I love awards ceremonies, but I draw the line at Venice. I’m not going to pay Quintessentially five grand for a ticket, to sit with a bunch of Italian bombs in some tight dress that is two sizes too small for me.  Especially as gate crashing with Tim Willis was much more fun.  He  is of course much more daring than I am. He wanted to jump queues, and catapult himself into the banks of photographers.  No, the best way to meet a star, I said, is to  sit in row one of an aeroplane.  This we did and and I was right. Tim started to chat up Colin Firth.  He was extremely gracious, with a lovely smile. There some confusion and Tim thought he was Barnaby Thompson, who makes the new St Trinian films. Haha I thought now I can get a ticket, as my grandfather made the original ones.  But in all the madness, Colin and Barnaby do look alike, and in any case it was a good ice breaker.  We then asked for tickets to Tom Ford’s Film, A Single Man - for which Colin eventually won best leading male, as he deserved to, since it is heart rendingly brilliant.

We met up with both Tom Ford and Colin just before the latter took the honours, the frazzled PRs specialising in confusion, to make things look even more important than they already are.   And through the madness, we stumbled on two other friends - Rick and Michele Owens. What a couple they make; nobody could be more exotic than Michele,  nor more hip than Rick, the  daring, stunning designer who makes wearing wool and leather a stylish affair. We’d had dinner the night before at Bellamy’s for the opening of  his new show in Bruton Place. Rick made simple designs out of chipboard and turned them fabulous with deer antlers. I had been invited by Oscar Humphries, who really knows how to give a good show.

The party afterwards was nearly as much fun as tripping up the red carpet with Tim, since I was sitting next door to number one raconteur  Nicky Haslam. The genius decorator has just written a biography which, if he writes as amusingly as he speaks, promises a lot of witty tales. He tells me that it is perfectly alright to give yourself a title, and my son Charlie thinks so too. He has even given me one. It’s far too exclusive to tell you lot - but remember to curtsey when you next see me.