Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Tuesday, 2 September 2014
A growling of Lamborghinis
H.I., Daughter and The Boy. I took this photo prior to the cake-dropping ceremony in the West End because all I could think of when I saw them - wine in hand - was Ab Fab. It is often like this, especially in London. I bought her that Armani coat for her birthday.
Daughter was reminiscing about her childhood when we were there, as she often does to people who do not know her that well. The gist of it is that she was not allowed to have a childhood - both parents were too cool for that.
Daughter was born in London and brought up in Soho for the first four years of her life, her mother having fled Sheffield to go to the Slade to be there.
I remember her insisting on calling her parents 'mummy' and 'daddy' when she was about 8, even though they tried to encourage her to call her by their first names.
She always wanted a Christmas tree when she was a kid too, but the only concession to this was when - one year - parents bought a very abstract, white, tree-like apparatus which folded up like an umbrella when not in use, and it was not in use for over 51 weeks of the year, and even then only used once to my knowledge.
She has made up for it over the last 40 or so years now, and her real trees are the largest that can be fitted into her house and laden with massive golden balls, tinsel and all manner of designer gee-gaws bought at great expense on a small budget.
Last year, she bought about £200 worth of scented candles as well. They both swear that they are NOT fashion victims, but you should see them going in and out of all those shops in Bond Street. The expressions on their faces are somewhat disturbing.
They came out of one shop just before the cake incident, and D said, "I've just found a gorgeous jacket for Mum. It's only £15,000."
Her voice was all but drowned out by the sound of a Lamborghini Diabolo growling past at 4 miles per hour.