Art Deco. How it conjures images of jazz and cocktails, beautiful cars and shimmering evening gowns. One inevitably reaches an age in life where every mortal, whether a Duke or a dustman, begins to yearn for a bygone age. As civilisation becomes uncivil, as travel becomes a squalid experience, as BBC newsreaders become politely ethnic, as dressing up becomes dressing down I find myself dreaming of the glam and glitz of the 1930s.
Brasserie Zedel in London is a veritable time-machine that waltzes one back to those halcyon days. Its evocation of Deco is magnifique and warms the heart of my little cockle! The entrance lobby is a statement, the restaurant rather wonderful. However, the jewel in the crown, for me, is the Bar Americain. It simply transports you! I dragged the Duchess down there and she was soon purring in my ear. One does not drink Peroni there. We sipped heavenly cocktails and talked art, architecture and orgasms.
Why no dress code, though? Such a bore. We were both looking resplendent but there were a few plebs in this temple of glamour in jeans and t-shirts! Rather depressing, but then a tall, pretty lady made an entrance in a lovely gown and a white fox stole around her shoulders. No really. It made our day.
Been glued to the box for 3 weeks absorbed in the Olympics. Who needs Viagra? It's done wonders for my sex life! Endless amounts of pert bodies and heroic acts aplenty. Jessica Ennis should be made a Dame. She symbolises all that's great about this small island of ours.
Call me a heel but I fail to grasp the point of the Paralympics. I sincerely have every sympathy for those who find themselves disabled, but the whole idea of an Olympics for the disabled is crass. Tell me, who has the edge in a 100m sprint? The blind man, the man with artificial legs, the man with artificial arms or the man with celebral palsy? Tough to call. Or simply not necessary.
I was just on my way over to Savile Row for a fitting on a new tweed jacket. Anyway, I bumped into Lord such-and-such in Bruton Street. He's an old and dear friend of the family. He invited me to shoot some grouse up in Scotland. I may be a Duke but I haven't gone shooting in years! I'll try to avoid peppering his a**e with pellets if at all possible. My tailor was happy, too, as I ordered a nice pair of plus fours to go with the jacket. Better get my Purdeys serviced.
That reminds me, my new P.A. Miss B has agreed to let me take her to dinner. Delightful girl.
More anon
The Duke of Snarlborough x
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