Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Drain the swamp and turn on the light.

Everything goes round in circles.  What goes up must go down. We better have a sense of humor in the next few years and ask ourselves what is morality?

What is the point of television? It is not the point to deliver news, propaganda or drama but really to feed us advertising encouraging us to spend.  Follow the money is always the answer.  I have however got bored of the latest gadget, car, dress and I need to be free from this addiction to spend, to concentrate on what is really going on between the tyranny of the terrorist and his victim, oh and entertainment. I am not easily conned by the news or indeed anything on television.

Not reported in the media are the number of sexual assaults, pedophilia cases,  being brought before the court in America at the moment. Nearly 1,500 cases and little is being said of course in Main Stream Media. What we all know is that what goes up must come down and so it is the turn to watch Humpty Dumpty have a great fall, Mr. Harvey Weinstein himself has departed centre stage from Hollywood due to asking many women to scrub his rather valuable back.  In France or Italy this would be ridiculous but in prudish America everything like this is demonic? So why now? It seems sniffy to me? Yet?
 Two Summers ago I asked for some tickets for films at the Venice Film Festival and a friend, who will remain unnamed,  went to pick them up and she was asked to go to his suite whereupon he was apparently in his dressing gown and she was asked to massage him whilst he had a shower. Horrified and uncomfortable she escaped.  On top of that, the tickets were very secondary and she was told she was boring for not being willing, she was told he could make her a star though.  Of course, we did not complain as anyway, despite her tears,  he was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. He has been praised more than god, Meryl Streep claimed he was God but now has created distance. Everybody knew however and would speak about it in hushed tones, it has been treated as if immorality was acceptable. The actors knew where their bread was buttered, putting up with his ugly pudgy threats. Michael Moore claims he can have the capacity to find the wicked and crooked yet was on the side of this human devil. It is fundamental corruption. Where is Hollywood's moral compass? Also, politicians took vast sums of money for their campaigns, disingenuous behaviour is rampant.
I felt sorry for his very pretty wife, but I suppose she received good compensation and probably relieved that other girls fingers had to do the walking. A lot of the women were not as high profile and might as well have come from the yellow pages. There has always been a casting couch in Hollywood so why now does anyone care? Harvey to his credit has given generously to charity and made some brilliant movies, just lust took over? It's all okay in LA as long as you are not a Trump lover? I am sure the door will slam in his face as another one opens. There are millions invested in film, yet likeability of them is now on shaky ground. There is little integrity and the fallout will be quick and clean. Anything or anybody keen on him will be expunged.

Marina Abramovich by Inesa De La Roche

This week with Frieze and PAD, amongst the many parties I was invited to  Marina Abramovich was given an opening in a spectacular house in Chelsea, to celebrate her cake, made by Raphael Casteriano. The pastry portrait which was said to taste of her, indeed it was made of a deliciously rich chocolate and peppermint mixture which was fashioned into tiny gold and dark green cakes,  I could not wait to taste one. As I said "hello", her fiery eyes with overly moist teeth, looked like a sensuous demon caught in the act.   I see different things now as I read Wikileaks, which has a ten-year immaculate record, during the American election  Marina certainly added humor and darkness into the mix by asking the campaign managers of Hillary Clinton to a "Spirit cooking" dinner. On the other hand,  I have though always been a huge fan of hers as I loved so much of her work especially the story of her saying goodbye to her then-boyfriend on the great wall of China. Her life has been so so glamorous.

Then there is the shooting in Las Vegas. I am making no comments but look where it happened, the Harvest Festival in the middle of fake Babylon in this mob-ridden city, near the Pyramid. The unfit 65-year-old shooter appears to be a patsy,  with no social media profiles, and of course, he never had shown any interest in guns, yet he was running between two rooms. Let's wait for MSM do their worst and balance it with Alex Jones and David Icke. Satanic,  MKUltra?

Of course, everything is fake news. The Liberal Democratic hypocrisy is disgusting against Trump, democracy and the Conservatives. It is cultural insanity. The Lefties are taking down flags, protesting the National Anthem and it goes on. If America thinks it can rule the world they need to clear the swamp first.

As for Harvey
"Everybody knew about Harvey Weinstein in Hollywood but whilst he was on top they were happy to take his money and promises of fame, now he is disgraced publically they are happy to kill. I never liked him and for several reasons always found him unpleasant.  However the two faces of people are unbelievable. He is still the same person they called God only six months ago. I am not defending him, I am pointing out the hyprocrisy".

FRIEZE ME and KEEP ME

I feel I have no feelings left for love. Oh yes I have, but Tinder has just managed to nearly kill them off along with other sites like Guardian Soulmates. I feel that falling in love across a crowded room has been forgotten and exchanged for a cross to the left and a dash to the right. I have even got women applying which makes me laugh, and no I am not gay.
As Syria is being bombed to death and refugees collected in Hummers we humans live on a diet of surreal words from sad people that are desperate and lonely. Personally I am ready to change my life completely. Apart from the fact that Google Alert has just told me that one of the loves of my life has a new girlfriend.  I am not interested in meeting men in fields and woods for quickies. I like real things and thank goodness I have a fabulous memory of meeting a man in a train, and being made loved to in a cupboard and a lift. If I had to live on a diet of shredded wheat and  Tinder I would slit my wrists. The good thing though is there is one for exclusive coupling called Raya. At the moment I am crossing off the riff raff on Tinder. Guardian soulmates is full of left wing Mr Corbyn's so be careful if you are right wing and like a shirt and tie.

The Cocktail Party by Tom Friedman

The art world is also a reflection this year of the world. There were padlocked cages with bottles for the incontinent, balloons, neons, sparkly painting and plenty of images of destruction and death. My favourite was a Bathroom suite, depicting the body in its various forms by Ann Agee in blue and white tiles that she had created. Look carefully and you will notice bodily functions from washing to mobiles painted delicately.  Fed up with destruction and realising Glenn Brown 's drawings were about the best thing at Frieze, but the originals cheaper and prettier, delightful as they were,  I looked for Simon Lee's stand and he had the clever idea of changing artists daily, today was Toby Zieglar. There's a reason to go back?. There was plenty of opportunity for selfies against art that you would not buy. Huge pieces of mirror, some drums with skulls, and people at a Cocktail Party. Fun but not really liveable with. With about a thousand people arriving all at once promptly at 11am, contemporary art as we all know has hit the big time.

There are incredible shows at Sothebys including Alfred Taubman's collection on sale; Anita Zabludowicz's Gallery; Gagosian Gallery showing LA talent Jonah Woods;Patrick Senguin's gallery highlighting Prouve's architecture at Claridges, The Liberatum opening of Robert Indiana's work at 105 New Bond Street; art is now more exciting than ever. There was the show at Phillips too. The true brilliance however was at Frieze Masters where I could have bought nearly everything I saw. I fell in love with a Klimt drawing of a nude and a Schiele drawing; the story of the Dubuffet stand which was so stunning and so much more. From good to bad there is art for somebody and it is definitely the week to be in London. Now that fashion wants to follow the game The Saatchi Gallery threw its doors open to Chanel's history, Madmoiselle Prive and last week Louis Vuitton were offering cars to view their show and so on. With everything so watchable and the traffic so bad, there are not enough hours in a day.  PAD for furniture and the stunning I loved the butterflies that as you touched them, flew off by Dominic Harris, birds flew and flowers changed. Genius technology.   LA performance artist Millie Brown.. She swung from the ceiling with drops of crystals hanging from her. There were hundreds of people on the pavement causing a traffic jam on Dover Street. Living between Los Angeles and London, she creates artwork from her bodily secretions normally.

Millie Brown swinging from the ceiling.

BY ARTIST ANN AGEE BEST IN SHOW

Then there is the @BFI @London Film Festival, where work like The Lobster, another love story,  is being made. Terrible, horrendous and brilliant. This an horrific thought as there was nothing positive about the film at all. No pleasure in watching it for certain. Moments of brilliance were needed in order not to walk out and complain. Who will actually view and understand this film other than pseudo intellectuals? Was it clever or was it crass? Bordering on the insane the cast had no answers either. Rachel Weiss clearly said she did not have a clue. The director having won prizes already at Venice Yorgos Lanthimos did not have an answer. So for me there was no depth, no hope yet...there was. The "Lovies" like only positive reviews but this cast opened the net. Sure it will win prizes, but will the public like the film, like the one last year that won Venice,  for me it's like The pigeon who sat on a branch. Another crazy film,  beautifully shot. You the viewer have to be happy not to understand the story line. Worth seeing because it is a film that creates discussion if nothing else. There is always room for the innovative.

Pablo Ganguli from Liberatum and Amanda Eliasch

Suffragette was goodish. I say goodish because truly we think of Emily Pankhurst and this film focused on poverty played honestly by Michelle Williams. but we women are happy we are allowed to wear mini skirts, drive and make love when we want? As Saudi has been made Head of Human rights for the UN, this film is even more necessary. Women are lashed, stoned and strung up in Middle Eastern countries for small misdemeanours.  We live in a world where the truth is in the whisperings and the conversations not had. Perhaps that is why the art world has a true following and a film like The Lobster gets made because however ridiculous the subject matter some small grain of truth may be said or thought about? The ego is huge and fragile I must remember. People were lying on the red carpet in protest for women round the world. With a stoic cast Michelle Wiliams, Helena Bonham Carter and Meryl Streep as Mrs Pankhurst,  you cannot go wrong.

Amanda Nevill, Amanda Eliasch and Henriett Tunyogi

The true gem this year at The London Film Festival, full of strong women's stories, is Carol about a woman who wishes to leave her husband for another woman, the conflicts within her, the loss of her child. Beautifully acted by Cate Blanchett, another winner for the awards. An amazing score by Carter Barwell that takes you through Carol's heartbreak and her final resolution within herself to deal with her sexuality. A sure winner. Brave and beautiful with ravishing costume changes designed yet again by Sandy Powell. The other costumes brilliant this year are in The Danish Girl by Paco Delgado, sensuous and tragic, beautiful and exquisite. Music is obviously my passion and this year the I love the scores from The Danish Girl by Desplat and  Carol by Carter Burwell, both are beautiful.
The BFI FF closed with a feisty performance by Michael Fassbender in the film about the outstanding work of  Steve Jobs. An insight to the world of technology and design which he mastered. More like a rock star he was charismatic and rude in equal portions. With a supporting cast including Kate Winslet you could not go wrong. At one moment I found myself crying it touched me when he would not speak to his daughter and said she was not his. Of course this happened to me a long time ago and I met my Father perhaps ten times in my life, actually I think much less. Girls without Fathers certainly suffer.

Photograph by Dave Bennett, here with Henriett Tunyogi  at the opening of Steve Jobs. I wore Saint Laurent with a Versace bag and Henriett wore a contrasting pink ensemble by Desquared2  that clung to her beautiful body and a bag by Vivienne Westwood.  Here in the The Mail.

FRIEZE AND CO ARE STILL HOT

 London is incredible tonight,  I have twenty events and it is so overwhelming that I am going to stay in. I am in a spin, all this air kissing makes me feel very superficial. I shall miss the black jacket Chanel Party and a several others as there are just too many parties every week. Of course I love them but how can you do them all?

GED QUINN

Frieze, London's great art show was huge, and the Saatchi's are of course to be congratulated. They started it all. As the buzz grows every gallery seems to bursting with new collectors from every part of the world. The prices have gone up too of course. Luckily I did not fall in love, and lucky too that I have no more wall space. Selling my wonderful art studio in Paris, that once belonged to Tamara de Lempicka  means much of the art will be coming back to London. I did however like the Ged Quinn's as usual. Yummy pictures of cherry cakes in the style of old Dutch paintings. I first saw his work in Liverpool, and I like it more and more. 

LOVE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING 

Frieze Masters was the talk of the town though with people flying in from America to buy a Picasso or two.  So much glamour and so much celebrating. 
I managed to go to the opening of the London Film Festival and had the finest placement sitting between  Jeff Berger and Charles Layton who were interesting as they talked film and nonsense.  The BFI is an incredible organisation and the festival avant guard, I am going to most of the hot films this year.
There was also the incredible Steven Meisel photographic show that I was invited to by Belle Cannon. I fell in love with photographs of Naomi Campbell.  My happiest moment though was eating an apple in the bedroom with Kay Saatchi who I found tucked up in bed when I got home.  She had been to thirty shows.

FREE THE DOVES TO GET LOVE

Today I continued filming. I had fun with a heart, some doves and a dishy man. This was all before midday.

ART, FOR TART'S SAKE

Frieze week and London is chaos, luckily my brain is the best 'tom tom' in the business so I get around quickly.  Too many parties and not enough time to spend at them because they were all squashed together for what, I do not know?    I  had many love stories yesterday and a fleeting one with cages at Max Wigram, but as I entered my house there was simply nowhere to put it.  I settled for a pretty painting of a rose by Mustafa Hulusi that Charles Saatchi suggested I buy as he sat with Martin Maloney in Scotts today.  There were so many VIP's at Frieze that were not buying anything, I have often wondered what is a VIP, because VIP's tend to have everything delivered and have private views.

The whole thing reminded me of Crufts, bright lights everywhere,  only the exhibitors were humans, instead of dogs.  All the women were well dressed in brown, on the mobiles, speaking twenty five languages.  I like to enter a room and see where the exits are.

Photographers and darlings were everywhere. My hat comes off to Matthew Slotover, as there are now roughly 170 galleries showing  artworks by some genuinely talented artists.  Of course the original ones hold my interest.  A Partrick Caulfied painting, at Waddington's, caught my eye and I a would genuinely have said yes to  any rich man who wanted to get married, to get it.  There is the hooker  in all of us, and art has the 'hit' factor.

I was relieved to rush home with a friend and get ready for the London Film Festival which is gaining so much popularity that there is an overflow of hangers on there too. You know the type, the ones who have to be everywhere but have nothing to give intellectually or financially.  The BFI need funds desperately for preserving Hitchcock's silent films, it will cost something like two million to save them.  So why were they letting in so many who would not dream of putting their hand in their pocket for anything?.

Dinner was at the St Martin's Hotel, Asia de Cuba and I was lucky to be sitting with Tessa Ross, Pablo Ganguli and Tomas Aukas, I felt at home having just spent five days with Pablo organising James Franco's exhibition in Venice..  I was entertaining a delicious man aged 23, the new Harvey Weinstein,  of course, as he was so young, people teased me like crazy. Truth is I am not into young men,  I like my own age, if only some were free, not so damaged, and liked woman of a certain age..
We went to the film with the lovely Stephen Frears and his friend Leo, totally charming as was the film 360, by the director Fernando Meirelles.  A mish mash of vaguely exciting stories, that rather irritatingly changed just as you got into them.  Then followed by the Saatchi gallery for a the party afterwards.
So after being propositioned a couple of times and not for just a painting, and a few too many hi's and bi's, I need to get rid of my Tamara de Lempicka flat to pay for a painting of a rose.

The best part of the day was a walk in the park followed by bumping into Jeanne Marine.

OPENING OF A LONDON FILM FESTIVAL

HANDCUFFED BY HER DESIRES by Amanda Eliasch and Julia Laverne

THE NEON AND VINYL SHOW FRIEZE WEEK

A WORLD WITHOUT SENTIMENT IS NOT A WORLD I WANT TO LIVE IN

Last Saturday, Issis Monteverdi and her husband opened up The Wellington Club for a party where we were under strict instructions to be ‘Villains’. The food was good and Issis looked exotic in a dress slashed up to her waist. But since then, what a week it has been: Fergie's birthday bash and Tatler’s 300th anniversary squeezed deliciously between Frieze, Zoo, and The London Film Festival – including the premiere of The Fantastic Mr Fox. Of course, one could bullshit and try to sound intellectual, but I want to make everything in my life as enjoyable as possible. So…

Frieze was a little disappointing. I went at the wrong time and the whole place was deserted. Morning people are just not as amusing and night people - especially rich girls in expensive dresses pretending they know a lot. I plan to go tomorrow, to get some feeling of what it should be. I want to see the rough and tumble of organized criminals, artists and galleristes, gossiping about the prices obtained in the latest sales. At Claridge’s, you can guarantee those sort of conversations. Just sit quietly and speak five languages, and between the laughter and nudges, you’ll get the truth.

Be careful however. When things become too establishment, they become sort of ordinary. Not so that naughty devil Damien Hirst, who showed his paintings at Wallace Collection, and brought out the true characteristics of the dealers. ("Dreadful paintings. Why show his art there?") But the truth is, he is so clever, he can do what he likes. I liked his blue series actually the best, I know

I am in the minority, he is slightly cheeky, comparing his blue period to Picasso’s, but so like him. Apparently, he managed to sell every one of the paintings for a million quid each - so again said "f...you" to the art establishment.

In another gallery, his wife Maia Norman sold me some hot pants with prints of butterflies by Matt Collishaw on their behind, and a shirt or two. And in yet another was a group exhibition starring Paul Fryer and Polly Morgan. Polly's work has gone huge now. She shows stuffed baby birds in coffins, and a flock of birds circling a cage suspended from a ceiling. Included in the exhibition was a ‘shrine’ to John the Baptist and Salome, Jesus Christ on an electric chair and a crucified great ape, so One Marylebone proved to be a great escape from the white washed corporate world. Meanwhile, round the corner in Portland Street was a small show for newcomers. The charming half-Balinese, half-English painter Karim Rabik, a great old friend, was finishing a painting ready for the opening that evening.

Next, I skipped off for the premiere of The Fantastic Mr Fox, an adaptation of the book by Roald Dahl, shown for the first time at the opening of the London Film Festival. Directed by Wes Anderson - with voices by Bill Murray, George Clooney and Meryl Streep – it had some charming moments, with music by Alexandre Desplat winner of many Globes and Bears.

At dinner beforehand, I had great seating opposite the saviour of Film Four, Tessa Ross. I knew she was clever, I could see it. If I tell you that she is the producer of Slumdog Millionaire, there is nothing more to say. An honour, Miss Ross.

Then - wow - today was the first showing of A Single Man, adapted from a book by Christopher Isherwood and directed by Tom Ford. This man is so very talented, and he's done it again. Colin Firth's portrayal was very realistic and meaningful, with some powerful insights into the gay life. It was very well directed, beautifully shot and also featured a great performance by Julianne Moore. (I want my hair done like that.)

So that brings me up to date in a rather flash way. It doesn't mention my diet or my new house. They are being dealt with. And me? I am off to Claridge’s to have drinks with some charming rebels…

TATLER IS TRULY BRITISH

The busiest week in London, I love October. Frieze, Fiac, Paris Fashion week and now TATLER's 300's Birthday. Last night we had dinner with Charles and Sidney Finch who are the owners of Finch's Quarterly. Earlier this year I mentioned that I loved their rag, but no more than I love Tatler. Tatler is an historical work of art. When I mentioned to Italian Casa Vogue's Editor, Carlo Ducci, some years ago, he said to me that it was Britain's greatest magazine. I feel the same. It gives us a comprehensive insight into the way the upper and middle classes have lived their lives for 300 years, and is better than any census. It shows the characters, the intellects, the politicians, the socialites through the ages, with humour and sensitivity. The editors have all been interesting too: Mark Boxer, Tina Brown, Jane Procter, Geordie Greig and now Catherine Ostler. With different ideas, making a marked presence on the coffee table. This magazine is read in hairdresser's, dentist's surgeries, on trains, the Eurostar, and in a rather Beano-like way we love it. Nobody admits its true impact on society, but I run to check who is in and out each month, not with a heaviness, but with a lightness. Come on, don't lie, we love to check and see if there is a good picture of us each month. The articles are equally fascinating and compete with anything in Vanity Fair; in fact they might be more fun. It is truly British, and that is why I love it - and even when I am not part of the scene, it still gives me the feeling I am. With newspapers going broke, and most magazines finding it difficult to find advertising, I congratulate all the past editors for keeping a coffee house gossip rag alive with style and a future.