I was meant to go to a private view of some perfect-looking flower photographs by Vogue creative director Robin Derrick on Tuesday night. Bogged down in collapsing banks, banks shares, nationalisations and bankruptcies, I never made it. So I asked a friend who had managed to escape the trauma-ridden office of his private-equity fund to down a few glasses of someone else’s champagne what it was like. His answer? “Full of gorgeous women.”
The gallery putting on the show, Lamberty, sells exquisite things to rich people (if you have piles of extra cash, forget Damien Hirst and visit the Pimlico and Battersea showrooms now). But on Tuesday most of these one-time customers were either still at work in the City or St James, or, had they been employed by Lehman Brothers, nursing hangovers in the over-designed open-plan living spaces of their heavily mortgaged homes. So only their well-dressed wives, who presumably were getting desperate for free drink by this point, could make it.
• Read the full editor’s letter here: Welcome back sanity