Morning:
8°c
Last night I fell in love with Robert Adam. No, not that interesting man from accounts. The Scottish neo-classical architect. I was at the fundraising party to secure the future of the Colony Rooms. And rather than hold it in the club's fabulously gritty Soho premises, they'd hired 33 Portland Place, off Oxford Street - built by one Robert Adam in 1775.
With its classical rococo ceilings, Roman-style decorative motifs and grand staircase, it's the most gorgeous building in London - and a brilliant "insider" venue for a party. The guest list for the Colony's "Carpe Noctum Bollock" was potentially the coolest in town. Lucian Freud, Tracey Emin and Damien Hirst are all members.
The minute we walked in I knew I was out of my depth. The dress code was "macabre". Jaw-dropping girls in basques were handing out yellow vodka cocktails. There were roasted meats and palmists and tarot readings and band of the moment Death Ray Trebuchey.
We were pitifully suburban. I had to restrain my friend John from asking every brunette if they were Alexa Chung (what happens to married men over the age of 35?). Meanwhile I kept analysing my drink for Rohypnol. "For heaven's sake, it's just Bacardi Breezer for grown-ups," another friend insisted.
But then No 33 has quite a decadent heritage. Kate Moss's Agent Provocateur advert was filmed here. Lashings of naughtiness were promised including, dear God, a spanking booth. But, you know, I spent most of the night stroking the fireplaces.
If you stand still in a landmark building you can feel centuries of ghosts. With a slight shock you realise that all those bright young things - who partied and argued and fell in love - are no more.
All is vanity, which made me feel a bit better that we spent much of the evening debating Westfield (yes, that suburban). Today I have the hangover from hell. But it was worth it.
There's something wonderful about finding a new architectural gem (this year brought me Bush Hall, The Goring Hotel, with Russell Sage's great new decor, and Wilton's Music Hall). Even if you go home dateless from London's most fashionable party of the year, you can say triumphantly: "Last night I pulled a building."
