Archives for posts with tag: Greek Street

Carol cooked rabbit stew last night and I lit a huge fire.  Too huge.  I love lighting fires.  Do you remember the particularly scary fire I lit at Caroline Conran’s haunted house Bettiscombe Manor in Dorset?  That amazingly beautiful house known as the house of the screaming scull.

There is a skull in the attic that must never leave the house..ever.

I was so scared by the ghosts at night I crawled into another guests bed with him in it.

Anyway, I built such a huge fire at Bettiscombe I  nearly burned the place down.  That could have been a very embarrassing weekend.  They all went for a walk and I dragged logs from the stable into the great hall and set them alight.  Bad move.

Lunch with Charlie at the Ivy Club.  Beautiful man sitting with his parents admired my new hair cut.  Gave me his number.  Wait for the wound to heal before we go down that route.

Bumped into Michael White.  Has he has a stroke?

Charlie really likes the film.  Everybody seems to.

We discussed Obama, he thought that I was being too tough on him.  Really?

Now we need to make the bloody film.

Dog took a huge dump in Greek Street.  No bags.  I ran away.  Bad dog owner.  Lingers on my conscience.

Really enjoying being here.  Love the snow.  Saw my friend Jess for breakfast.  Had my hair shaved and beard trimmed in Soho.  Same guy who cut it this summer.

I love listening to BBC Radio 4 whilst driving.  The languid newsmen and women, the snippy new conservative politicians as eager as hungry rodents.   They want to change everything.  ‘Fix’ everything from higher education fees to alcohol consumption.

Let’s imagine a world where the chronically inebriated are charged for all expenses incurred when arrested or injured due to drinking/drugging.

If these drunken liggers had to pay money for time spent unnecessarily in emergency rooms or police cells, pay for hospital staff or expensive police overtime you’d see an immediate shift away from the sort of hard-drinking, thuggish Friday/Saturday night behaviour this government and the rest of us wants stamping on hard asap.

Slags sliding around in stilettos in their own vomit.  Breaking their ankles.

PAY FOR IT!

Slags and Chavs.

The drive to London through heavy snow and the equally treacherous drive home totally exhausted me.  I probably shouldn’t be so eager to be this energetic.

The drive over snowy Black Heath was particularly beautiful.

Hey, I want you to know a few things about me:  I am charismatic, invincible, intelligent, creative, sophisticated, handsome, sensitive and the polar opposite of all the above.

Serpentine Gallery Pavilion Opening

Yesterday began with breakfast of cakes and coffee at Maison Bertaud on Greek Street with Tania who showed off her occasional gallery – very crowded with nondescript paintings by Noel Fielding.

The great find at the show was the animated video art piece tucked in the back of the cellar and REALLY worth checking out or indeed buying.

We had lunch at Patisserie Valerie and looked at the parade of boys and freaks.

Yesterday evening took taxi from Chelsea to Serpentine Gallery Pavilion opening at the behest of architect Tom Croft.  Saw many people from the past who all seemed delighted to see me.  The pavilion, designed by Jean Nouvel, was very red and surrounded by soggy turf.  There was some consternation about his eligibility – apparently the point of this yearly event is to commission emerging architects not those in the twilight of their career.

We were invited to Richard Rogers house after the Serpantine event but I really couldn’t be bothered so we caught the bus back to Soho where we met Matt who pushed us into a cab and over the river to Vauxhall.

Toured sad, empty Vauxhall gay bars ending up in Balans back on Old Compton St eating DISGUSTING burger.  I am going to pop in there after I have written this and complain about how bad it all was.

This morning I sat in BlueBird with, of all people, Manolo Blahnik who is looking very doddery and frail.  He has a stick and his hair is all awry.  Within the space of just one month Manolo and Christian Louboutin!  These two great..the greatest grandees of ladies shoes.  Christian is, of course, the young buck.

I have been away from London for the best part of a decade.  My contemporaries all look a bit worse for wear.  Worn out.  Thank God I have been sober for so long!

Spoke to Tim briefly today.  He admitted to having had botox.  He looks amazing.  Amazing.

On the bus to Soho I met Juanita Carberry who was a child in Africa at the time of the Happy Valley murder.  She wrote a book called Child of the Happy ValleyHolly Aird played her in the film adaptation.  So, I know Holly and Issie’s grandfather was the murderer…weird eh?  What is even odder..Lavinia, Issie’s sister stayed at the house last night.

Lunch at Soho house with Sharon Marshall who is getting married in less than 8 weeks and is all of a quiver about flowers, bridesmaids dresses and who will photograph the event.

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