The East End is today recovering from Friday night when it became momentarily infested by a non-indigenous species. No, not rats, but cats, Fat Cats to be precise. The historic Wilton’s Music Hall near Wapping was beset by the moneyed and boring imported from their lush Kensington palazzos to “live dangerously” by taking in something artsy fartsy.
Quintessentially, the “Bespoke Concierge Service” (i.e. a members club that gets you invited to parties, serves as your trendspotter and picks up your dry cleaning) hosted the party that featured a cabaret show imported for one night only from NYCs new legendary nightclub, The Box. The titled twats (or their sprogs on retainer) watched the racy stage show agog. It included strippers, dildo-deep throating and a mini-skirted, muscle-rippling, double
-D toting Shemale who inserted the bottle of Jack he’d been sipping into his bum. Those Trustafarians never knew what hit them.
An Olsen was there(Mary-Kate? Ashley? You got me!), in a Morticia Addams frock (Hallowee
n’s a fortnight away, luv) and Jemima Khan. But I was less dazzled by them or the on stage freakery than the audience’s pomposity.
One bloke simply could not get it through his head that I was not in attendance to report about him and his social life, and repeatedly told me to “get out my pad and pen” when he was explaining who’d shagged whom in his social circle. In awe-inducing grandiosity he said I was witnessing “an historic moment” of West meets East. Yeah, I’ll log that one right next to the Battle of Waterloo.
In fact, the convos I had topped the anal boozing by a long shot.
For example:
Convo 1) Twat 1:“Honestly, if Leonardo diCaprio and I were in, say, Uzbekistan, where they don’t have television, and he and I were just two boys, I’d win. Hands down, I’d win. I’m much better looking.”
Convo 2) Twat: 2 “Yes, that’s right, this ‘B’ is for Balenciaga. Check this ‘D’ for Mr Dior, my shoes are ‘L’ for Lanvin, my tie’s ‘G’ for Gucci.”
Me: (trying to keep a straight face) “You certainly have a lot of style.”
Twat 2: “No, girl, I’ve got a lot of money.”
It was the first party where several young men responded to the query, “So what do you do?” with “Nothing.” At least they’re honest.
Comments