After the hallabaloo caused by the magazine's owner in her interview by Matthew Bell in The Independent, the mob were baying for blood at the reception for Rachel's book launch.....At one end of the room was the antagonist, Julia Budworth, seated and brooding, surrounded by smirking supporters....at the other end the object of her vitriol, the 'social climbing, visually impaired snob, male genitialia obsessed' and Editor of her family magazine, Rachel Johnson. As a natural fighter, born into a family of pugilists and show offs this editor was empowered and thrilled by the very public challenge of the thrown down gauntlet.
The elegant townhouse that is home to The Lady, was like a cross between Allo Allo and St Trinians last night. Joan Rutherfords giving the nods to young fogeys who could have passed for young Arthur Daley look a likes. And was it crowded? Crammed behind Victorian partitions we heaved and jostled with '50s furniture groaning under the strain of deposited laptops and Ipads. Post exam/end of term students waiting for our parents whilst favourite matron who we all secretly fancy, makes her cheeky speech.
Rachel was resplendent in a glitter ball dress and looked beautiful with her stylish new haircut....a veritable cheerleader amongst the gently steaming and sartorially drab classmates relieved to be from the rain. The lighting made it hard to see properly, but across the class room I could make out the mayor, Boris, resplendent in cycling kit and trusses up like a dancing bear....."Are you cycling"? asked Johnny Boden displaying remarkable powers of observation. Nicky Haslam was charming as always, congratulating me on my pupil's art work, Andrew Barrow drole, AA Gill a kind of society version of Jeremy Clarkson and what he calls 'The Blonde' who knocked a glass of red wine over my lovely shirt (they were so enjoying themselves they didn't even have time to notice). Rachel mounted one of the 50's desks and explained that Mrs B hadn't gone far enough in her diatribe and added a few more qualities of her own to the description. Mrs B nodded in appreciation and acknowledgment!
D
No nibbles and rather good wine. Everyone left pondering whether it's true that any publicity is good publicity. We will have to read the book!
The elegant townhouse that is home to The Lady, was like a cross between Allo Allo and St Trinians last night. Joan Rutherfords giving the nods to young fogeys who could have passed for young Arthur Daley look a likes. And was it crowded? Crammed behind Victorian partitions we heaved and jostled with '50s furniture groaning under the strain of deposited laptops and Ipads. Post exam/end of term students waiting for our parents whilst favourite matron who we all secretly fancy, makes her cheeky speech.
Rachel was resplendent in a glitter ball dress and looked beautiful with her stylish new haircut....a veritable cheerleader amongst the gently steaming and sartorially drab classmates relieved to be from the rain. The lighting made it hard to see properly, but across the class room I could make out the mayor, Boris, resplendent in cycling kit and trusses up like a dancing bear....."Are you cycling"? asked Johnny Boden displaying remarkable powers of observation. Nicky Haslam was charming as always, congratulating me on my pupil's art work, Andrew Barrow drole, AA Gill a kind of society version of Jeremy Clarkson and what he calls 'The Blonde' who knocked a glass of red wine over my lovely shirt (they were so enjoying themselves they didn't even have time to notice). Rachel mounted one of the 50's desks and explained that Mrs B hadn't gone far enough in her diatribe and added a few more qualities of her own to the description. Mrs B nodded in appreciation and acknowledgment!
D
No nibbles and rather good wine. Everyone left pondering whether it's true that any publicity is good publicity. We will have to read the book!