Golly, it's been a hectic week. After Saturday's gymkana in which the Earl of Bramley's young daughter took four prizes I was cornered by Boyl Bainbridge at Barry White's official birthday party. I'd not seen Boyl for years and have thoroughly enjoyed my agent's description of her new book which we were sent. After we'd caught up on the latest gossip from the cheese & brown ale circuit I secured an invite to her new home, which I'd heard was in a converted tramcar, for Sunday lunch.
So Sunday came & I found myself in a tiny, nay poky, abode in Chelsea, not a part of London I'd normally see myself, unless I was slumming it in my River Island wardrobe. The boeuf bourguignon was, however, superb and the company made up somewhat for the humble surroundings. Peter Sissons, in a natty pinstripe, told us some hilarious, if somewhat blue jokes, which had us all in stitches, although I think his new wife Helena Bonham-Carter was a tad miffed by the constipation references. Honestly, what does it take to make some people laugh ?
Monday night saw the aftershow party for the State Opening of Parliament. You can be sure that the bollinger flowed freely and I bought a fine Botichelli from the dashing second son of Johnny Morris. Mike Jagger put in a brief appearance with actress Ruth Madoc on his arm, whilst Eddie Izzard engrossed me with stories of his recently-terminated marriage to Antonia de Sancha. I won't tell you what football strip Kenneth Clarke used to wear, although apparently Ken Baker has a passion for Tranmere Rovers.
At the Gentle Giant reunion dinner on Wednesday we were treated to a dramatic entry from Brooke Shields, who galloped in stark naked on the back of a coot. Luckily Peter Stringfellow, looking radiant since he started courting Myra Hindley, had a spare cape to hand and restored Ms Shields, who I must admit has put on some weight, to modesty before the monkey waiters brought forth the aperitifs. Mark Lamarr, who spent the evening bottling the now unconscious Eddie Izzard, told me that Brooke has been scouring London for a moorhen and, as a last resort, had to borrow Peter Shilton's coot for the evening.
If you feel like pampering yourself then can I recommend Dianna Rigg's new salon on the King's Road. Never have my highlights (although of
course I am a natural blonde ) gleamed so, and I got a chance to chinwag
with my old friend Mariella Frostrup. Mariella, who's starting to show her
age now, was having her nails tinted to spell out the name of her late
husband, the "Carry On" star Syd James of course. Apparently Liam
Gallagher has been staying at her flat since Patsy Kensit ran off with
Radio 2's Ken Bruce, and I was told that the Oasis frontman is writing a
film script about biscuits. Eddie Izzard also dropped by to have his jawline reballasted and now looks
at least twelve days younger.
Finally, I noticed this week that the Conservative Party is trying to take some of the fashionable young things from New Labour. This week I caught Michael Hesletine and Paul Weller coming out of the infamous Abbey Road Studios, having just recorded their bid for the Election Week number one slot, "Tony Blair knows chuff all about Football". On the subject of Tory groovers, John Redwood was confirmed on Thursday as being the host of the Election Day "Top of the Pops", and Sleeper songstress Louise Wener, having slept with all members of her band, was spied on the arm of Douglas Hurd at the Hundred Club at the Gorky's Zygotiz Mynci gig on Tuesday. Dianna Rigg tells me that Michael Portillo visited her salon about an hour before me demanding to have his hair cut in the style of Rachael from "Friends" and rumor has it that Eddie Izzard has been appointed Foreign Secretary. I hope this campaign succeeds as I dread to think what could happen to the country under the rule of such an ill-groomed lot as those Labour chappies.
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