Snotting Hill

I think I must be the opposite of agraphobic because I was out again last night. This time at a very hard to categorise event called     5 X 15,  held monthly at the Tabernacle in Notting Hill Gate.

Blame Rosie Boycott. It was her idea to get 5 people to talk an a subject they are passionate about for 15 minutes in front of a paying audience  of rich and influential  people, most of them with a W11 postcode,  who can listen whilst drinking wine  and striking  a pose. A Snotting Hill night out.

Last night Deborah Moggach opened proceedings. She is the author of Tulip Fever, one of my all time favourite books, and  talked about her mother the murderer.  Miss Moggach did well. She was like a heavily sedated Jilly Cooper, and her story was fun.

Deborah was followed by Tristram Stuart a dishy freegan and pig farmer who eats from skips and waste bins, and William Sieghart talking about the Palsetian/Israeli conflict. 

During the interval journalist Lynn Barber  tripped over my feet so eager was she to get out for a fag and a glass of wine, and everyone who stayed in the room had a neck that spun 360 degrees, like the girl in The Exorcist, so they could network but still manage to see who else might be there and looking at them.

The second half kicked off with  performance poet Laura Dockrill – who would have been booed off stage in a less classy venue.  She did 15 jumbled minutes of  what can be best described as  ‘Look at Me!’ 

 Ex Roxy Music band member Brian Eno spoke about I don’t remember what because I tuned out after 15 seconds. That man could make millions if he taped his voice and sold recordings of it to insomniacs desperate for sleep

John Mitchinson from the TV programme QI closed the night with a talk about life and death matters  and was  hugely entertaining.  Then there was jazz, and a £10 a head buffet that smelt so good it made my mouth all juicy as I passed by even though I didn’t stay to eat.

So,  it was a quaff, mingle, quaff, listen and quaff night that was wall to wall with movers , shakers and posers. My husband pointed out that he was probably the only person there who had played football in that very room in it’s previous incarnation as a youth club that served the local council estate.

It was £12 for a ticket and worth it to get a look at the handbags,  the shoes,  the cute beaded cardis, Oh – and to listen to interesting ideas  kind of night out.

5 comments to Snotting Hill

  • That sounds like a great night. It’s one reason I wish I hadn’t moved away from London. You don’t get a lot of this stuff in Nether Piddle.

  • “Agraphobic”? People are afraid of a city in northern India? (This comes to you from a woman whose posts are riddled with typos and misplaced commas..)

  • Anna May

    Fran, not sure I can claim it would be worth the journey from Nether Piddle…..

    Persephone, fair cap! Ooops, that would be cop.

    Anna May x

  • Pauline

    Ooh, serendipity alert – I’ve been discussing ‘Tulip Fever’ today with a Facebook friend. Inspired by the Firestation Book Swap, I’m sending my copy of this lovely book to her in Barnstaple, in exchange for one of her favourite books, the name of which I forget (but I’m sure it will be wonderful).

    5×15 sounds a fun idea, but I am stricken at the thought of your enduring 15 minutes of Brian Eno. All the evening needs is a ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ make-over, with large Xs on the stage and voting buttons for the audience. A lot more discreet for Notting Hill than catcalls or well-flung Maltezers (my missile of choice) but just as effective, no?

  • Pauline, I want to read whichever book is judged a worthy swap for ‘Tulip Fever’ – please tell -and thanks for your sympathy re Brian O-No.
    Anna May x
    ps; Couldn’t chuck a Malteser unless it was in the direction of my mouth….. they’re goooood