New York
A funny thing happened to me on my way out from a party on 17 November in London. I was temporarily confused until I ran into Naomi Campbell in the Royal Hospital Gardens. She was carrying some packages into her car and offered me a ride. ‘Are you going on to Andrew’s?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Hop in, I’ll take you.’ We chatted away and I reminded her how she had once applied a vice-like grip around my neck when I was about to leave the dance floor and decapitate a poisoned dwarf, who had thrown a missile at me. It was a private party in a private house and the poisoned one had issues about his ex-wife and myself. ‘My God,’ I told Naomi, ‘lucky for me you don’t enter senior judo tournaments for men.’ She smiled sweetly and kept her eyes on the road. Did I put the moves on her? At my age sports cars are not the best venues for great sex, so she lucked out.
Once at Onslow Gardens, and about to join our chairman in his digs, Naomi came clean. ‘I’m Phoebe from The Spectator, but not to worry, I’m flattered,’ said our very own Phoebe, who happens to be much younger and just as sexy and beautiful as the divine Naomi. Score one for liquor. Once at Andrew’s, we joined Charlotte, Toby, Louisa and Rod, as in Liddle, who during a rather drunken conversation revealed something only drunks admit to. He has never had the urge to play around ever since he married his present wife. He sounded believable and not corny at all. Yet Rod was one of the people who gave us the nickname ‘Sextator’ a while back.
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