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.