DAY DAME JOAN FELL FOR MY YOLK

DAME Joan Collins had to abandon a dinner at the Arts Club in Chelsea after a drunken diner threw a bread roll at her. She doesn’t have much luck with food. Once, she had supper at my house, and I – thinking I was being frightfully ’phisticated – served quails’ eggs with the drinks. Unfortunately, in my nervousness at hosting a national treasure, I undercooked them. The soft yolk exploded down her pristine silk shirt. She was, of course, unfailingly polite about it. But she’s never come back.