Awaiting my unpaid spy Fish to file her party report on Nicky Haslam's 69th birthday party at Parkstead House, I read Anne McElvoy's dispatch in the Standard: it doesn't sound as if she had the happiest of times. Normally a dry but shrewd political pundit, who says 'fesses up a lot to get down with the kids, all she can do here, below Warholy pics of Zhandra Rhodes, Paris Hilton, Bianca Jagger, Andrew Logan et al, is draw a comparison between the lavish decadence on display in Credit Crunched Roehampton and the Great Gatsby's West Egg party prequels, before the Great Depression.
I wonder if Anne wrote her piece (in her head) before or after she attended the do. I know what I think.
The only amusing thing she has culled from the bash is Nicky's response to her dull question about how he manages 800 personal friends. "Lists," he replied. And then, changing the subject, "Have you met Paris?"
On a final note for now, Madame Arcati is distressed that Nicky preferred the company of Norman Lamont - who "jitterbugged" (I hope he wore a chins bra) - to mine. I shall tackle him about this should I have the pleasure of encountering him at the Green Carnation.
See the Telegraph's film of the party .... click here. (See the Duchess of Ferg karate chopping Bob Geldof just after some nonsense talk about the children of the world not having a voice. Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Gatsby)