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| Jonathan King |
Their venue of choice was London's Le Gavroche. Yet le menu exceptionnel appears to have been the least of it as two (shall we say) monster egos tussled over whose (er, ego) was the largest of them all. Or to quote JK in his message to Madame Arcati: 'Upon boasting about my achievement [presumably of reaching the No1 spot in Amazon's Pop Culture Kindle chart with his memoirs 65 My Life So Far], I had to suffer his numerous No1 positions in every known chart in the Universe.'
Personally, I should have drowned Fry in the watercress soup, but JK bore this onslaught with magnanimity. As he says: 'Oh dear. But he is a lovely person.'
Naturally, their date could not go unnoticed. JK reveals: 'We then had a very loud disagreement about the value of language and the abilities of different species - as we left I apologised to the other Gavroche diners and a lady said, with a huge smile - "Absolutely brilliant"!'
I wonder who settled the £600 bill. [Answer from JK in comments]
PS - JK adds in a private email - 'I had lunch with Neil and Christine Hamilton last week [See photo]; Anne Robinson a few months ago; Jane Moore next week - real friends don't desert - even when one becomes a Vile Pervert!'
15 comments:
Pity it wasn't filmed.
Pity I forgot my semtex.
Bloody celebs
I can recall a time when the mere mention of King's name excited a huge troll-like reaction on Arcati. Now scarcely a murmur. Proof that the only way to wear down the tabloid-minded is incessant nagging.
Sadly the £600 was mine! Stephen always offers and I refuse. I very rarely bet on horses but a dear friend (Deniz - one of my editors on 65 - his photo's in the back) gave me a £10 bet on the Arc de Triomphe and I picked Danedream which romped home at 25-1 so that helped.
Last time I was at Longchamps race course in Paris lunching with friends a lady came up to me as her party was leaving and asked me if I was an actor. "Oh no", I replied (this was mid 70s). But she insisted on getting my name and contact as her boss was a film director called George Roy Hill and, having seen me camping and cavorting at the table, he wanted me to star in his next movie.
Back in London there were numerous calls and meetings but eventually his Producers insisted on an older man (I was in my 30s) so he went with his second choice - Laurence Olivier. The film was A Little Romance. I've always cherished the fact that the only time I was ever wanted as an actor, I was first choice above Sir Larry.
"Is it safe?".
It's not in the book (neither is most of the rest of my life) but a sample is.
JK
xx
Gavroche - makes me feel broke!
I took the opportunity to view Le Gavroche with a 360 view as invited on their website but could see no King or Fry. In fact the restaurant was empty. Ghastly bourgeoisie decor in sickly green but the food looks yummy.
Presumably King gives a run-down on his own website as to every morsel eaten.
What next ?. Gary Glitter dines with Peter Andre at The Greenhouse?. I hope. We must keep the Daily Mail alive.
Darling, after that bill I AM broke (there were three of us - Paul Gambaccini was my other guest that night).
They did very kindly give us a free magnum of champagne when we arrived but, since none of us drink the stuff, we sadly had to refuse it.
I like the turn of your mind, Keith.
If I edited a newspaper supplement (once again) I would have a regular feature called Dining With The Pariah: the standard Q & A would factor out the irrelevant observations of the upstart hack in attendance. Mr Glitter would certainly be on that list as would be Andy Coulson. However, even among pariahs one must learn to discriminate.
I'm not quite sure what to make of the Mail's astrologer.
Love Gavroche's web site, very stylish. But surprised they don't publish all their menus. Not that I speak Italian.
Why has MA become a fan club for fallen or unknown heroes? Once upon a time you slayed the villians of Fleet St and ran authentic gossip. Now you lick arse. A very sad indictment of our times when a once respected blogger turns into Hello! - Or Hello Sailor in your case.
I'd love to know what the two gentlemen ate. Do you trhink you could prevail upon Mr King to spill the beans?
Madame has never licked my arse, no matter how much I may have begged her to do so. As for Paul Dacre's Left Testicle - I thought he'd lost them both years ago and they were safely pickled in a bottle on a luxury estate in Scotland.
Messrs Fry and King cannot be seen in the 360-degree views of Gavroche because it was shut when the pictures were taken.
Don't think I've forgotten you.
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