La Farmer and I feel vindicated in our ongoing commitment to boozy London lunches. Yesterday saw us at the divine Arbutus on Frith Street in Soho in the company of Aspasia ‘Love Gold’ Anoustis. My entreé of burrata, figs, Muscat grapes and candied walnuts was the most delicious thing I have put in my mouth all year … no comments, please.
Anyway, we went for a snifter with Andrew Edmunds afterwards and came to the conclusion that, taken in sufficient quantities, vino blanco can make you rather tipsy. The grape has been a friend to man for centuries because, quite frankly, it’s a jolly holiday after a glass or two. I was equally pleased to read that bacon, sausages and processed meat may be as cancerous as cigarettes. I prefer a Saint Moritz over a bacon buttie any day.
The evening saw me meeting the little bear at the Redfern Gallery then on to Frank Auerbach and upwards to the Fortnum & Mason boardroom for a chinky-drink. We rolled home in a black bus and I turned my ankle on the steps outside Bloomsbury Towers so it looks like flatties for my party on Tuesday.
Now, what did you think of the Duchess of Cambridge’s get-up at the Chinese State Banquet at Buckingham Palace? I thought she looked sensational and the tiara was worthy of Andrew Prince. I’m not so sure about us getting into bed with the Chinoise. I don’t think they like us very much despite the pints and pies with Dave and the Pernod & Black after dinner with the Duchess of Cornwall.
I think the Duchess of Cornwall will make an excellent Queen Consort. By all accounts, she is a radiator. We met at Gieves & Hawkes when she and the Prince of Wales paid a visit to the archive. I thought the Duchess was absolutely radiant, generous and amusing. And boy does she know how to wear the family jewels. Even HM The Queen wouldn’t rock out the Greville necklace and the Delhi Durbar tiara with as much oomph. Girl got it all going on.
One must try to resist RuPaul’s Drag Race patios at all costs but sometimes there aren’t words as appropriate as flah-zee-dah. Actually, I am feeling rather flah-zee-dah, Mama, today. So looking forward to the book launch when I can toast absent friends … and enemies. We’ve also got Count Indigo’s Halloween Avengers party to dress for. I think I shall go as Steed even though I know I cannot carry-off a brown bowler like the late Patrick Macnee.
Only a few months ago, I remember opening the royal wardrobes at Bloomsbury Towers and thinking that I hadn’t worn my cocktail suits for an age. Well, now I’m taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Cornwall’s book and changing into evening dress for parties. I tell you something, the art crowd are so much more intelligent than the fashion pack but, then again, so is a box of hair.
Speaking of evening dress, didn’t Beyonce look like a HO this week? I mean, I like a bit of ghetto fabulous but she’s starting to look like Lily Saint Cyr. I’m not that impressed by Rihanna – devil child, devil child – or Rita Ora either. I’m warming to Miley Cyrus because she’s so pro RuPaul and Taylor Swift is, of course, our fearless leader with class to beat the band.
Can’t be bothered with Adele much though Skyfall is such fun to caterwaul to in a drunken fashion after midnight. I don’t think she’s the brightest button in the box and for evidence I give you Ginger Minge on RuPaul’s Snatch Game. YouTube it darling. Well, I can’t live entirely for pleasure so am knocking-off a couple of stories for Revolution about Grima’s ‘About Time’ watch collection for Omega and Peter Lawford for ‘Past Times’.
I’m thinking I better sign another book shortly to bank the advance and keep me in the manner I have grown accustomed to. Still no sign-off from Turnbull & Asser for the cover design but hopefully it will transpire this afternoon when New York wakes-up. I am so damned proud of that book. It is a beauty and this is largely thanks to the talent of Pete ‘Grade Design’ Dawson.
Pete and our Batgirl Jennie Condell went to a gin distillery in Bermondsey earlier in the week for a book launch. We misbehaved … or I did anyway. I know Rowley, even I don’t know how I do it and not look like the love child of Elaine Stritch and W. C. Fields. The neighbourhood witch once surmised that I’d done a deal with the Devil. Well, she should know.
I am rather enjoying being a bearded lady but do think it is only a matter of time before I go and see Sidik at Trumper on Curzon Street for a trim. I’m not doing Chris Christopherson as Barbra said to me only last week. I’m thinking more King Henri III of France: the girl with the pearl earring. Until next time …