Saturday, 1 December 2012


I have several favourite girls, Alice Naylor Leyland, Mimi Dean, Mary Charteris and Scarlett Carlos Clarke. Scarlett is a tiny petite blonde with at the moment funky pink hair. All her friends have funky pink hair. She sits in comfy armchairs in her black and white gallery called The Society Club, 12 Ingestre Place, in Soho. A library of rare books is upstairs and downstairs Scarlett reigns. black and white stripy stools, flowers on a long table. She is laughing with artists. A waiter comes in with blue punk hair, pale blue lipstick and pink thick tights. I have no idea whether she is a man or a woman, I think she wants to be both.  Here Scarlett sells wonderful photographs by her father Bob. Bob Carlos Clarke was my great friend. He taught me to print well. He loved printing as well as taking photographs. He killed himself as he felt that only in his death would he be appreciated. As I sit looking at the photographs, I understand why he thought like this. I feel the same way, who wants an old blonde down Sunset Boulevard, even though I shall be a camp old thing and follow in Scarlett's footsteps and paint my hair all pink and red like Zandra Rhodes?.
I also visited an incredible new health club just for women called Grace. Grace is aptly named. Tall ceilings, white and only for women you can be stretched into shape by the brilliant Matt Roberts and massaged in beautiful beauty rooms. It claims you will "Rediscover when you felt your best" A private and exclusive club I was invited with the cream of English Society to a lunch there for her birthday. A sophisticated club, with a lot of light.

Another day, another party was for Lalit Modi, the famous entrepreneur from India. Held hostage with no passport, for very little except bringing a shorter game of cricket to the world. He is unfairly treated. Charming talented he should be a politician. For me cricket is a crashing bore so if anybody can shorten it, I love them. He started the Indian Premier League, and he has been the head of so many associations to do with the game that everybody became jealous. 
From my point of view he is faultless. His wife, a saint, beautiful and one of the most interesting women to come out of India, Minal Modi. I watch all the other Indians in London and the pair are wrongly treated. Perhaps somebody else wished to steal the lime light, so suited to only Lalit. In any case they took us to Coya's, 118 Piccadilly, a wonderful new Peruvian/Eastern restaurant on Park Lane next to the Atheneum Hotel, and then dancing until 3am at Loulou's, 5 Hertford Street. The brilliant and exciting new club owned by the very creative Robin Birley. His wife, Lucy, studied photography with me at the Black and White Photography Studio under Natasha Bult. I never stay up later than midnight, and I never drink, but there I did both. I was thoroughly spoilt. 

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