Shopaholic desert

At dinner the other night in Washington I was sitting next to Robert Redford. Actually, this is a slight fib. I was in a restaurant called Nora’s – which, incidentally, was the first organic restaurant in the capital – and he was at the next table. He is a man of stature; that is, he has heights attached to his shoes. He was also the polar opposite of butch, rather stringy with bad skin.

My friend and I wondered what he was doing in Washington. Obviously not dining at the White House as Mr Redford’s political proclivities tend to the left-side. We guessed he might be lending support to Hillary Clinton’s campaign for, erm, herself. Will she run for president? The general view is that she will not.

She has vowed to serve her full term. But there is always a possibility that Mrs Clinton might do what Robert Kennedy did. Kennedy vowed to serve out his full term too, then, on the grounds that ‘the people’ needed him, reneged on that promise and ran – that is, for the White House. At least, if she does the same, Mrs Clinton is unlikely to be shot, though some of us would like to have a try.

Talking of social habits, Washington is a surprisingly informal city. There are no gilded restaurants of pretend grandeur, and no Ian Schrager hotels. Nor is there an equivalent of Bond Street or Sloane Street. The most attractive part of the city is Georgetown, with its painted colonial houses on sloping streets. Ben Bradlee, of Watergate fame, has a house here. But there is little for shopaholics to do; which makes a nice change for my bank account.

Washington, apart from being a city of politics, is one of superlative galleries.