Paddy Renouf

Paula Reed, Gerri Gallagher and Annabel's Berkley Square

'You're better at working the room than me Dex' exclaimed DES over the loud chatter in the darkest corner of the drawing room at Annabels. 'I mean I'm a bit worried about the farm stains on my jacket...'

As two of the 'most eligible people in the country', courtesy of being labelled so in Tatler's Little Black Book'.....we were having a laugh in Annabels at a party to celebrate and thrown by the magazine. It was all slightly embarrassing but it was also great fun.

Everyone at the party was single and it was hard to believe so given that they were so attractive! It was lovely to see Pippa Small, who is anything but, looking resplendent decked out in layers of her beautiful jewellery and with a sparkling smile...we had explored working together on a project with glass last year. Emma Hope and Catherine Goodison looked wonderful.

I sat next to Paula Reed, Style Director of Grazia Magazine who is very beautiful as well as very intelligent. Paula said she envied my job and would love to expand hers to include some aspects of what i do. I could certainly do with a dresser for myself let alone the clients! On the other side was Gerri Gallagher, Associate Editor, Tatler.  "What's  the 'slightly vulnerable' description given in my profile based upon and what does that mean?"
"Oh my God!!' she screeched......"That means you're poor! I told my secretary to put me next to a really eligible one and she goes and puts me next to a poor one...!!'

"Well at least you're up front baby!'
"Sure, I'm like really high maintenance......I've got standards'. We then danced the night away like teenagers..

Sophia Hesketh was chatting away to George Barker who I hadn't deem since I went on a love bus with a bunch of hippies to Agde, by accident 18 years ago. It was good to see all the different age groups and catch up with Tommy Adeane and Malachy Guinness.

I shared a taxi away in the very early hours. It was a fantastic evening with delicious food, very good quality champagne and love wines...new really did have a blast.

scotts and The Claremont club

En route to Annabel's I popped into the Christiana Soulou opening party at Sadie Coles HQ on South Audley St....a lovely set of drawings based upon Les Enfants Terribles.... Walking from there to Berkley Square I stopped to speak to Sean McDermott, the legendary doorman at Scotts on Mount Street........ Nigella Lawson arrived with her advertising partner, Maurice Saatchi and then sat at an outside table to be joined by that bloke who played 'Eddie Shoestring' with his wife who is apparently furious with him because he's been seeing the hat check girl on the set of his new movie...

I toured the Claremont Club above Annabel's....the main gaming room is jaw dropping and you have to be prepared to put down and play £250,000 to use it.

Bravest niece, the most eligible people the country and an invite to Annabels

The next morning it was wonderful to have lunch with my two nieces, Rachel and Alice Renouf. They came to see my father and brought lunch for him.

Rachel has been suffering from leukaemia for over year despite the doctors giving her an only 5% chance. She was up-beat and defiant and full of positive thoughts and conversation. I am certain that she has days when it must seem impossible but that day she was un unbelievable inspiration. She talked with courage about life, death and the after life. Alice brought framed photos of her children, Dadda's great grand children.

It was a strange moment to be told that you are one of the most eligible people people in the country! An email arrived from Shig, the head concierge at the Haymarket Hotel. He'd read about it that morning in the Tatler's "Little Black Book"...... I had been invited to the ball that was happening this very day at Annabel's but I didn't know that I was listed. Then I saw my friend Desmond   MacCarthy was in there too.... He was described as 'genuine eccentric with the most romantic house in the country'....I was wrongly described as a 'concierge who could arrange anything, witty and well connected and a little vulnerable'...... Vulnerable in Tatler speak means 'this one comes without an estate'.

'Bloody hell!' cried Des 'How embarrassing, when's  the party?'
'Tonight, at Annabel's ... I know your doing something with pigs but just get down here...let's make the party fun'
Two hours later DES rings.'I'm on the train Dex,' (his nick name for me) 'hope the lights aren't too bright, my dinner jacket's got terrible stains. I think some one used it to wrap asparagus!'

Erik Lorincz, The Savoy and LIZ Hoggard

More Fabulous Cocktails
Erik Lorincz lived up to his reputation as always when he made us cocktails in the American bar. I was able to meet the  officers who had returned from Afghanistan, some without limbs, to get them to try the drinks I had been boasting about. They were definitely thrilled.

Afternoon tea in the River Foyer at the Savoy is another adventure. Served with great flourish and quite some drama it's like being in your own production of Murder On The orient Express. The service throughout the whole hotel is warm and thoughtful.

New Hotel Suites
Liam Lambert gave me a wonderful lunch in Massimo's last Friday afternoon and then the Head Butler, Martin Louw, gave me a guided tour of the new two -storey suites in The Corinthia Hotel that are quite dazzling. I went back to the Savoy with my two nieces Katie and Tamara Renouf and Katie said that Erik Lorincz's Basil Martini was the best drink she had ever had in her life. She needed them to help her cope with the beef stew I took them back too and which my father had kindly put on to heat up and had unwittingly boiled it....

Singing and art
The local is still closed from the fire but on Sunday night I went to The Old Staionary Office in Barnes to hear Nicola Clark singing. She has a stunning voice and does a very funny turn and Dadda sat at the back, singing along. In the interval I looked at her paintings and impulsively bought an oil of a Dapple-grey horse being taken out on the flats. I like it but don't have a clue where it's going to go.

Liz Hoggard's Book Launch
Tuesday night saw The book launch for 'Dangerous Women', given by Clare Conville, Liz Hoggard and Sarah Jane Lovatt in Notting Hill was a resounding success with 300  people going through it's doors. The food and booze were lavish and excellent and it was probably the best book launch I have ever been to. Philip Mould told us about his next secret for his BBC tv series . Murray Shanks and Daisy Goodwin caught up over the Ken Turner scented Candles whist Adam Jacot worked the room like a pro. Nick Ashley brought his beautiful daughter Lily who I hadn't seen since she dropped me at the airport in Nice at the End of the summer. Will Self didn't come up with one word I had never heard of before and the last guests left at midnight. A few of us scuttled off to finish the party at the Electric, where we drunkenly munched on fine cheeses, red wine and champagne....perfect just before bed after an expensive taxi ride to Barnes.


  

Bronchitis, the disappointment of St Pauls and the fire of London

So this the fourth day that I have croaked and spluttered despite the antibiotics and paracetamol.

I struggled out for a meeting with Kiaran MacDonald, the General Manager of the Savoy and floated my way through the affair...he was debonair and charming as is befitting the role of one of the most distinguished hotel management positions in the world history of hotels. Kiaran has an effortless charm and humour and commands enormous respect from his staff and guests. I am looking forward to working with The Savoy even more closely.

On the way home I was amazed to find that the Tree House, my father's local was smouldering like a chimney pot. From the upstairs windows there was a torrent of thick black, toxic smoke and down below it was like business as usual....fires alight and pretty candles everywhere. Except it was abandoned...no one inside, just one of the bar staff holding open the door, yelling 'get out get out' towards the ceiling. Across the road there was a large number of screaming people saying the same thing. I stopped and asked the barman who was inside. It was the waitress I knew and she was upstairs doing what she could to fight the fire. This was maddness, a kind of misguided loyalty and looked positively fatal. It looked safe enough at this stage to have a quick look and get her to her senses. I realised later that she is not stupid, she was just caught up in a panic and disbelief at what was actually happening in front of her eyes. I rushed in and it was a surreal zone of timelessness, as though time had been suspended. I rushed to the back and into the stairwell. Thick black smoke was swirling down heavily and with my heart in my mouth I started to mount the stairs. She appeared coughing and spluttering and fumbled down the stairs and we rang to the front door. Bizarrely, I went back and sped around knocking out the candles....the fire in the fire place was roaring far too well to even intervene and the flames were efficiently going directly as they should up the chimney...here a decorative and welcoming fire and up above a fire that was destroying the building and ruining livelihoods .......it was only as I was leaving, having had the the full adrenalin rush, did it dawn on me that I was the one with bronchitis and a temperature. One couldn't have invented a more inappropriate place to be. The fire brigade arrived minutes after and everyone was safe.

I slept well and work up to the depressing news that St Pauls Cathedral had been closed because of the campsite in what used to be the old grave yard. This iconic location, spiritually and physically, that had survived the civil war, the Puritanism of the interregnum, the rebuilding in the 1660s after the fire of London....thatched seen riots, housed terrified townsfolk during the raging fires, had housed soldiers and horses and been a refuge in times of extreme distress....had closed because of a few contemporary protestors camping at the base of the stairs.....!!!!! They should have been offering their loos and support...instead we have health and safety issues from the wettest management team since before the reformation. During my confinement I have been reading Leo Hollis's book 'The Phoenix' about St Pauls and the men who made modern London.... What a feeble and depressing set of current managers we have....

Talking Turkey in Whitehall, The Ritz and Windsor

As I arrived at the Corinthia Hotel in Whitehall the sunlight flooded in and the lovely grey and cream marble looked expansive and warm.

25 journalists straight of the plane from Turkey were unpacking before joining us for lunch in Massimo's - the lovely Italian restaurant. Waiting for them I was delighted to see Liam Lambert again  he is the Chief Operating Officer of this wonderful new hotel...... I last saw him as the General Manager at the Mandarin Oriental before he went to run the Oberoi in Delhi two years ago....now here he is back to run one of the most talked about places in town.

Everyone was in town to see the CEO of Turk Telecom receive his award from "World Finance Magazine" as Telecom's CEO of the year! This was arranged at the London Stock Exchange......and one day later it was occupied by the demonstrators from what looks like an increasingly global movement against the banks role in making so many countries bankrupt...

Mama Mia for some and shopping for others. I took the CEO and his two aides around the Churchill Museum...one minute before it closed and then it was  a few cocktails with Erik Lorincz at the American Bar at the Savoy....stylish and elegant as always....then onto dinner at the William Kent private dining room at the Ritz.. I had forgotten how incredibly opulent and beautiful it is. Within 24 hours of being asked, the Ritz had decorated the room and provided Halal food for 26. The splendour of the room, the silver guilt of the placements, the paintings and elegance of the tail coated (complete with silver studs) was from another era...and the service was excellent and charming..

The following morning we walked around Whitehall, on a brilliant sunny morning, every bit as majestic and grand as Rome. We looked at Inigo Jones's banqueting hall and the spot where Charles 1st was executed....London was showing itself off.

We arrived at Windsor Great Park and saw Windsor Castle from the Great Walk...a staggering sight. A quick tour and rather original Halal lunch at the MacDonald hotel in the high street. The blue badge guide, Ian Godfrey, coped brilliantly withe diverse party and once I had recovered the lost luggage from the day before off they went back to Istanbul after an exhilarating 30 hours in London.

I am now I bed with an appalling cough, manuka honey and listening to Diana Athill, with whom I'd travelled in a glistening Bentley to the 1st Voewood Literary Festival back in August, talking about her new book.....

Dalai Lama in Pollensa

It is 11.00am and already 28 degrees in the main square in Pollensa. Surrounded by English speaking people from all over Europe, the two german women at the next table appear to be making up after a holiday- fatigue induced spat. The museum of modern art has a collection of garish paintings from the 60s and perhaps most odd of all, a sand painting that was created during a visit by the Dalai Lama in 1990.....it is mesmerising in it's intricacy and fineness.

Last night ELISA Segrave threw a party at the villa and we were again joined by the two English artists. My charge managed to half finish a landscape whislt I painted the vista from the terrace.

The judge and the potter writer left this morning. I had a swim at 1am with her in the brilliant moonlight...so clear that again you could read by it...no artificial light in the entire valley. When they left for the airport I learnt that the judge not only didn't like music, he doent like kissing either so Elisa had to settle for a handshake.

If the charge gets up in time we intend to take a picnic to a little cove and swim in the sea. The drive to Formentor was so steep that I started to get vertigo....I can see why Agatha Christies loved the jeopardy....

Painting challenge in Pollensa, Mallorca

The end of summer beauty has been rudely interrupted by shutter crashing brutal winds and rain storms. The colours are still beautiful but the landscape has changed character...the melancholy spirit of the hills is being blown aprt and made more more dramatic. 

My charge is an interesting young man with Aspergers...and we are yet to find an equilibrium that will allow him to produce ...he goes from docile to mania in a short time and his medication is not fool proof. This can lead to confusing the fanciful with the true... The sharpness of the vision goes sour or muzzy...and the clarifying drugs, if taken to excess, end by making you either muddled or megalomaniac..

This is my challenge today in Pollensa. The sun is up bright and early and I have just climbed the 417 double steps that rise steeply from the Church of The Angels to the Chapel of Calgary overlooking the city and out across the valley to Formentor in one direction and the bay af Acudia and onto Can Picafort beyond. In the square the village idiot is acting out a scene from some imaginary drama. A few stray but affectionate dogs and some mangy cats.

I will return to the villa shortly, after my coffee, to see if my charge has finally managed to get up in time (this is the 4th morning) to catch some of the exquisite morning light. Also in a slumber is a writer, who has just completed a book about a potter,  her husband who is a judge and who unusually cannot abide music in any form and I think especially classical. This is curious and I think stems from Eton days......though god knows what went on to give him such morbid dread....the mind boggles.

The flies are irksome and relentless. The usual poseurs...as found in Kathmandu, Goa and the Portobello Rd are sitting round the square full of an air of self importance as they pretend into their smart phones. Still they make a change from the other English taking photos of the Market and squirming and clucking at the sacks of live snails and marvel at raddishes the size of apples.

It was good to meet a house hold of artists staying in a villa nearby...a very elegant and fragrant homestead.....I was ashamed to see that in their 80s they had produced so much in the same amount of time as we had spent attempting to come up with something. They had been on the same flight though they were delayed a full hour in the airport as one of them had followed me after our brief introduction and all the rest had been looking for him -fearing the worst.

Yesterday was Market day and after that we attended Mass in the main church. A magnificent baroque/ renaissance rocco number in full darkened splendour after the brilliance of the Market outside. It was well attended and beautifully sung though I daresay enough to give the judge a full on panic attack. There was a beautiful moment when a young girl dressed as a bride was accepted into the church by making her first holy communion. It was moving to share her special moment as the family and friends snapped away with their mobiles and cameras.

Now I am off to the bakers and into the hills to sketch...  

Mallorca in the Autumn

It's wonderful to find myself out here....it almost feels like Spring and we arrived yesterday afternoon. On the outskirts of Pollensa...so pretty and colourful and the house is surrounded by lime, lemon and olive groves...it is still hot and the mountain ranges beyond are epic and forested.

Here to teach painting for a week to Nick Barrow and his mother, ELISA Segrave. Henry and Tanya Harrod arrived today. Tomorrow we are going the the monastry to enjoy evensong.

As in England the countryside is brimming with fruit...with the persimmon dropping heavily from the branches like mortar bombs... What a lovely time to be here..

The beauty of the hottest October day on record

Dunno if it's true, but I what I do know is that the stunning weather of the last few days has shown England in a light that I do not remember in my lifetime....

After a leisurely day on Thursday when Sally Prideaux took me for a late birthday lunch at The Petersham nurseries cafe for lunch ( incidentally this has now gone mainstream....even had an add on Facebook!). What a charming and thrilling place to be. Though I now see that they have creche and play area...and this means that even more ladies that lunch can now lunch. Though really they should just call it a nursery rather than a creche or would that be confusing. Earlier we walked through Richmond park and I was delighted that we had it to ourselves....couldn't really believe that half the world hadn't thrown a sickie...and a few herds of deer. Being the rutting season the bark of the stags and the feigned indifference of the hinde were fun to witness. The dropping of the acorns and the muffled thump of the dropping conkers lent a fairytale element to the whole excursion.

I then went into town to meet my Turkish Agent at the new Corinthian Hotel in Whitehall to plan the visit of the next client. 30 rooms and one suite for a three day visit in mid Octber. It is going to be quite some adventure. From there to Waterloo by Boris bike on a sunny afternoon is a lovely way to leave London for the w/e.

Two days outside Lymington as guest of Michelle and Chiggles Sopher on the best two days of the year is about as good as it gets......the pool, which is delightfully situated in a field was warm and yet refreshing. The children clamber about the place and young Casey took me for a cycle ride down to the Solent. We marvelled at the beauty of some many things.....the abundance of blacberries, rose hips and apples. The wild ponies that wander free, the cattle, the donkeys and birds of prey. Autumn is a busy time and in the woods there was again the constant plopping and erratic thuds as acorns and conkers fell to the mud below. The pheasants and livestock too fatigued by the heat to do much more than surrender to idleness. All this illuminated by brilliant sunshine that was at moments so intense that it was as if some film director had had it lit up. Everything was showing itself off in the exhilarating light...even the midges and horsefly looked like something out of a Disney production. Casye had a lemonade in the pub to my pint of Pims.

On Sunday we celebrated Issac's third Birthday with a brunch as 20 or so local friends gleefully splashed about. In the evening the children took instruction in Hebrew from the Rabbi who arrived with honey and apples.... When I left at 7.30 I was the only person on the train from Lymington Pier to Brockenhurst. One other got on at Lymington Town so I moved carriages...

Zuma .....fast food made elegant

Murray Shanks and myself were truly impressed by how busy Zuma was at 9.30pm on a Monday evening. The rhubarb martini's were delicious but bearing in mind that the table was not ready and the length of time it took to get the drinks it would have been kind to have offered them on the house.

Our hosts Carina and Patricia, two Maronite Catholics from The Lebanon, couldn't have been more generous and gracious. They are certainly very pretty and turned the heads of several diners at neighbouring tables....one of whom was the racing car driver Lewis Hamilton. He couldn't have looked more the part and radiated a superstar easy charisma.....he looked like a genuinely nice person as he hosted a table of chums. He was calm and attentive and one or two of his friends kept their hats on which still makes me feel uncomfortable even though that's the fashion.

After a descreet call for help from the assistant manger the pace of service stepped up a gear but you cannot rid the disappointment of the first impression. We were left at the tablenand felt neglected. I could see my hostess slightly deflated despite the wish for us all to overlook it and have fun

The food was a moments delicious -one or two dishes being among best I have ever tasted anywhere. But it is a place to feast rather than linger and chat.

I recommend it as a place to break fast and in a greedy way rather than go for romance.

Skiffing on the Thames in January

On an unseasonally sparkling day in January it is still possible to day dream your way out of the humdrum and dull London post Xmas and New Year.

I have just spent two days skiffing along the Thames. The Skiff is a canoe that is made out of oak and chestnut, designed by the Vikings and the model I was using is 120 years old. It had the patina and quality of another era and ones very contact with it was nothing less than a pleasure.

With all the rain recently, the Thames was high -high enough to submerge the banks and blur the boundaries between river and flood. This made my journey from Henley to Marlowe all the more picturesque and dreamy....albeit a very chilly dreamy. We cruised down river at a comfortable 5 or 6 knots riding the flood current. Here and there are whirlpools playing on the surface. The water at times angry and bubbling, the colour of milky coffee and then whole flooded meadows that had the appearence bays of mercury. Inches from the water you are on nodding terms with the wildfowl who either don't see you, probably can't see you or simply assume you are one of them. Quacking ducks, gurgling fast-running water, reflected sunlight, fresh air and church bells. The tiny but sturdey gas ring happily casseroling the partridge I took on board.

At night an attractive green canvass is streched over hoops along the length of the vessel (about 18ft) and a bed pack is spread along the beautifully varnished deck and this is where you sleep, gently bobbing on your mooring. That is if you are nuts. I stayed in the hotel du Vin in Henley and the second night at the Old Bell in Hurley. The first served superb Lamb shanks....slightly dreary looking but delicious in flavour, in the yellow bistro style brasserie. The second served the best fresh crab I have ever eaten on slices of apple and thin saucers of Alexander.... The red mullet was cooked as it should be to perfection. The rooms at the hotel Du Vin contrasted with the dining room. More president of the student union meets conference hotel atmosphere and decor. Harsh edges, metal painted black and vast beds that shred your shins. Staff were friendly though.

The Old Bell on the other hand is shaker meets Edwardian shooting lodge. Rooms spacious and simple. The bed and linens were the best I have ever slept in outside of Cairo. A stroll down to the Thames in the morning was a delight and the village is pure Miss Marples.

If you're mad enough and want an adventure to get you out of the rut, call Tom Balm of Thames Skiff Hire. Tom is fun and enthusiastic and mad enough to cope with anyone who expresses an interest in tradition camping holidays that might involve a boat. Let him tailor make a trip for you and you'll think differently about the Thames for ever.....it can be like Vietnam or Kerala, magical and beguiling and absolutely enchanting. He can even do all the rowing.

We wait

Am I the only one to be amazed by the experience of being made to sit on a bus?

If I am travelling in from Barnes, I take the 209 to Hammersmith. There is usually the dilemma at the penultimate stop....should I get out and walk towards the main station ....thus avoiding the scrum that the bus engages in the chaos of the roundabout....or should I be more chilled and sit it out and let the bus carry me into the terminal. I am pushed for time but the mature part of my character tells me to chill and stay put.

Then the bus doesn't move. The driver makes a meal of being officious with his paper work. The traffic moves past and freely onto the roundabout. We are left as if broken down. Apparently the bus is 5 minutes ahead of target so rather than us being grateful and get in ahead, we are made to sit in a lay-by with the clock ticking..doors closed, looking at the final destination 200 yards away.

Am I the only one to find this unbelievable?

Cannot wait to go olive pick in France next week....

The Lady has done a year - Rachel Johnson's Book Launch

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!

Garden of Eden and a Haunch of Venison

Strolling along after a very good luncg at Cecconi's in Burlington Street I couldn't resist the temptation to go into the fabulous galleries behind the RA called the Haunch of Venison to look at the fantstical work of Joana Vasconcelos..... its free and its spectacular. You have to wander behind the curtain in room 5 upstairs to get what I really mean....its another one of those unexpected and thrilling things that you stumble across in London these days.

BP Portrait, The Vista Bar, Bar Boulud and Chelsea Physic Garden dining

'A portrait is a painting that has something wrong with its mouth' said the portraitist Nicky Philipps before she commenced painting me for the portrait that she successfully entered to the BP Portrait Award at the National Gallery. She was maybe covering herself before she completed my portrait, but in this case she was wrong.



However, for me as an artist it couldn't have been more true. My patron said they loved the portrait I had completed, but 'wanted something done about the mouth'. This was some weeks ago and yesterday was the first time that they had been able to sit for some months since I'd delivered the finished product. I was happy with it but now I'm not sure I am after the changes I've now made.

It was a tough way to spend the morning before I retreated to Bar Boulud at the ground floor of the Mandarin Hyde Park. It was like entering a spa after the chaos of getting there. Cool calm and collected and beautifully run by Paulo who had been persuaded to leave the Wolseley to launch this new and wonderfully impressive restaurant.

In the early evening I met Liz Hoggard outside the very attractive new maze in Trafalgar Square...what an inspired and original project....heaving with tourists getting lost just like they had all day in the real streets of London.

I quick ride in the lift of the Trafalgar Hotel (corner of the square and Cockspur Street) took us up to the Vista Bar on the roof of the hotel to provide us with cocktails on the roof. The view is totally original and will become a classic in time to come. It provided an even more impressive view of the maze

After the sudden and dramtic downpoor - driving rain we scurried away like a scene from the Poseiden Adventure (more the decor than the water) to immediately arranged tables in the bar on the ground floor.... I was most concerned about our dinner in the Chelsea Physic Garden that Liz had booked for 7.45pm to be ahead of those more committed hoticulturists who where there to attend a lecture before their dinner at 8pm.

What a special and fun dinner it was too...lobsters served simply and probably the juciest that I have ever known more than a few hundred yards from the sea let alone central London. The service was personal and caring and not without charm... We were in a tent with a sense of occasion...like being at a wedding but without the need to leave our quiet table to make conversation with other guests.

After dinner drinks were has a stone's throw away on board the beautiful yacht MY Deborah as guest of our host Ben Gordon.

A lovely London evening