This week began rather slowly. Still feeling sufficiently exhausted by the very boring virus doing the rounds in London town, I had to postpone a much eagerly awaited drinks catch up with two wonderful girlfriends until such time that I was feeling on top form to trip the light fantastic with them. Lunch is for wimps as they say, however, these two women although slightly older than me by a matter of years, have the constitutions and stamina of hormonally charged teenagers and I will have to keep taking the Solgar vitamins before I venture to the bright lights with their x factor fabulousness.
The office was incandescent with rage coupled with raging temperatures, as it now looks like ALL the men in the office have gone down with the virus. They could hardly pick up the phone to speak, with their red noses dripping and radiating whines of displeasure. It has been a hell of a slog at work this week, people leaving as they do in the property industry, only to pop up with a competitor down the road and the remainder re-grouping, buyers trying to justify their low offers with nonsense that they have read in the papers on the property market at large. Even though we deal solely in Kensington & Chelsea, one of the most expensive areas of Central London, the most intensely irritating thing is that they are not actually working IN the market yet they still feel that they should give their opinion even when residing thousands of miles away, trying to justify their low offers. If only non K&C originating buyers understood that there are literally hundreds of others within the same price range also waiting to pounce and gazump and are also solely CASH!
Off to Kensington Town Hall to join the Intelligent Squared evening with General Pervez Musharraf in conversation with Sir Christopher Meyer (see http://www.intelligencesquared.com/home). Whilst the Intelligent Squared debates and talks are excellent, they slightly lack the humour and wit of The Spectator ones. To be fair, the topics covered are incredibly important and serious in the world sphere and Musharraf announced at the talk prior to his official statement on Friday, of his return to front line politics after a sabbatical spent in England. There was obviously a huge amount of support in the room from his fellow Pakistanis residing in London, with extra dramatic effect from a poor woman at the back of the auditorium who let out a resounding yelp before a thud and collapsing, the ambulance called and as luck would have it a young doctor from nearby Imperial College London ran to her rescue. The doctor was as cool as a cucumber and within minutes returned to his seat, picked up the mic and asked not one but two provocative questions to the ‘I’m not a dictator’ speaker.
Julie’s in Clarendon Cross W11 is often called the most romantic restaurant in London. It has terrific ambience, service and food, all the winning qualities that one needs to keep bringing you back time and time again, sitting in different parts of the restaurant which make you feel that you are in a different world. There ia always a cluster of slightly inebriated locals on the outside tables, a Holland Park version of Chelsea’s Brinkley’s, which makes eavesdropping especially entertaining when ladies over 60 with cut glass accents are littering their conversations with ‘fucks’ after a couple of glasses of Sancerre. I broke my no drink rule and enjoyed a large glass of something red and French, however, I was in a subdued mood and the expletives didn’t roll that night.
It is SO easy to spend an absolute fortune on eating out in London. Ok New York has a cooler bar scene and the Far East some fabulous restaurants, but NOWHERE in the world beats London for variety and style. I forgot how good Indian food was until I revisited Star of India on the Old Brompton Road. We tucked into delicious sea bass wrapped in banana leaves and felt the spirit of the sub-continent even when the torrential London rain lashed at the windows like a dominatrix at full pelt, as a reminder that autumn had very much established itself.
Unbelievably my most treasured friend bought me the last ticket to Wanderlust at The Royal Court in Sloane Square to go with her. Last week I missed the sell-out show due to the lurgy, although I had already booked Faust at The Young Vic. I decided to sell the tickets for Faust, amazing that I am sure it was, I thought I would leave the Icelandic acrobatics for another couple to enjoy, even though it would mean missing the Nick Cave score. I still love his duet with Kylie for god’s sake that was definitely THE pairing of the century. Wanderlust was very entertaining, the painfully accurate portrayal of a bored married couple who no longer desire each other. Pippa Haywood the brilliant comic actress – ex Brittas wife and the sex mad HR boss in the un-missable Green Wing – gave a wonderful performance and has a terrific body, she has to strip to her undies during the play, role-playing a naked picnic scene with her beau. After 20 years of coupling is it not normal to find your partner less than utterly desirable in the same way as when you first met and is it really worth breaking up a family for the odd indiscretion? The play works as it is so terribly English, but would it work in French?
