ROYALTY AND WARRIORS

I really don't like the idea of day time television, all that lolling about on the sofa, with cups of tea, guarantees the numbing of the brain and ultimately depression, but I decided to watch it just in case I was wrong. It was raining and I could be? I evan hoped to be. I have never been so horrified. Despite there supposedly being lots of choice, it seems to be very narrow. Game shows and woman's coffee morning type shows, with naff blonde haired woman on them, talking about truly dreary things. Giggling, about their " in" jokes. I hated it.

However there was one good programme on it, finding if you were related directly to royalty. This actually moved me. I understood that the rather distinguished woman on it was related to King George 1V and that she was actually closer in line to the throne than Her Majesty The Queen. Although if you are of illegitimate birth you can't claim. It would have been interesting for Debretts to acknowledge this family as it was a heart wrenching story. George IV, was a true extravagant, who loved architecture, and left a collection of books to the British Library. As eldest son of George III and Charlotte, he was born August 12, 1762. Secrecy surrounds his first marriage to the Catholic widow Maria Fitzherbert, in 1785 without his father's permission. It was declared illegal at his father's request. George would have been unable to reign with a Catholic wife. In 1795, he married again, this time to his cousin Caroline of Brunswick, who bore him one daughter, Charlotte. He died on June 26, 1830. He is supposed to have seen his daughter from this love match just once when she was five years old and given her a set of garnets. The little girl recognized him but didn't realize it was her father. She had been sent to live with Foster parents and never saw her real parents ever again. Sadly she lived a life of poverty and wretchedness, and only tried to get in touch with the royal family once via a captain in the army, and was told never to call again. She ended up in the poor house. All that survives is the diary, which is full of such good descriptions the people running the program were able to provide proof and piece together her life.

On another subject tonight I went a party given in aid of The Warrior Programme, at the Royal Hospital Road,this is an amazing 4 day programme for traumatized soldiers, from many units such as the Coldstream Guards, Scots Guards, The Royal Airforce. they are able to turn their life around with the help of this wonderful charity. Movingly the ex soldiers told their stories one by one, a soldier had given some sweets to four children in Bosnia, and the children then had their necks cut for speaking to the British soldiers. In turn his son got killed. The soldier felt that it was his punishment. Other stories were told. A wonderful party for a good British cause,put together by many to rebuild the self esteem and dignity of people who have fought, for our country. Jeanne Marine sang along with her brother, Bob Geldof, Allegra Donne, Katrina Boorman, Chantale of Hanover, Nick Scott, Alia and Rocco Forte, were all there giving their support, and many others who are not mentioned. There is no doubt in my mind that war is a terrible thing, and I am not pro it, but I had to help these people and so auctioned my house in Los Angeles for a week in the hope that one or two people can be helped.

THANKS GIVE THANKS

I have been busy remembering who I should be grateful to and who I love this week, a very good thing because I have so much to be happy about, I have had lovely people in my life. Truly I owe everything to them. My friends and those who work for me have been so kind helpful. They know who they are. There is nothing better than spending Thanksgiving with Heather and Sol Kerzner in their very happy pink, pale green and white house. Heather is a pink chiffon winner, always full of life and merry sunshine. It was very touching. Some people deserve praise.
I also had a great lunch at Odins, surprisingly I forget this old fashioned restaurant. It was so pleasant and delicious too. Good to be English for a change. Sometimes I feel so very foreign in my whirlwind of travel and drama. Sharing good company with lots of laughter.
The next night was full of action for the Sugar plum Ball in the Natural History Museum, girls in pale mauve tutus, looking adorable handed out lollipops. Four beautiful opera singers came and sang, and all for this charity called SOS homes, that provide homes for orphaned children. Very touching and beautifully organized, they have Sarah Fergerson leading the way and along with Oxford University students, put on a great show. Amazing prizes were in the auction. I so wanted to buy the Tracey Emin print she did especially for them.. I also want to go to Bhutan with Aman Resorts.I can only do fluffy white towels.
Thank goodness they put me in a serene state as I had a stressful day, my computer decided to collapse, I tried everything to bring it back to life, it has my play on it and music so is a huge disaster. Of course my mood could not be worse. Wow life can be stressful but luckily the MAC showroom on Kensington High Street could not have been more helpful.

A SOCIAL FROTHY CLOUD

Some days are really, really good, I was on a frothy cloud of happiness yesterday and did many things I loved. First, I went to a Thanksgiving party given by the Arnaud and Carla Bamberger and Charles and Sydney Finch. It was lots of fun at the Palm Restaurant in Pont Street, which served up a huge succulent turkey with all its festive accompaniments. And luckily, I was sitting next door to the very dishy Bryan Lourd, albeit in mural form. Around the room were a few hundred of my favourite social creatures (and my pal Tracey Emin, blowing air kisses at me and mouthing meow - I do love her). But I wasn't fazed, as on my other side sat my playmate Tim Willis. In fact I could spend all day with him, if only he was interested in being horizontal with me, but he's not, he's working - don't faint - on a book about Nigel Dempster. He really is so industrious.
Afterwards, through the cold winter's day, we walked and giggled, despite the sirens heralding some sultan's limousine. There were about eight police cars making a hell of a noise. Shhh, for goodness sake!. What they must cost us tax payers.

Back at my hotel, I was nagged by the thought of moving. I had found a fabulous house in Clabon Mews, but the removal company, Cadogan Tate told me I had packed up 23 crates and would have to go and find the things I needed for the house at 9am in the morning. This is not a good time for me, as I have usually been up cooking onion soup for Cafe World on Facebook for two hours and need another three hours kip. The surreal world is more exhausting than the real. So I switched off the idea of moving and decided to stay in my chocolate brown bedroom for another six months. The whole idea was making my gall stones move.

I then went to Damien Hirst's and Jay Jopling, White Cube's opening. Well, I didn't go to his show, as I was very late, but went direct to Hix's in Brewer Street, and downstairs all the famous were there. Mark Hix has opened a delicious restaurant as usual, and I sneakily popped into my mouth some pork scratchings with apple sauce. (I am meant to be on my diet; it is such a bore, but if I am to have room for Christmas, I had better starve.) Among the stars present were Damien Hirst of course, Paul McCartney - who I chatted to about him Oratorio, yes he's written one - plus Matt Collishaw, Neil Tennant and, adding some long legged glamour, Lily Cole. God, I am dreaming of Damien's pink piano with butterflies. Sadly I missed Jay's ex wife Sam Taylor Wood, with her new man, it could have been left over Beatles together.

I ended with a late-night drink at the Groucho Club. Not alcohol, of course - I don't drink - but I'm always game for a gossip and a Diet Coke.

GUINNESS AND FINGER SANDWICHES

I am living in a hotel at the moment, a rather adorable hotel in Chelsea, London. For how long I don't know because last week I found a house to rent. Which was a miracle. The hotel has a mixture of tastes,gothic with Louis Farouk, and all coloured chocolate brown. Unless I remember where I have put everything, I nearly go mad as it is an impossible colour to see anything in. Chocolate brown is dramatic, no question about it, but as all my clothes are black the combination could drive you mad. I have calmed down now as I found 'my way' through Cafe World, Farmville, Fishville and Yoville on Facebook. These mundane games are giving me hope that I can become serence. Indeed in the pouring rain they provide a certain solace. I am now up all night cooking onion soup in time for lunch, feeding the fish so they don't starve and ploughing my fields, however the smashing and hitting of Yoville doesn't do it for me.
Had a tea party at the hotel yesterday, it is so quaint but 11 CADOGAN GARDENS, if you have the patience, serves the most delicious tea, with finger sandwiches, clotted cream and scones. How delicious, I have been on starvation practically for two days, in my books that means only eating once a day, see what a piggie I am. There is a new girl staying here, called Ivana Lowell, and she has written a memoir. Her mother Caroline Blackwood writer, was a Guinness. I have always wondered why they as a family were all so high profile. We don't go around talking with John Smith, the brewers children, do we? Well I learnt why yesterday, it is because they are Irish, rich, interesting, scandalous and some beautiful. It sounded rather like The Damned at the beginning of the film. They evan have a curse. Well I can't wait to read it, and study this illustrious family at close quarters.

I had wanted to disappear for a week end but had to see my sons who were out from school. Charles has dreams of Juilliard and was recording his songs, to try and get in. Plus the paperwork for American Universities is quite complicated.
There are some incredible people on this planet who give up their time for children. Valerie Miller, singer, from San Francisco, and David Price, ex head of music at Dauntseys School, accompanist, helped Charles all week end, perfect songs by Handel, Purcell, Bach and Bellini. The results were good, and these two amazing people gave up their week end to help a child, Valerie coming half way accross the world. Really there are some heros on the planet.

I WOULD RATHER A PINK PIANO THAN A DIAMOND

Back in London is proving to be both exciting and challenging. Its gloomy and dark at 4pm, and in the pissing rain it could give you serious depression. I have been busy trampling the streets for a house to rent. My new one won't be ready until May and probably June at the earliest.
Last night I went to Solange Azagury-Partridge's jewelry opening at Home House. I have been a huge fan of hers for years, big chunky numbers that takeover the hands in gloriously opulent colours. In her collection she has one called Fake Duchess and another real Fake Countess. Then some others based on the Zodiac, all celestial and magical. Yes big rings do it for me, there is something that makes me happy wearing them, but I have no knowledge of diamonds. I get bored talking about them and instead have a passion for amethysts, I remember once Laurence Graff, who owns Graff Diamonds, said "change those amethysts to diamonds". I did not, really because I am essentially English and somehow I thought it very flash to own a diamond. Actually I got one when Johan and I were trying to work at our marriage from Vedura, I have never worn it. I must have at least ten amethysts, in fact my engagement ring to Johan was one. I am also in love with Loree Rodkin's knuckle dusters, and treasure one that looks like a moth.

Apart from the jewelry buzz I bumped into Mathew Williamson who looked like Johnny Depp, really very attractive and apologetic as he had stood me up earlier in the day. I was supposed to interview him for Genlux Magazine. Instead I spent the afternoon listening to music of New Moon, I love it and can't wait to get hold of the piano music, and my piano too then I can play it. I have also fallen in love with a pink piano by Damien Hirst with butterflies all over it. Lady Gaga performed on it last week and all I do is dream about it. I would rather have a piano than a diamond. Anyway it was sold to Gagosian for $450,000 dollars last week at MOCA in Los Angeles.

In the middle of the night I start dreaming of Antony Price, and his black dress I have from when I was 23, I love this dress and hope it isn't lost in the mess of moving. Black velvet its waist was tiny and it went across my shoulders beautifully. So that is why I am going to starve. Where was this genius hiding? I looked him up and there he was designing for Top Man after all these years, that clever Phillip Green has snapped him up. Why otherwise would I be up the escalator at ten this morning. Now I understand why I love this mans collection. Go quickly boys.

After indulging my fantastical whims, I went to the Little Black Book Party at China White, given by Tatler. It is a tradition now. I am really too old to be included, but hells bells it makes me feel good hanging out with the latest crop of eligible twenty year olds. The flamboyant glamour of Richard Dennen in a frock coat and half shaven haircut, made the whole evening, and funnily enough I didn't feel out of place at all. Despite the winter gloom London does glitter, just under ground, and hidden

YOU'RE COOL, I'M A CULT

Yesterday I did a Q & A interview with Couture Lab, an online up-market shop. In one of the preambles, they told me this blog site was CULT - which means all of you readers out there are CULT, too! How groovy is it to share in the accolade bestowed on such figures as Syd Barrett, Alice Glass, Steven Berkoff, and Aphra Benn, not to mention various lesser-known saints. But is it better to be CULT or MAINSTREAM FAMOUS? Would I rather be Julie Burchill alive or Sylvia Plath dead? I think I I would rather be cult, hidden and not really known, with some people thinking I am just a dumb blonde. It's so much easier: you can quietly get on with life and avoid being nagged.

My mother made a huge mistake when I was young by saying that I was stupid in French - but I knew enough to understand what she meant. Well, it's true I have a learning disability when it come to numbers- which is dreadfully annoying, because they jump up and down on the page, and at me, and I simply can't see them - but after her comment, I exploited it shamelessly at school. It gave me an excuse to only work at subjects I liked, and to lurk at the bottom of the top stream. I liked being with the cleverest girls - but if you were too clever, Oxford, or if slightly less clever, Bristol, loomed and I wanted to leave education as soon as possible. I knew I would be all right, and indeed I am. Touch wood.

SHINE THE LIGHT ON ME

When a friend succeeds, I like to bask in their glory too. My very old friend Hannah Rothschild showed a documentary she had made on Nicky Haslam last night, and I loved it. The snobbery (I do love a snob), the old fashioned way of looking at life, Nicky's dogs, the interview with his boyfriend who couldn't cope with Nicky being sociable, David Bailey - who said that Nicky made the Sixties and the Beatles were just some boy band with weird haircuts - it was all so glamorous and yet comfortable. I loved his chairs and the way he goes to Top Man - my favourite shop, where I bought some wizard clothes for my boys, fantastic jackets that looked like they cost a fortune. So, despite my friends being critical of the programme, I loved it. They felt it could have been more alive - but that is the problem with being interviewed by friends,because they can't go as far as they would like. They don't want to lose the friendship. You can't show Nicky having a temper. (I am sure he doesn't, but if he did it would make great television.) My only other criticism would be that Nicky used the word "meal" , which I hate more than any other. It's definitely common, to use his favourite word.
By contrast, there is reality television which is so ghastly - or dull - that I dread evan turning it on, particularly in America, where I haven't really properly watched the box for the last 15 years. However, last week, in Los Angeles, I caught a show called Sex Addiction with Doctor Drew, and was only saved from dying of boredom was a girl with monstrous plastic surgery, who has a sex addiction to her husband. (Actually, I would have thought that was a good thing.) Then there is another who wouldn't get up until a glass of orange juice was given to her - which I sort of understand, as I have to have my espresso brought to me every morning. She had a temper tantrum when asked to remove her make up. Everybody was vile and especially Dr Drew. So, as these are the only bits of television I have watched recently, I can definitely say that I would rather watch an Englishman any day - and especially one so talented and amusing as Nicky Haslam. WELL DONE  HANNAH AND NICKY, Hip hip hoorah, for the Englishman.

HERE LIES AMANDA ELIASCH

Why is it so tricky for us to tell the truth? Why are there so many lies? I wake up and lie. If someone says, 'How are you?', you don't really want to say, 'Well, I have had the shits all night and I am ill.' No, so you lie. If people ask you to do something for them, you tend to say yes because to say no sounds so rude - and then you lie again. Today I saw the man who was giving me his tickets for New Moon tomorrow. It was a film I wanted to go to; the premiere was going to be good. However, this man had sold his tickets (so he says) for triple the price without telling me. Then he lied. He would have rather fallen out with me then told me what really happened - if it did.
I also lied today. Last night, I had the most brilliant time with the relatives of some American prophet - and it was so interesting, I couldn't be bothered to go to the MOCA after-party. I just wanted to concentrate on what I was hearing. So today I said I had gone, and hoped the people who had asked me wouldn't notice. Lies, lies, lies - everywhere we look, no one tells the truth. Tell a lie, we think, and keep a friend. 'I love you' is another lie. It feels comfortable. Quite honestly, I don't know what I think, but it's hardly ever' I love you'. You know what, I don't believe anything people say, now we have confused politeness with dishonesty and used lying to make ourselves look snow white. I also don't believe anything I hear about anyone,. Well,I believe it and I don't believe it. I just listen to my gut feeling - and if I find I am checking on someone, I dump them. I evan lie when I say I love you, but as I have no more feelings, I fake in order to feel, so I lie.
Lying about my weight, my clothing expenditure, the men I see,the people I like, the books I read, so many and its only 10.30am in the morning,,, How many have you told?

NO I BORE YOU TO TEARS, no you don't. THE MOTH THEATRE, "ADULT ENTERTAINMENT" Directed by Martha Gehman, by George Walker

I have realised that since it is two yours that I have been on my own, all the men that have come into my life are completely flawed, and unliveable with. They may have charm, character,intelligence, money good looks that sound all right on paper, but they were also very selfish, cheaters, ungenerous, miserable and depressed. They were not worth leaving my husband for. I don't regret them, and there were good times, but I won't miss them either. No my life has to change and I will start with thinking only happy pure thoughts. I am in Los Angeles, and amongst the rotten agents and wheeler dealers, there is plenty of spiritualism going on. Whatever that means because all of us including me have so many faults. To match my faults will be impossible. So I shall first learn to deal with my loneliness. To cope with peace, silence and my heart beat, to listen to my fear instead of filling it up with clutter. I am generally a happy person, obviously with moods like everyone else, but I don't want to bore you to tears with that. No, I think chaste is the only way to go, and quite frankly anything physical leads to tears and disappointment. Woman just want too much and men don't want at all. I wish I was a man. When I think of them or any particular one they are waving good bye, so if I do "the secrets" this should stop. The fact is I am completely useless in relationships, and spend most of my time in pain rather that in love. The only love story I really enjoyed was one which was one hour every three weeks, that way I didn't argue. No I have to change.
Of course I was fine when I went out last night to a play on Melrose in Los Angeles, in fact chirpy. On finding the Moth Theatre, for a play by George Walker, called Adult Education, everything seemed to change. It started with "I love you" and the girl saying You're a good liar and ended with "I love you" and she said "I love you too" In between there were tales of continual human destruction of two couples intermingled by chance.. I was put in the front row which is a dodgy place to be put in at the best of times. Of course I felt very intimate with the sex scenes which were quite violent and abusive. The actors were totally believable and well cast. Jan Milewica as Donny a drunken and abusive policeman and husband whose wife played by Melissa Stephens as Pam, kicked him out for his infidelities with hookers. The energy he gave the part was moving and she was equally moving. Greta Seacat as Jayne a washed up lawyer, having an affair with a Donny's policeman and partner. Washed up and sexless, she was suitably aggressive and sexy unsexy. Dirty clean. Max, acted by Gary Evans was entirely professional. Feeling exhausted and moved by two couples, I left and quarrelled all the way home in tune with the play. Not boring in the least.

DEAR FATHER DEAR FATHER.

Bloggers all seem so surreal. Do people really exist? Could I pinch them? Something about the internet is still so far fetched for me that when I meet a fellow blogger I want to test them to see if they are alive.
Last night, I had a most delicious dinner cooked and given by Julie Anne Rhodes, Nick Rhodes' ex-wife - Duran Duran blah blah - who, I can report, definitely exists, lives in West Hollywood and writes a blog that you can easily follow. Her house has a Snow White feel to it, with large leopard skin chairs and beautiful paintings. (She obviously loves leopard big time, and had some very camp chairs dotted around the place.) Meanwhile, her aubergine dining room looked so cosy as the back drop to her home-made food. We started with an asparagus soup and ended with quite the most delicious fat-free, gluten-free cheesecake ever. Conversation was Hollywood and the Kabbala followed by wonderful ghost stories from a friend of hers, whose house had been haunted.
I know all about being haunted. A few years back, my late father arrived, his ashes in a box, from the States. As I hadn't lived with him, I wanted them near me. However, my housekeepers told me he was haunting the house - and I told them they were mad. Then, one morning I'm listening to a CD of my son singing, go downstairs to change it and find that what is playing is the Verdi Requiem. But Charlie was singing Mozart only a few minutes before! So I go upstairs and the same thing happens again. Again I go downstairs, and I think I'm going to go mad. I ring the housekeepers and they say: 'We told you, your father is haunting the house.' So I go to Julie Laverne, the friendly witch, and ask her to get rid of him. She comes over and says: 'Go up to the box with your father's ashes, hit it and say, "If you don't be quiet, we'll scatter you down the street".' And do you know, I never heard anything again.
As for blogging, I think my father, Anthony Cave Brown, would approve. He was an old-school Cold War writer, when there was fear in the world - which he delighted exporting through the newspapers. Well I am here exporting love through blogs. Farewell, father, dear father.

DARLINK DO I ROCK

Some people are an inspiration first thing in the morning. I am pretty good because at night, without booze or drugs, I fall asleep promptly at midnight to awaken around four am. That is when I work. This morning I woke to the dulcet tones of my great friend Rushka Bergman: 'Darlink do I like alright? Do I rock?' She certainly did, with her diamante Balmain jacket hugging her petite figure and her racy legs all ready to march through the corridors of Beverly Hills. She once told me: 'Nobody takes you seriously, you're too rich' - all within a three minute conversation - 'and that top makes you fat.' Oh dear. I immediately took it off. We're sisters Darlink, more than sisters, and indeed she is. 'I rock, darlink,' she says. And so she does. Her muscled legs prancing, she gracies the pages of Vogue magazine, her inimitable style better than any catwalk model's. She believes in clothes and so do I - up to a point. We both love them, photography, film and hard work. I met her through the Katy Barker photographic agency, when I had to find a stylist, and she was - and is - in my opinion, the best in the world. She combines her knowledge of art with enthusiasm and natural creativity. Yesterday, she was making a T shirt with broken glass so it could reflect images.

I am still in Beverly Hill where, at the moment, it is cloudy. The real estate market shows little movement, so there are plenty of bargains for those with energy and cash. Also, I have learned that the locals hate doing things up, which is good news for me as I love it. Meanwhile, I have been working for Genlux magazine. It has been so much fun, running up and down Rodeo Drive, choosing beautiful clothes for my page, I got an amazing coat from Louis Vuitton and some fingerless leather gloves from Chanel. I felt I was rocking, too, with my hair a la Brigit Bardot. Starry starry night.

FARMVILLE ROCKS THE MEDITATION WORLD

Forget sex, forget a quick drink in the evening, definitely forget friends, and forget children. I have a new passion, and guess what it is? Farmville, the agricultural computer game. I really don't want to go out in the evenings or to watch television; my life is centred on my virtual farm (and my new craze, Paradise Island). I now worry about whether my trees are well tended or my plants bringing in enough cash, and I have to say I don't feel at all ashamed about this surreal experience. It is better than any meditation - and a wonderful guide to other people's characters. I think every boss should ask their future employees to make a farm. You can tell if people are imaginative, practical, obsessive, timid, lazy, neat - in fact, you can even tell if they steal. (What else could explain those types who greedily pin in their animals, collecting as many as possible?) Personally, I don't have any animals at all, and aim for prettiness. But I must admit, some of my neighbours are incredible. The star has to go to Jennifer Nicholson who is seriously funky and a hoarder, while the astrologer Zoe Moon has the best bedroom on Yoville (the urban version). Of course, many people would be put off Farmville, because it is serious commitment - you have to look at least twice a day. Meanwhile, if you play Yoville, you have to deal with a lot more than planting and harvesting. (I haven't got to grips with it yet, as it involves hitting, punching, kissing and - I think - gambling, but I can't work it out.) I am envious of the amazing collection in Jennifer's virtual apartment, and wonder how she made it so special. Is she spending her own money? As her prospective boss, I would want to know. But actually, as a boss I would not employ anybody who liked these games. I mean, why aren't they doing some work?

The October Edition - Genlux magazine

Earlier, I told you about this friend who followed me around in true stalker style, filming my every moves. Well, he was in fact filming a video portrait of yours truly for Genlux magazine. This is the 8 min video that came out of that.



Amanda Eliasch is a London based photographer, who writes poetry passionately and who spends her time mostly between London, Paris and Los Angeles. She is fashion editor for Genlux Magazine based in Los Angeles. This video tells us more about her world and how she embraces fashion in the age of twitter, facebook, blogger and the Blackberry

LUCIA MICARELLI MAKES GENLUX SPECIAL

Some jobs I really wanted to do as a child and working as a Fashion Editor was one of them, luckily I got my chance when GENLUX magazine in Los Angeles asked me to work for them. Today was bright and sunny and they were shooting ravishing Lucia Micarelli the Violinist, the photographer was Marc Baptiste, the stylist George Blodwell, the editor at large of Genlux. There is something terribly exciting being on a photo shoot, with the perfect light of Los Angeles. Dressed in a Franco Kaufman dress Lucia looked stunning.

MANNERS? WHO HAS THEM?

What is it about guests that like to move everything and change everything. My scales to my horror have been altered, they now weigh me in kilos instead of pounds.. Obviously they had no idea of my eating disorder, this has sent me into a panic. It took me 25 minutes to change them back. Why is it that friends feel totally able to drink Champagne out of your fridge without replacing it or bring guests back without asking. I would never do this in another persons house without their consent. Manners seem to have gone out of the window.

ONLY GOD KNOWS I AM GOOD

Well, I have just arrived in Los Angeles from New York and feel there is nowhere on the planet quite like this.. I feel rather tossed about. New York was a crazy whirlwind. I was staying at the Gramercy Park Hotel, which felt like home, rather dark, cozy baronial feel, busy like the Costes in Paris with some very sexy porters. Then there was Tracey Emin's show, at the Lehmann Maupin Gallery, which was probably one of her best, loved one or two pieces. If you think she has gone soft look again at her masturbating, in a series of drawings made into a video. She will have to go a whole softer if she is going to become a Dame. I am so fed up with obscenity and aggression. It was followed by an after party at a pretty Viennese Restaurant in Greenwich, called Wallse, with violins and delicious grub. Of course not quite enough for me. Tracey feels like home for me now, I know just what to expect, everything was beautifully made, and I want to own the whole show. Tim Noble and Sue Webster were there and some other loyal subjects from England. I made friends with Frank Gallipoli, who told me he has collected a lot of paintings from Charles Saatchi. I should marry a man like this. But hell there is no pinning me down just yet. I was thinking I would like someone who liked art as much as I do, so we could collect together. I have just entered my house Los Angeles and the huge skull I bought from Phillips du Pury last year dominates the whole drawing room. I think I have rather over done my love of skulls.

I also managed to learn enough about hair extensions and what they should look like. The same weight as your natural hair and very thin, at the very stylish hairdresser John Barrett. His team created a new Amanda in under one hour. His salon is huge on the 9th floor of Bergdorf Goodman's. His is a great friend of mine.

My brain is capable of taking in great amounts of trivia.

I went round to a friend's house who I won't mention as she said that if her name was once more in print she might scream. She is into saving fish.. There won't be any left soon, which will kill us off too. This sent me into a panic, and now I shall try and be vegetarian one hundred percent.

TIE DIE

Tie die your

colourful love

into me

sew into my

skin

your precious

memory

so I never forget

the complications

of your soul.

ALL IN A DAYS WORK

I had to get up at 4am in Paris to get the 8.30 am to New York, hells bells it was hard work. I didn't sleep a wink, awake all night with half an eye on the clock ready to jump out of bed promptly. Coughing was also a problem, and despite every conceivable pill I am still not 100 percent.

I have to stop shopping, I said this a few weeks ago and did little about it, but I am seriously sick. I managed to whip into YSL at 7.30am and buy a fabulous coat. Sick Sick Sick. I need help, it is worse than any eating disorder. If anyone sees me in a shop I demand that you all say NO, GET OUT OF HERE. My love for Balmain, Alexander Mcqueen, and Chanel has to finish as I have no room for anything.

I got on my Air France flight which was comfortable, although a man snored all the way there,a big fatso. The good thing about being on a flight though is that you are trapped for hours so after a small kip I watched Julie and Julia, Meryl Streep selling us her Cordon Bleu Cooking. I did a course at Winkfield, a finishing school in Windsor, when I was 18 where I took double the ingredients and ate half of them raw. It gave me a huge eating disorder, leading to me putting on 2 stone which took four years to lose. It had sweet moments, the lobster boiling, her appetite for sex, looking slightly ridiculous.

I really fell in love with Coco, about the early life of Coco Chanel. Audrey Tatou is so adorable and really I thought it would be very bad and it was incredibly moving. I cried all the way through. It of course fed my love of clothes. It made me think why do men like geishas? Will I ever learn to shut up. I loved the scene where she gets evan and cuts her lovers tie, so sexy as she slices it in half. Skin is skin shut off he light and feel. I loved Coco's total disregard for flowers and feathers. It was touching romantic. Have you ever been in love, I always knew I would be no ones wife, not evan yours. Better a mistress than a wife. Love, it never makes me happy, it hurts hurts hurts.

I now see I have to change in so many areas, I am extravagant, romantic and foolish. With so many interests I have to be more practical.

I arrived in New York only to be stopped again at customs, I wanted to scream, it smelt of urine.

Its too much. I have NO INTENTION of living here in New York.

Thank goodness for my friend John Barrett's hair salon in Bergdorff Goodman. I was given a complete overhall, and with seconds looked ravishing. My hair looks stunning and the make up stopped me looking exhausted. Wow this is the sort of pal we all need and makes springing out of bed first thing well worth it.

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

I wish I was better at keeping to plans, but I like to be a little bit flakey in fact I hate being pinned down, Of course I like to pin down with drawing pins, but if any one tries to do it to me I could scream. Today I have received 11 messages about this evenings plans from one girl, who changed everything, only to take another invitation completely and luckily I don't give a damn. Then another girl says she has meet her parents and that takes another 5 texts. Yesterday I was sent one of those texts which tells you to send it on to another 9 friends and something special will happen. I sent it to Tracey Emin who said " I know you mean well but the money would have been better spent" Well she is right..

Actually although I love my girlfriends, I really hate going out with them because invariably they too change their plans.. I like to be free, to be in the company of men. I trust them a whole lot more when it comes to these things. When they say they will ring they do. The same with appointments, they keep those too. I am the one who likes to change. I think its the excitement of what is coming next. As for text messages I only love my little love messages, the others take up too much time. As for the noise of some peoples mobiles it is a nightmare. I keep mine only on silence. So girls watch your manners and remember what granny said, take the first invitation and save money cut down on texts.

Now I am off to New York to see Tracey's show... "Only God knows how good I am" Love it.

PROUD TO BE BRITISH, HARROW SCHOOL BOYS RUNNING THE LONG DUCKER. FLU AND DAVID ICKE

I did not stay in bed this Sunday in the pissing rain. Instead I got up and went to see Charles my son run for his school, for the last time as he is in the final year, the famous Long Ducker, a ten mile run from Marble Arch to Harrow on the Hill. I was seriously impressed by him, it is voulantary. He is not exactly sporty though he has ability and no fear. As a singer, a counter tenor, he should evan have been careful, as he is also singing the Mozart Requiem tomorrow. There was something wonderful about being British, the beautiful park with golden leaves evan the rain, and about 50 loyal parents coming to cheer on their sons with hopefully good futures. I was full of pride watching them set off, Charles in his borrowed gym shoes, that he said were very old, gold and black Nike trainers, and his Paul Smith pink and black socks. The sentence on his back should have been in Latin, but here we are in the modern world "Proud of the past, living in the present, looking to the future" I hope this can be true. There was something magnificent about the boys running altogether along Hyde Park Corner.

On the other hand with those words lingering in my head, I still have the flu, and when I got back I couldn't stop coughing. Lucky I am healthy. Well reasonably, because I have never been so ill and it isn't swine flu, so the doctors say. Well all flu is bird and pig flu influenced. I got back to read David Icke who had sent me his blog. It says very clearly to do not have any jabs, that they have created a deadly version. As I write this most of you will say yes yes yes, he is crazy, well so far he has been right on many subjects, so perhaps we should all read him and realise we are being set up. What has happened to our dreams of creating a beautiful future for our children, and why do we as people allow others to ruin it? Lets all wake and be counted and start the TRUTH PARTY, before more requiems need to be sung.