Say Something
So when our lawyers said we’re throwing a party we were like yes and when they said we’re throwing a party in St Paul’s Cathedral we were like yes we’ll be there with church bells on. To say Sir Christopher Wren would be thrilled to see how his precipitous stone monument is faring would be an understatement. His crypt has never looked so good in neon light! It’s the largest in Europe and tonight it’s the flashiest. Architectonics. A cleverly orchestrated joyful bricolage, a dextrous project. Elegiac unbridled luxury. Below the nave, under the deodar, there’s a vibrant microcosm of London’s societal elite. The aesthetic of the axial is experienced even at this subterranean level. Crazy capers midst the vaults. The food stylists have been on overtime. We’re with Nancy Mitford’s character Paul Fotheringay in her 1932 novel Christmas Pudding, “‘Ah! Hum! Hem! Yes!’” That brings us on rather nicely to Lady Sybil Grant who went off to heavenly climes in 1955. She was a voracious writer and determined designer of ceramics. In later life, she spent much of her time in a caravan or up a tree, communicating with her butler through a megaphone. Segue over, the style of the party is beginning to reach for a contemporary baroque. Clients proposing utopias. Lawyers banishing chimeras. Sometimes life really is an esoteric panoply. More Veuve Cliquot, anyone?
