Distant days

As the super soaraway Spectator becomes ever more style-conscious and glossy, I like to think of ‘Olden but golden’ as a monthly oasis for the scruffs, drunks and wasters among the readership.

It is, of course, possible to be all these things while presenting a glamorous façade to the world. The smart society hostess may well be a secret Janis Joplin fan who in the privacy of her own bedroom drinks Southern Comfort from the bottle and howls drunkenly along to ‘Ball and Chain’. That slick-suited, impossibly rich hedge-fund manager, heading for the City in his chauffeur-driven car, may secretly long to be Keith Richards, not just because Keef is even richer than he is, but because Keef has obviously done some living and our young financial friend secretly fears he hasn’t.

Everyone is welcome here, but those who spill gravy on to their shirts at smart lunches, still secretly believe that smoking is cool and have been known to wake up of a morning with a filthy headache and a wiped-out memory are the most welcome of all.