Okay, I'll do a fuller report on the weekend later, but as I was strolling down King's Road yesterday (I'm nostalgic for Chelsea, nostalgic for Sloane and the King's Road flat that I called my own - thank you Readers Wives) I saw this fantastic old geezer chatting to a girl with a camera, while he was apparently begging on the street. He was dressed to the hilt and had a sign that included the following printed line:
"Can you spare 50p towards the cost of a cup of tea and Viagra?"
Sir, I salute you!
Chuckled to myself as I tripped down the road for a while after that one. Chelsea really is full of mad and insane people. I think inside me there is a little bit of a Sloane-Ranger, and wandering around there is as close am I'm going to get to letting it out. Forget the pretty young dullards with too much cash floating around saying "yuh, yuh, absolutely" into their mobile phones. It's the crazy old folks that I love. The 60's hangovers that drift around, pretty much owning the place.
I was in The Chelsea Kitchen a while back - one of my favourite places on earth ever since I was a kid (and that has nothing to do with my inner-Sloane. The place is an institution and rightly so.) - with Damascus. We were sat behind this riotous couple. He had thin hair dyed an intense black, cravat, huge 70's specs and skin the colour of walnuts. And he didn't speak. She had back-combed hair, a black polo-neck and heavy makeup apparently applied with a shotgun.
In short, they were fabulous. And her voice. She would make the Royal family look common. It was chic gone to total ratchet and, dammit, nothing was going to make them change. It was only about noon but I'm sure she was half a bottle of cooking sherry down.
Turns out the woman sitting at the table next to them had known them vaguely in their former glory (from Charles Street hotel in Mayfair. I mean, please, stop it.) They obviously had no clue who this woman was, but she was not letting them go. It was brutal, hilarious and full of pathos. And bathos too, I suppose. What I wouldn't give to know what their backstories were...
It's a strange part of town. posh, but with bits of shabbyness that make it interesting. I always think I should be in a Beatles film or The Avengers (God Bless Brian Clemens) when I'm there.
Anyway. Enough. This is beginning to sound sychophantic. Posh and bonkers is what it boils down to.
Gotta run now. Meeting a friend in Soho for cocktails.
(Yes, yes, I know. Forgive me, but it's just such a great thing to type... chin-chin!)