The Country Life party was such a hoot – sparkling with scads of girls in pearls...
... though I wish I’d washed my hair, and not been quite so shiny
Iknow I may strike some of you as a lightweight sort who flits from social gathering to social gathering, perhaps dashing off a column in between drinks parties before slipping on a pair of heels and heading to a Mayfair club for the evening. But the truth is, I’m more often writing at home in my fingerless mittens.
That said, Claridge’s was absolutely heaving last Tuesday lunchtime. Lunches, do you remember those? They’re the delicious little punctuation points between breakfast and supper that we used to take away from our desks, sometimes even in restaurants. I’d been invited to this specific lunch by Country Life, which is celebrating its 125th anniversary this year. A few months ago, readers may recall that I wrote about being photographed for the magazine’s “girls-in-pearls” page (that issue is out in September, for those who want a good laugh), and this was a posh lunch in the hotel’s private dining room to kick off the magazine’s celebrations.
There was a smattering of It girls and some glamorous 60-somethings who’d been girls-in-pearls in the 1970s. There was also Princess Alexandra (85, magnificent bonnet of hair), who first appeared on the page aged two in 1939, a short, stout figure beside her big brother, the Duke of Kent. No pearls on either of them, then. They’re in very ironed dungarees and gazing uncertainly at the camera, having moved to the safety of the country after war broke out. As it happens, the Duke of Kent (86, very dapper suit) came to Claridge’s last week for lunch, too, having apparently discovered that his sister was off on a jolly and asked if he might come along.
I felt I rather let the side down, since I didn’t know royalty was coming and I hadn’t had time to wash my hair that morning after my damp walk around the park. I’d simply scraped it back and hoped for the best. I also arrived late, on account of the Tube strike, and flustered after quickly changing my shoes in the ladies’ loo from trainers to heels that always give me blisters. How do other women appear at events looking so composed? My face was shinier than a field-marshal’s shoe.
As entrances go, I felt like our Prime Minister, blustering his way into a G7 meeting: “Cripes, chaps, so sorry I’m late and forgot to brush my hair. Where am I sitting? Oh, here. Marvellous, marvellous.”
I wasn’t the only agitated guest. “Quick,” hissed my friend Pippa, rushing up before we sat down. “I’m next to Princess Alexandra, but do I curtsey before I sit? And what do I call her? Is it Your Grace or Your Highness? Or ma’am as in ham or ma’am as in palm?”
“Just call her darling,” I advised, since Pippa calls everyone darling. She looked unconvinced, but slunk away to her seat.
Fortunately, I was sitting quite a long way down from the HRHs, opposite a young actress, where we drank champagne, and the subsequent wine, and ate the scallops and the lobster risotto, and cackled with laughter without (totally) disgracing ourselves.
“It was good of you to come from across the park, given today’s Tube problems,” quipped Mark Hedges, the magazine’s editor in his speech, before smiling at the royals. They beamed benevolently back.
What a hoot it was. What a treat, and Pippa didn’t disgrace herself, either. After lunch, as everyone stood and mingled, murmuring their goodbyes, Princess Alexandra’s charming granddaughter offered reassurance that she wouldn’t have minded “darling” a bit. For future reference, she added, it was “ma’am as in jam”. A useful nugget of intel for us all.