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.