Row book launch pictures from the Savoy on Monday night. As soon as I do I will write you another letter and enclose one or three. What I do have is the morning after pictures including some snaps of Anthony and I paying an early morning visit to the British Museum to inspire ourselves awake. We were there by 10am after a fabulous Starbucks creamy double shot latte in a can (liquid heroin). We were first to hit the Elgin Marbles hall and my dear it was magical.
You recall that Greek temple that is in the hall next to the Elgins? Anthony said he could just see me appearing between the pillars wearing a MuMu and a turban smoking a cigarette wearing dark glasses. The best bit about old, OLD friends is that it only takes a look and we laugh our asses off. In the Egyptian halls, I spotted a perfectly preserved mummy in an open grave curled-up in a ball. I told Anthony it reminded me of that morning in Treviso when we both awoke wrapped in duvets on the roof of his apartment with the noon day sun blazing down on us. It was like a scene from Interview with the Vampire. He pointed at another open grave with a bleached boned skeleton in it and said ‘that reminded me of you’. Cheek.
So why is the party over? I gave myself the weeks between 10.10.10 and December to let off steam, party rather too hard and sleep far too much. Well, I did and I loved it. But now it is time for Mrs T and I to get back to work. It is time for me to calm down, get early nights, tonnes more massages and sleep the sleep of the just.
I now know what I’m getting you for Christmas darling. It is the DVD of the Sondheim Birthday Concert at the Avery Fisher Hall in NYC. Hand on heart, I have never seen a concert like it. All of the greats performed: Bernadette Peters, Patti Lupone, Stritchie, Audra McDonald, Mandy Patinkin and Jenna Colella. The concert reaches a climax with all the leading ladies on stage seated in a circle wearing Jungle Red gowns. One by one they get up and deliver a performance of a lifetime. Lupone absolutely nailed Ladies Who Lunch. Audra sang Glamorous Life, Bernadette broke hearts with Day after Day and then Stritchie stood up, planted her feet apart and sang I’m Still Here in such a fashion that no one can now touch that song after the definitive version.
Having said the party’s over, there are some super events coming-up in December. I am looking forward to the rededication of St George’s Mayfair on the 5th of December. I am looking forward to the 125th anniversary ball for Turnbull & Asser at Claridge’s. I am most looking forward to Christmas week when my better half and I get in the car, drive down to Compton and hunker down for a whole week alone in the house with roaring fires and roaring drinks and gorgeous food. I tell you, this could be the best Christmas yet.
Oh Rowley, I do need to apologize for getting a little tired and emotional at Carol’s Cartier book launch. I’d been to lunch for hours at Wilton’s, on to the Groucho for a jewellery launch then pitched-up at Cartier a little giddy but still appropriate. Monsieur Bombazine was there but did not say hello. You know that man has about 50 pictures of Her Majesty in his office and still no Royal Warrant. I wonder why.
Time to sign off and go for lunch with the marvellous Angus Cundey at Henry Poole & Co. Scotty is coming round this evening to borrow something eccentric for a themed party tonight. I might stick on the Sondheim and tempt him to stay for an hour. New Year’s Eve table at 10pm for 10 at Joe Allen? Until then…