Diary – 16 June 2006

I feel something of a gooseberry as Mikhail Gorbachev and Margaret Thatcher sit snugly side by side on a sofa in the upstairs room of The Ivy. They are sort of flirting, bonding over old times and cold climes as the magic of their relationship is quickly rekindled. At one moment they clutch each other’s hands, giggling at how they fought their corners in their early talks at Chequers. It is moving to see such intimacy and warmth between these two old titans who together with Ronald Reagan literally changed the world. My fellow hosts, Evgeny and Alexander Lebedev, and I all fade into the background as the Iron Lady and Gorby really only have eyes for each other. At 80 she has lost none of her predilection for scoring points, a sort of political love-badinage. ‘Of course, it’s a good idea: it’s science,’ she harrumphed. This was a dinner organised for Gorby the night before the launch of his cancer charity founded in his widow Raisa’s name. ‘How effective is research?’ she asked, Paxman-style. ‘Has there been a direct reduction in deaths linked to the amount of research?’ she volleyed. Direct talk and direct eye contact at all times.

Mid love-in, Bob Geldof and his girlfriend Jeanne Marine arrive, his tousled hair and scruffy-chic linen suit in contrast to Maggie’s honey-coloured helmet and chic pearls, diamonds and velvet. ‘Lovely to see you, Mrs Thatcher. So Mikhail, who’s going to win the World Cup then?’ he asked. A few minutes later Fergie, David Frost, Salman Rushdie, the Hollywood actress Claire Danes and Andrew Neil join Gorby and his daughter Irina and two pretty granddaughters for dinner. Quincy Jones arrives unexpectedly. Fergie had breezily told him at a drinks party earlier to drop on by. He comes with a posse of seven.