There is a new underground movement, or may be it has always been in existence. London is having some incredible parties in hidden places. Probably better than the flash pash easily disposable ones that end up in Okay, Hello and Hola with photographs of awkward looking celebrities wishing that they, like Elizabeth 1 when confronted by her sister Mary, could disappear into the floorboards. Real glamour, I discover, is tucked away in all sorts of corners of London.
Last night Martha Fiennes and Gerald Blazevie hosted a small intimate dinner at the Westbury Hotel with a select group of friends in aid of nothing, just to have a good time.
Intellectuals, wits and stars sat together eating the most delicious food, for example delicate portions of ham egg and chips followed by beaf with chopped up apple and thyme. The room was vibrant alive for once without the huge brands and charities behind them. Grace Jones kissed me and greeted me warmly, Patti Smith looked happy in the company of Ralph Fiennes and Sabrina Guinness, Christie Brinkley, and Martina Navratilova, and Michael Barrymore dapper in an aubergine coloured suit and turquoise shirt. Sitting next to Julie Myerson, novelist, was fun, I love her rampage on teenage behaviour.
It taught me I don't need to fly half way round the world for excitement, it's actually on my doorstep..
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