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In typical Haus style, the whole thing had a shambolic feel - unbeknownst to my potential host for the evening, I had foregone a trip to Sweden to celebrate the New Year an hour early, and thus was available for her dinner party, but I only thought to ring her about it on the day. So, although I was invited, to have arrived wouild have involved an odd number at table, and that could never do - 11 at table on New Year's Eve at a curatage? I think not. Suggestions that we downgrade someone to priest's cat were disrupted by the realisation that there was already a priest's cat. So, a quick trip with friend to Silver Moon, the women's bookshop, and thence to the British Museum to check out Anthony Gormley's Field for the British Isles, which rocks incredibly hard - somebody remind me to start a thread in Art, Fashion and Design, if there isn't one there already. Since there was a little time before closing, I popped through the Egyptian galleries, then burned through from the Cycladic to the 5th Century very quickly before wandeirng back through Soho, scoring a bottle of Sauternes from Nicolas (helping drunks to fall over since 1882). Then quitness, The Faculty (Flyboy's recommendation finally taking effeect), a brief spasm of Auld Lang Syne, and an early start on Jan. 2nd without a hangover and in my own home, which was a refreshing change.
I must be getting old. But not so old that I can't worship Grant's whiskers as the god they are. |
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