Staying in Soho House before moving to Jane Hotel. Soho House is like coming home. Hand written notes and presents from the manager Pierre. The burgers we ate last night were delicious. The staff are kind and considerate and incredibly helpful.
I had bad news and good news yesterday. The bad news was about going home-the good news was about staying home. I am being deliberately obtuse.
God, it was a very long day. Up at 4am for my 7.15am flight. Up in the air for 15 minutes then turning back mid air with instrument problems-something to do with the altitude meter. I don’t know. It meant that we didn’t take off until 1.30pm so I got to know my fellow travelers very well-too well. I also became acquainted with the appalling customer service on offer-or not on offer-from American Airlines. American Airlines, shit service, shit planes, vile attitude. My fellow travelers were so incensed that airport security had to be called. I, on the other hand, did not lose my temper once. I was a paragon of virtue.
Arrived in New York at 9.30pm, Soho House by 10.30pm.
Slept turbulently in my huge bed, the tossing and turning on the airplane revealing itself as I slept. Full of fear, dreaming my house in Malibu was burning-the second apocryphal dream about that house. The last included a bunch of women. My nightmare was so bad a few nights ago my screaming out actually woke the neighbors.
Sophie Dahl’s cookery show is a sham-so say the Brit TV cook clan. Not really surprising-she must be one of the most inauthentic people I ever met. What the hell does she know about cooking? I threw a dinner party for her, Zoe Tryon and Alecia Moore (Pink) at my house last year. Sophie was sulky, bad tempered and rude. Gosh, how the vile are rewarded.
Apparently one should never invite just women to a dinner.
Staying in Jane Hotel on Hudson. Very basic, but lots of fun. Full of cute young Spanish boys, half naked in the corridors on their way to the shared bathrooms. My room has a bathroom. Elevator smells of disinfectant, the corridors of fresh paint. The restaurant downstairs has been designed to look a little like it was very old but actually just looks unfinished. The ballroom is charming as is the Moroccan influenced bar. I have a corner room over looking the river. I like a view.
Dinner with Joan and Joe last night at Kenmare. All round disaster. Food had to be sent back; my chair was pummeled by wait staff that seemed to lack any basic spatial awareness. The vegetables were simply inedible. The steak over cooked. The pudding… instantly forgettable.
Lastly, why are there so many insipid, suburban gays? When I was growing up all the gays I knew were sophisticated, arty and fabulous-it occurred to me that the dull gays might have tended to stay in the closet. I wish they’d stayed there.