Beverly Hills
There is a global village, but the bad news for the environmentalists is that it is bound together by hatred of rising fuel prices. My cabby in London says exactly the same as the driver who takes me from LAX to my hotel: £1 a litre, or $3 a gallon, the outrage respects no borders. We are the world, as the song says — and we demand cheap gas.
To the Beverly Hills Hotel, where Elton John and David Furnish are throwing a party for Dylan Jones, editor of GQ. It is a beautiful balmy night and the guests spill out into the hotel’s famous gardens, where the scent of orange blossom and bougainvillea mingles with spicy Hollywood gossip. Inside the candle-lit Polo Lounge private dining-room, the hosts mingle attentively: David says that Elton misses the cold weather in England, and that one of the few fixed points in their itinerant life (Vancouver tomorrow, then New York) is room service.
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