Gstaad
I went to a wonderful party, three days of a non-stop feast. Although not at the Palace, mere hoi polloi were excluded, in theory at least.
There was no sign of a Kate or a Mick — they must have forgotten the date. Actually, they were not invited, but Topper (who no one could say is a pleb — well bred is his motto, or is it well fed?) was there, as were Freddy and Minnie and Lolly and Bunny and George. I couldn’t have liked it more.
Sorry, Sir Noël, but I write this rather hung over, the Muse having silently slipped away in the snow at around six-thirty this morning on my way home. Some 430 swells flew over the Atlantic for Philip Radziwill’s marriage to Devon Schuster, his childhood sweetheart, a romantic but spectacular wedding in the snow-covered village of Gstaad, where the groom’s parents have a chalet.
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