A procession of London’s A-listers gathered at exclusive public house, The Pembroke, last month to attend the greatest social event of the year (which has included, don’t forget, the Jubilee and the Olympics) – Trivial Pursuits’ first birthday.
Guests arrived en mass, furiously chain-smoking outside for fear if they weren’t Camel Light aficionados, they probably wouldn’t be allowed in.
Decked out in such wares as tailored jackets made from snow leopard and puppies coats (also known as crap from Topshop) attendees flooded the ground floor, rhubarbing away, whilst sipping glasses of 2012 Champagne de Fosters and 2012-Night-Before Chateau de la House White.
After an hour of tittering, their patience was rewarded by the arrival of a Rolls-limo-hummer-nightbus from which stepped The Trivial Pursuits Editorial Team: The Hon Harry Harland, Baroness Bell, Lord Lino and Lady Langley. To an almighty roar of applause – such which rattled the very tube lines at Earls Court, had Troubadour drunks next door diving headfirst into their tinnies, and was nothing whatsoever to do with the football – the trivial writers entered the establishment.
In an un-trivial, purposeful way, they worked the room, giving each guest (all 20 [thousand] of them) a moment to experience some of their spine-tingling plumby chat, such which had not been heard since Frou-Frou and Gub-Gub’s engagement party there the night before. The crowds surged forward to the writers’ hands (purportedly good luck) before the hosts were hustled away to deal with the press [ing issue of buying more drinks].
Caterer, The Wright Baker (or ‘Emma Wright’ as is on her passport) plied the party with cupcakes so delicious and “icingy” people actually started snogging each other afterwards just to eat some more.
Thus the night spiraled into a heady orgy of raucous, naked excess, ending in the early hours when this social commentator decided it was time to stop remembering things.
Thankfully by that time though, everyone else had too.
With so many thanks to all who came and a big tough-tits to those that didn’t.
Til next year.