Diary

22 November 2008

The daughter and I spent the last few days before the American election in Arizona.

The late Michael Reynolds — his portrait of Bernard Haitink is in the National Portrait Gallery — was described lovingly by Brian as cantankerous, aggressive and often foul-mouthed. Well I’m rather partial to a monster. Also, Michael founded the Discerning Eye, a charity that gives artists from all over the country a chance to exhibit at a major show of British art.

The exhibition is sponsored by ING. I noted its CEO was wearing a tie, but most of the young ING turks in the room were not. I mention this because the past and the new chairmen of Discerning Eye later gave a dinner at the Turf Club and wisely between them brought along a dozen ties. It still wasn’t enough. Dress codes have become very confusing. ‘Is that your own tie?’ I asked the grey-haired professor of dermatology I was sitting next to. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘The government won’t let us wear them any more.’

I’ve been a devoted Spectator reader longer than I’m prepared to admit. Suffice to say that as a junior newspaper executive I persuaded Jeff Bernard to bring the then editor Alexander Chancellor to lunch at the Ritz; wonderful for me, doubtless embarrassing for Alexander. But he wrote beautifully. I knew he wouldn’t disappoint. Similarly, the daughter who’s lived in Manhattan for the past 17 years and knows hardly any British journalists, adores the work of A.A. Gill and Rod Liddle. So at the magnificent Spectator party in Mayfair in the summer, she was thrilled to bump into Adrian at the entrance. We then went in pursuit of Rod. Emma wants to meet Rod Liddle, I kept saying to other guests. To a man they would pull an ugly face and ask why. Finally we spotted that mop of unruly hair and pushed forward to say hello. As Emma observed later, ‘Interesting, isn’t it, that he was completely surrounded by beautiful young women?’