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74 H O W K AT E C A N

S AV E T H E W O R L D

EXCLUSIVE! The Duchess of Cambridge’s mission to solve the planet’s problems in 2017. By Clare Bennett

CO N T E N T S

122 WA R D RO B E E N V Y

All bound for Miu Miu-land with Frankie Herbert. By Sophie Goodwin and Tibbs Jenkins

TAT L E R A B O U T TOWN

69 T H E C A ST I N G D I R E C TO R

86 R E V E N G E O F T H E

W I L D E N ST E I N W O M E N

The force is with Nina Gold, the woman who spots the right talent for everything from Wolf Hall to Star Wars. By Sophia Money-Coutts

Hell hath no fury like three Wildenstein women scorned – and their revelations about the financial affairs of the art-dealing dynasty have left its future in the balance. Keith Dovkants reports

70 TAT L E R B A N S T H E W O R D ‘ G H A ST LY ’

94 T H E G E N I U S

Page

OF AA GILL

It is mean-spirited and spoilt. May it never darken our pages again. By Annabel Rivkin

98

THE NEW COLLECTIONS

The late, great writer cut his teeth at Tatler. Here’s what he had to say for us about sex, eggs, booze and (other people’s) brats

Page

94

A A G I L L’S TAT L E R D AY S

98 & 108 T H E FA S H I O N F U N STA RT S H E R E ! ; & YO U WA N T M O R E ?

PHOTOGRAPH: SARAI MARI. ILLUSTRATION: ESTATE OF AA GILL/CONDE NAST ARCHIVE

The v. shiny new collections. By Sophie Goodwin and Sophie Pera

128 P R I N C E S AMONG MEN Celebrating 60 years of searinghot heart-throbs. Wow

F E AT U R E S

118 T H E S U P E R- D E A LER

Dominique Lévy on how to sell art

worth $100m. By Marcus Field

FA S H I O N

138 ‘ I’M JU ST BR IN GIN G F U N TO T H E G E N TRY. . .’

51 H E R E ’ S LO O K I N G AT. . .

Sam and Irène Malin, the sprightly new proprietors of Burke’s Peerage, tell David Jenkins why they want to add some stardust to the mix

Emma Grede and her jolly Good American jeans. By Tibbs Jenkins

The Cover GR ACE HODGE Photographed by SAR AI MARI Styled by SOPHIE GOODWIN Grace Hodge wears silk and cotton-organdy coat, £8,910; silk and wool headband, £560, both by Gucci. For stockist, see Address Book. Hair by Roku Roppongi at Saint Luke, using Kérastase L’Incroyable Blowdry. Make-up by Ariel Yeh at Saint Luke, using Tom Ford: Ultra Length Mascara in Ultra Raven, Cream Cheek Color in Pink Sand, Lip Contour Duo in Fling It On and La Mer: Moisturising Soft Lotion, Soft Fluid Long Wear Foundation. Nails by Kim Treacy at Stella Creative Artists, using Diorlisse Abricot and Capture Totale Dreamskin Advanced

CONTINUED on page 35

53 D O N ’ T YO U

W I S H YO U ’ D W O R N T H AT ? Track pants

54–58 T R E N D A L E RT S

72 A L L T H E F U N . . .

60 & 64 A STICKY

76 H O W TO S P E A K ENGLISH LIKE A POSH PERSON

Eastern influences, khaki and disco platforms

WICKET; & WATC H & L E A R N

Howzat! Hot watch-modelling cricketers in the buff; and get a timepiece of the action, says Philippa Durell

...is happening at South Ken hotspot Albert’s. By Tibbs Jenkins

The proper pronunciation of certain superior surnames. By Philip Womack

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E s t a b l i s h e d 1 70 9 Vo l . 3 1 2 N o . 3 t a t l e r. c o m

76 T H E G A M E S M I ST R E S S Just for once, speak with your mouth full, says Emma Kennedy

78 T H E E N D O F S H A M E

BEAUTY

149 F IND YO UR

H O R MO NE SO L UTION

And change your life

Extreme social embarrassment doesn’t mean social death. By Annabel Rivkin

150 W H O CO N T RO L S YO U R B O DY ?

79 Q U E N T I N L E T T S

Your hormones, that’s who. And here’s what they do. By Joanna Moorhead

Sir Nicholas Soames: newly svelte, still a political heavyweight

80 B O O K S

152 WA K E U P TO T H E M E N O PA U S E

Horses, Hollywood and harlots. By Sebastian Shakespeare

We can beat this thing, says Mary Dudley

81 A RT F O R S A L E

154 L A Z Y, G R U M P Y. . .

Frame and fortune with Josh Spero

82 R E STA U R A N T S

Bring on the male menopause, begs Stuart Heritage

Strap yourself in for a wild ride at StreetXO. By Jeremy Wayne

Page

138

‘BRINGING FUN T O T H E G E N T RY ’ : THE MALINS

83 G A D G E T S

Top of the tots. By Emma Freud

Page

156 T H E H O R M O N E D I R E C TO RY

170

The specialists who can fix you

T R AV E L

THE LITTLE BL ACK BOOK BALL

161 A L L T H E P L E A S U R E S

PHOTOGRAPHS: SOPHIE GERRARD, EMMA SOAMES, HUGO BURNAND

OF PERSIA

How I stopped worrying and learned to love Iran: David Jenkins, travelling with Emma Soames, explores an empire of the senses

E V E RY T H I N G E L S E

39 O N TAT L E R .CO M

84 TO F F G E A R

Where we’re at online

Sophia Money-Coutts seeks a charger for her BMW hybrid

66 I T L I ST By Mariella Tandy

HOME

143 A RT I ST S & LO V E R S

The bohemian hideaway on the Welsh border where Augustus John’s great-grandson is keeping his family’s artistic heritage alive. By Matthew Bell

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‘A L L T H E PLEASURES OF P E R S I A’ : E M M A SOAMES CHADORS UP

S u b s c r i b e t o Ta t l e r a n d w e ’ l l g i v e y o u a p r e s e n t . . . t u r n t o p a g e 7 7

169 BYSTA N D E R

Good times! By Tibbs Jenkins

B A C K PA G E W H AT ’ S I T L I K E TO B E . . .

...Sir Richard Branson’s flamingos? By Clare Bennett

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Tat l er O n li n e

WIN A HONEYMOON For two people to Vietnam, worth £7,000. For a whole week. With UNLIMITED spa treatments. We are not making this up. Scoot over to Tatler.com/honeymoon

TOPLESS CRICKET PLAYERS! Go behind the scenes of this month’s jewellery shoot to see our handsome cricketers explain why their balls are so hard.

THIS MONTH O N TAT L E R . C O M PHOTOGRAPHS: MIKE BLACKETT, GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES

It’s the site for sore eyes that just keeps giving

HOW TO TURN YOUR CHILD INTO AN ENTREPRENEUR Because who knows what jobs will be out there when they grow up...

Are you marrying the right man? Take our online quiz now. Just to be sure.

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Bangkok · Dubai · Kiev · Moscow

MARK COCKSEDGE Mark photographs medieval marvel Charity house (page 143)

What would be your death-row meal? A full English with a cup of tea at Arthur’s café in Dalston.

What’s your best memory? Meeting and photographing Sir David Attenborough.

What’s your signature dance move?〲,¶PVWLOOVHDUFKLQJIRURQH What never fails to make you laugh? People tripping up in the street. Including myself.

VOGUE Café Moscow / Novikov Group

CONTRIBUTORS W h a t ’s o n t h e i r m i n d s t h i s m o n t h ?

GLENYS ROBERTS Glenys reveals the Sixties’ biggest heartthrobs (page 130)

What’s your signature dance move? VOGUE Lounge Bangkok / Shinsuke Matsukawa

VOGUECAFE.COM

Dad-dancing, according to my daughter. What would be your death-row meal? Baked beans. What’s your earliest memory? A Second World War air raid turning the sky red over the glass roof at Euston station.

What’s the phrase or word you most overuse? ‘Oh puhleese!’ ]

ILLUSTRATION: RAN FLYGENRING. PHOTOGRAPH: C RIMMER FOR THE EVENING STANDARD

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Apply now!

DAVID VINTINER David photographs casting queen Nina Gold (page 69)

What’s your signature dance move? For some reason, I always think I can breakdance (I can’t).

Get the degree you’ve always dreamed of ! BA (Hons) Fashion Communication

If you could get away with one crime, what would it be? Rigging a general election.

What’s your worst habit? Procrastinating.

What never fails to make you laugh? Staring contests with my two sons.

CONTRIBUTORS W h a t ’s o n t h e i r m i n d s t h i s m o n t h ?

SOPHIE GERRARD

JOANNA MOORHEAD

Photographer Sophie captures the glamorous new owners of Burke’s Peerage (page 138)

Joanna on the power of hormones (page 150)

What’s your worst habit? Arriving late for flights.

Your signature dance move? Strip the Willow.

What would be your death-row meal? Steak and chips.

What’s the best chat-up line you’ve ever heard? There’s no such thing.

If you could get away with one crime, what would it be? Passing off a shop-bought meal as my own.

What’s your go-to fancy-dress costume? A nun – people think I’m the real thing.

What would be your death-row meal? Coquilles St Jacques and Pears Belle Hélène. (


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EDITOR KATE REARDON Editor’s assistant and events co-ordinator ELLA BALDWIN

Deputy editor GAVANNDRA HODGE Managing editor BEATRIZ CHOI Associate editor GERRI GALLAGHER Editor-at-large ANNABEL RIVKIN Senior editor DAVID JENKINS

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FEATURES Features director SOPHIA MONEY-COUTTS Travel editor FRANCISCA KELLETT Restaurant critic JEREMY WAYNE Books critic SEBASTIAN SHAKESPEARE Art critic JOSH SPERO Gadgets critic EMMA FREUD Fun editor EMMA KENNEDY

COPY Copy chief IAN RAMSEY Deputy copy chief JOHN HANEY Senior sub-editor KATHARINA HAHN

FASHION Fashion director SOPHIE GOODWIN Style director SOPHIE PERA Shopping editor AILSA MILLER Watches and jewellery editor PHILIPPA DURELL Bookings editor AYSHA SURSOCK Executive fashion and retail editor MARIELLA TANDY Senior fashion assistant XUXA MILROSE Fashion assistant LYDIE HARRISON

BEAUTY Health and beauty director FRANCESCA WHITE Health and beauty associate JENNIFER GEORGE

BYSTANDER Social editor TIBBS JENKINS Photographer HUGO BURNAND

TATLER.COM Digital editor ANNABELLE SPRANKLEN Deputy digital editor LUCIANA BELLINI Digital picture co-ordinator CHARLOTTE MAYHEW Digital editorial assistant HANNAH STACPOOLE Digital Godmother SARAH BALL

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CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Chief contributing editors ANNA SCOTT CARTER, NICOLA FORMBY Explorer CIARA PARKES

RUVEN AFANADOR, MATTHEW BELL, CLARE BENNETT, DEBONNAIRE VON BISMARCK, MARK BOLLAND, ANNA BROMILOW, ALICE COCKERELL, CRESSIDA CONNOLLY, GILES COREN, FRAN CUTLER, KEITH DOVKANTS, SUZANNE DUCKETT, CHARLOTTE EDWARDES, BEN ELLIOT, DEBORAH FELDMAN, ASTRID HARBORD, NICKY HASLAM, DAFYDD JONES, MARY KILLEN, EMILIE M CMEEKAN, PHILIP TREACY, CLAUDIA WINKLEMAN, TOM WOLFE, TOBY YOUNG Editorial business manager KITTY MACPHERSON Syndication enquiries syndication@condenast.co.uk Director of editorial administration and rights HARRIET WILSON Tatler is a member of the Independent Press Standards Organisation (which regulates the UK’s magazine and newspaper industry). We abide by the Editors’ Code of Practice (www.ipso.co.uk/editors-code-of-practice) and are committed to upholding the highest standards of journalism. If you think that we have not met those standards and want to make a complaint, please see our Editorial Complaints Policy on the Contact Us page of our website, or contact us at complaints@condenast.co.uk or by post to Complaints, Editorial Business Department, The Condé Nast Publications Ltd, Vogue House, Hanover Square, London W1S 1JU. If we are unable to resolve your complaint, or if you would like more information about IPSO or the Editors’ Code, contact IPSO on 0300 123 2220 or visit www.ipso.co.uk PUBLISHING DIRECTOR PATRICIA STEVENSON Assistant to publishing director OLIVIA BENNETT

Associate publisher CLARE SCHIFANO Projects director EMMA SAMUEL Account director EMMA HEUSER Brand strategy director NICKI SINGH Advertising manager LUCIE BURTON Senior advertising executive VICTORIA BARLEY Promotions director SOPHIE FAIRCLOUGH Senior promotions executive SOPHIE WILSON Creative director, promotions GAVIN SHAW Art director, promotions SAMANTHA BROWNSTEIN Senior promotions copywriter ANNA TIMONEY Regional sales director KAREN ALLGOOD Regional account director HEATHER MITCHELL Senior sales executive KRYSTINA GARNETT New York SHANNON TOLAR TCHKOTOUA (tel: 001 212 630 4913) US account manager KERYN HOWARTH Milan VALENTINA DONINI (tel: 00 39 02 805 1422) Paris HELENA KAWALEC (tel: 00 33 1 44 11 78 83) Hong Kong MATTHEW FARRAR (tel: 00 852 2581 2991)

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Deputy managing director ALBERT READ MANAGING DIRECTOR

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Published by Tatler Publishing Company Ltd (a subsidiary of the Condé Nast Publications Ltd) TATLER and BYSTANDER and the Georgian figure with spyglass are registered trademarks belonging to Tatler Publishing Company Limited, Vogue House, Hanover Square, London W1S 1JU. Tel: 020 7499 9080; fax: 020 7493 1962. Printed in the UK

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017

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OBJECTS FOR LIFE


OBJECTS FOR LIFE


fine art design antiques

15 – 21 march king’s road london sw3 badafair.com


EMMA GREDE WEARS COTTON JEANS, £118, BY GOOD AMERICAN. SWEATER & SHOES, HER OWN. KHLOE KARDASHIAN WEARS COTTON HOODIE, POA, BY GOOD AMERICAN. BOOTS, HER OWN. FOR STOCKIST, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR BY JUSTINE MARJIN. MAKE-UP BY JOYCE BONELLI. NAILS BY KIMMIE KEYES. STYLED BY MONICA ROSE

Photographed by ERIK TORSTENSSON

HERE’S LOOKING AT...

EMMA GREDE

Emma Grede, near left, 34, is a ‘proper Londoner’. In fact, she’s ‘as London as it gets – taxi-driver London’, she says. And yet she’s just launched the denim brand Good American with Khloé Kardashian, far right, 32, creating a range of jeans that go from an American size 0 up to a 24 (10 sizes bigger than usually available in the UK). Good American is part of the Saturday Group, a fashion-marketing firm owned by Emma’s husband, Jens Grede, and his business partner, Erik Torstensson, which also launched Frame Denim, for the taller girl, in 2013. They know about denim and they know about fashion – Torstensson is stepping out with Dame Natalie Massenet, who Emma claims as part of her ‘squad’, along with fashion queen Giovanna Battaglia, who... Enough. You get the picture. Now get the jeans. TJ For more information, visit goodamerican.com

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TAT L ER M ARCH 2017


Bodyism, 222 Westbourne Grove, W11 www.bodyism.com


Fa sh ion

OLIVIA PALERMO IN ZARA

JOSEPHINE SKRIVER IN JASON REMBERT

LILY ALDRIDGE IN CHLOE

PRINCESS CHARLENE OF MONACO IN ARMANI PRIVÉ

SARAH HARRIS IN ADIDAS

DON’T YOU WISH YOU’D WORN THAT?

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES, FLYNET

TRACK PANTS

Are these really tracksuit bottoms? Hmmm. They are certainly pretending to be tracksuit bottoms. ‘Look at me – all ghetto and fly,’ they are saying. But they aren’t convincing us. What we see, with one or two exceptions, are some rather alluring, satiny slacks just gesturing towards trackie-bum status by virtue of a cheerful side stripe. But, hey, we’ll collude... So these ‘tracksuit bottoms’ can be ramped up or ramped down. That’s the beauty. Because they are so hot to trot at the moment that you’ll always look as though you’ve thought about what you’re wearing. This is all you need right now. While they can be worn with heels, that’s not really the point. Bit precious. So, if you really need the height, best go for an edgy stacked slide. A flat, dead-androgynous slide pairing is the way to speak fashion-editor language for summer. And as far as your top half goes – anything but a blouse. A T-shirt, polo neck, vest (this gets the biggest tick) or a gilet... whatevs. Knock yourselves out in your ‘tracksuit bottoms’. AR

VERONIKA HEILBRUNNER IN CHLOE

JOSEPHINE AARKROGH IN BIRGITTE HERSKIND

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ROSAMUND PIKE IN ROKSANDA

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017


Fa sh ion

PIN-UP ‘Too much with the lipstick?’

LEATHER SHOES, £795, BY GUCCI

JERSEY & OSTRICHFEATHER TOP, £1,030, BY PRADA

MESH JACKET, £585; MESH SKIRT, £305, BOTH BY LONGCHAMP

COTTON TOP, £460, BY VIVETTA

LEATHER BAG, £950, BY GIORGIO ARMANI

BRASS & VISCOSE EARRINGS, £425, BY SAINT LAURENT

COTTON CANVAS SKIRT, £1,540, BY GUCCI

SILK JACKET, £625; SILK TROUSERS, £465, BOTH BY FRS FOR RESTLESS SLEEPERS

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017

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FAUSTO PUGLISI S/S 17

It’s not subtle, OK? So if the exotic is not your thing I would advise turning the page, because this mood is a riot of orientalism. A riot of Eastern influences chucked into a fashion melting pot. Some of it is silly and dinky and fancy-dressy and faintly Hello Kittyish. But most of it is tremendously pretty. We’re not seeing great voluminous chinoiserie kaftans, but tailored prints and embroidery. Gorgeous, painterly landscapes, wandering blossoms, crouching tigers, hidden dragons. So feminine. Less kung fu, more kung here and show me what you’re made of. The answer to that is probably ‘silk’. AR

CHRISTOPHER KANE S/S 17

Eastern inf luence

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: PACO PEREGRIN/BLAUBLUT EDITION

ATTICO S/S 17

VALENTINO S/S 17

COTTON SKIRT, £430, BY STELLA JEAN


The new Eau de Parfum www.sisley-paris.co.uk # LovemyIzia


Fa sh ion

PIN-UP ‘I can’t believe Justin lost the key to this thing’

COTTON CULOTTES, £300, BY RAG & BONE

COTTONCANVAS BLOUSE, £635, BY MIU MIU

CALFSKIN DRESS, £5,240, BY HERMES

COTTON COAT, POA, BY DIOR

MESH CROCHET BOOTS, £731, BY LAURENCE DACADE

COTTON SKIRT, £910, BY BRUNELLO CUCINELLI

SILVER & LEATHER WATCH, £1,950, BY HERMES

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017

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LEATHER BAG, £2,240, BY PRADA

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES

I mean, we say khaki, but it’s pretty gentrified. It’s like beige on its gap year: a bit of a Ralph Lauren flak jacket (but suede, so it’d take a lot less than a bullet to rough it up), a touch of J Crew’s laced Navajo skirt, a dash of puffed sleeve at Kenzo, a vaguely safari shirt at Miu Miu. So, we say khaki but it feels a lot like a regular off-duty preppy uniform. Which means we need to pronounce it ‘caccy’. Which means it’s probably best we don’t call it anything. Perhaps we should just wear it. Because it looks better than it sounds. AR

TWILL DRESS, £1,740, BY CREATURES OF THE WIND

KENZO S/S 17

Khaki

COTTON SKIRT, POA, BY J CREW

BOTTEGA VENETA S/S 17

PRADA S/S 17

BALENCIAGA S/S 17

SUEDE JACKET, £2,775, BY RALPH LAUREN


ASPINALOFLONDON.COM

TEL: + 44 (0) 1428 648180

The Dockery Snap Bag - Large

The Dockery Collection


Fa sh ion

PIN-UP Novel Tanning Positions. Part 6

CALFSKIN, £795, BY CHARLOTTE OLYMPIA

LEATHER, £686, BY LAURENCE DACADE

SATIN & LEATHER, £615, BY MIU MIU

SUEDE, £695, BY NICHOLAS KIRKWOOD SUEDE & NAPPA, £450, BY MALONE SOULIERS

LEATHER, £615, BY CASADEI VELVET, £220, BY KURT GEIGER

VELVET, £565, BY GIUSEPPE ZANOTTI

JUTE, POA, BY DOLCE & GABBANA

Disco platforms Oh, thank HEAVEN platforms are back. How we have missed thee. You take us places that other shoes cannot in terms of impact, height and danger. You fall over in other heels. But you can pretty much fall off a platform. Only thrill-seekers wear them to traverse cobbles. I mean, that’s practically a death wish. Such thrills. And, inevitably, spills. But. So. Worth. It. This generation of platforms are secured – slightly – with a ladylike ankle strap and enlivened by all manner of plaid and ornament and metallics and stripes and pingy colours. These platforms are the funnest girl at the party: you never know what will happen to her, but you’ll sure as hell stick around long enough to find out. And here’s the killer heel fact: they are far more comfortable than they look. AR

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017

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LUREX, £595, BY JIMMY CHOO

SUEDE, £555, BY AQUAZZURA

WOOL-JACQUARD, £565, BY PRADA

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: PHILLIP GAETZ/PLAINPICTURE

PYTHON, £880, BY ROBERTO CAVALLI


NICK COMPTON, 33 If you’re staying at Nick’s house, he’ll cook you pancakes. He makes them really thin and crispy, and covers them with fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar. STOP. Later, he’ll do some yoga and pilates. He’s not shy of Lycra, and often wears cycling shorts under his padding because he likes to keep everything in its proper place when playing for Middlesex. Occasionally, talc is added. NICK WEARS WHITE-GOLD WATCH WITH LEATHER STRAP, £49,500, BY BREGUET

SAM NORTHEAST, 27 The Old Harrovian captain of Kent, opposite page, finds it hard to switch off from the game, so he hardly sleeps. But don’t get too excited – he’s got a girlfriend. When asked who he’d snog if given a hall pass, he admits to having a list that includes Margot Robbie. ] SAM WEARS GOLD & OPALINE WATCH WITH ALLIGATOR STRAP, £25,250, BY CHANEL

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017

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Watch e s

A STICKY WICKET...

Hot topless cricketers wearing expensive watches. Where to look?! Photographed by MIKE BLACKETT Styled by PHILIPPA DURELL Words by ELLA BALDWIN TATLER.COM

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017


Watch e s JASON ROY, 26 Jason Roy might look tough – he did once crack a rib in the crease (the ball was very hard) – but he’s actually a big softie. When he proposed to his fiancée, he filled their home with roses. Once he’s finished with cricket (he plays for Surrey and England), he wants to spend his days on a beach ‘to make up for lost time’. JASON WEARS WHITE-GOLD WATCH, £27,650, BY ROLEX

TATLER MARCH 2017


SAM BILLINGS, 25 Sam is passionate about photography and LOVES Instagram. Apparently it’s all about balance and peak-timing – a bit like cricket. He’s currently playing for England and Kent, and spends most of his spare moments boosting his lovely biceps at the gym. (

GROOMING BY LIAM JAMES MOORE AT CAROL HAYES MANAGEMENT, USING BUMBLE AND BUMBLE

SAM WEARS STAINLESS-STEEL WATCH, £37,040, BY PATEK PHILIPPE

TATLER.COM

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017


1 ROSE-GOLD, SILVER, DIAMOND & RUBY WATCH, £28,164, BY CHOPARD. 2 STAINLESS-STEEL, DIAMOND & MOTHER-OFPEARL WATCH, £9,130, BY CHAUMET. 3 ROSE-GOLD WATCH, £24,000, BY ASPREY. 4 STEEL WATCH, £4,750, BY HERMES. 5 ROSE-GOLD, DIAMOND & PEARL WATCH, £22,500, BY CHARLES OUDIN, AT WILLIAM & SON. 6 WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND WATCH, POA, BY HARRY WINSTON. 7 PINK-GOLD, DIAMOND, SAPPHIRE, GARNET, ENAMEL & MOTHER-OF-PEARL WATCH, £64,100, BY VAN CLEEF & ARPELS. 8 WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & ENAMEL WATCH, £28,164, BY FABERGE. 9 STAINLESS-STEEL & DIAMOND WATCH, £2,295, BY RAYMOND WEIL. 10 WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & RUBY WATCH, POA, BY GRAFF. 11 GOLD, DIAMOND & MOTHER-OFPEARL WATCH, POA, BY BULGARI

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12 STEEL WATCH, £1,100, BY LONGINES. 13 STEEL & MOTHER-OF-PEARL WATCH, £1,250, BY TAG HEUER. 14 STAINLESS-STEEL & DIAMOND WATCH, £10,300, BY JAEGER-LECOULTRE. 15 STAINLESS-STEEL, DIAMOND & MOTHEROF-PEARL WATCH, £4,700, BY DIOR. 16 STEEL WATCH, £3,900, BY CARTIER. 17 STEEL WATCH, £8,650, BY PIAGET. 18 STEEL WATCH, £1,890, BY RALPH LAUREN. 19 STEEL, DIAMOND & MOTHEROF-PEARL WATCH, £2,790, BY BAUME & MERCIER. 20 STEEL & MOTHER-OF-PEARL WATCH, £570, BY GUCCI. 21 STEEL & DIAMOND WATCH, £8,225, BY TIFFANY & CO. 22 STAINLESS-STEEL & DIAMOND WATCH, £8,250, BY IWC

TATLER.COM

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017


Mariella Tandy rounds up the month’s most splendid stuff

THE I T LIST LAUREN HUTTON (WITH RICHARD GERE) IN AMERICAN GIGOLO WITH THE ORIGINAL BOTTEGA VENETA BAG

WATCH THIS SPACE

B

e honest with yourself – is your watch collection big enough yet? Is it complete? Does it need relooking at? If you have answered ‘no’, ‘no’ and ‘yes’, we can help. Let us direct your gaze to this classic Dolce Vita watch by Longines, which now comes in gold and steel. Beautiful, isn’t it? Such a sleek design. Mmm. Nice face too. Given in yet? longines.com £2,409, BY LONGINES

£1,480, BY BOTTEGA VENETA

FROM £319, BY FENDI

CLAIM TO FRAME

Own the bag Lauren Hutton had in American Gigolo, originally from Bottega Veneta’s late-Seventies collection. The new version is the same design and material and has been aptly named the Lauren bag. Richard Gere will not be inside it, sadly. bottegaveneta.com

LOVE, ACTUALLY

£3,250, BY CARTIER

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ne thing is quite certain in life – you can, and never shall, have too many gold Cartier Love bracelets. The good news is they are now doing a narrower version, which means you can cram even more onto one or more wrists. Very happy with this news, to be honest. cartier.com

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017

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FROM £2,500, BY ANNOUSHKA

f you’re a film-star-in-waiting who loves nothing more than a blue-tinted lens and a statement frame, you must get your almost-famous self over to Fendi. This pair of sunglasses has your name all over them. Be prepared to look the part immediately. fendi.com

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e’re very fond of rings, you know. That’s why we’re springing about with joy over these new Crown rings by Annoushka. They were born to be stacked, so the more the merrier. They come in black, yellow and rose gold – and, most importantly, they’re all covered in diamonds. Right up our street. annoushka.com

Philippa Craddock have done something terribly cunning: their new range of silk flowers is so realistic you will find yourself trying to change the water and wondering why it is they are still looking fresh when they’ve been in the same vase for two months. Even better than the real thing. philippacraddock.com

£2,385, BY CHANEL

PLEAD QUILTY

B

ackpacks are very practical, yes, but not always glamorous. Unless they’re by Chanel, like this one from their new Gabrielle range, which blows that rule right out of the water. Strap this bad boy to your back and swan about town with all your treasured possessions contained within its heavenly quilted walls. Perfection. chanel.com

PHOTOGRAPH: MOVIESTORE COLLECTION/REX FEATURES

PORTABLE ICON

I


It Li s t

CHAIN REACTION

£1,950, BY LOUIS VUITTON

POA, BY GRAFF

DIAMONDS & SWIRLS

The problem with shopping at Louis Vuitton is you can’t possibly imagine you’ll be satisfied with just one item. That’s silly. We’re currently being drawn into the powerful tractor beam of this denim-leather chain bag. We’ve no choice but to succumb. louisvuitton.com

£80, BY EISENBERG

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ocktail rings are no shrinking violets. They lead from the front. This Graff Swirl ring will get your taste buds watering. One large white diamond surrounded by smaller pink diamonds – it wants to be on your hand. graffdiamonds.com

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et’s have a round of applause for skinand bodycare brand Eisenberg, new to Urban Retreat. The whole range is delightful and we heart this anti-ageing/ moisturising/protecting/ lifting complex. urban retreat.co.uk

FRENCH FANCY

W

hat happens when Parisian luggage brand Moynat collaborates with French-Hungarian artist Mambo is that you end up with Michel le Gendarme and other treats appearing on things like this small leather pouch. At 112 Mount Street, W1. moynat.com

£440, BY MOYNAT

Yay, it’s point-to-point time! Snap up your tickets now for the Heythrop Point-to-Point on Sunday 2 April. Apart from the big event, they’ve got pony-racing, a tough farmer challenge, masses of food, masses of drink and everything else in between. Start getting excited for what is guaranteed to be a fabulous day. pointtopoint.co.uk

£116 FOR 100ML, BY ACQUA DI PARMA

PURE GENIUS

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POA, BY DIOR

RULE OF THE ROOSTER

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he limited-edition Dior VIII Grand Bal Plume watch has been designed to celebrate the Year of the Rooster for Chinese New Year. The oscillating weight is decorated with rooster feathers – but it doesn’t crow, you’ll be very glad to hear. Tremendous fun. dior.com

Bathroom brilliance £7, BY THE SOAP CO

THE SOAP CO HAS A LOVELY TRADITIONAL WORKSHOP IN THE LAKE DISTRICT WHERE THEY MAKE GORGEOUS SOAP AND PROVIDE TRAINING FOR VISUALLY IMPAIRED AND DISADVANTAGED PEOPLE. THESOAPCO.ORG

2

TAYLOR’S 32 TOOTHPASTES TASTE TRULY DIVINE, BUT THEY’RE ALSO COMPLETELY VIRTUOUS – NO ARTIFICIAL COLOURANTS, ABRASIVES, PRESERVATIVES, CHEMICALS OR PARABENS. THEY’RE THE ANGELS OF THE MOUTH WORLD. TAYLORS32.COM

£5, BY TAYLOR’S 32

PINKY PERK

YES and HURRAY to the news that Acqua di Parma’s Peonia Nobile Special Edition, exclusively available at Harrods, not only comes in this perfectly marvellous pink box, but that it’s a sort of take on their totally wonderful original peony scent. It’s the promise of spring in a bottle. harrods.com (

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TAT L E R M ARCH 2017


ABOUT TOWN

NINA GOLD WEARS SILK SHIRT, £350, BY EQUIPMENT. SILK SKIRT, £940, BY PROENZA SCHOULER, AT HARVEY NICHOLS. FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR BY CHARLEY MCEWEN AT FRANK AGENCY, USING BUMBLE AND BUMBLE. MAKE-UP BY SARAH CHERRY. STYLED BY AILSA MILLER

Photographed by DAVID VINTINER

THE CASTING DIRECTOR Nina Gold is the power behind the throne. Several thrones. She cast Claire Foy as the Queen in The Crown and as Anne Boleyn in Wolf Hall. She cast Penelope Wilton as the Queen in The BFG. She cast the Queen as a little girl in The King’s Speech. ‘And there was a scene with the Queen in it in The Theory of Everything, but it got cut,’ she says, of the Oscar-winning film, which she also cast. You wouldn’t know that this slight, self-deprecating 49-year-old woman is one of the most powerful people in the film industry, both in Britain and America. But you’ve undoubtedly seen her work on the small screen, the big screen or the stage. She started out in the Eighties by asking fellow Cambridge students to appear in an AC/DC video and rose from there, now largely working from her Queen’s Park house, where she lives with her Greenpeace activist partner, Frank Hewetson, and an office of five. And it’s not just monarchs. Nina recently cast the new Star Wars, both Paddington films and the war flick Allied, which means she picked Marion Cotillard to star alongside Brad Pitt. And you’ve all heard the rumours about that. What can we say? She just really understands chemistry. SM-C

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A bou t Tow n And here’s why: this was pre-Recession. Life was golden. If you were in your 20s or 30s, then you had all the fun of the fair. Boom. Boom. Boom. The result? Hideous ennui. ‘What a bore’ at every turn. Languid and overindulged and selfconsciously glamorous. Is that kind of glamorous even glamorous at all? Obvious enjoyment was vulgar, starstruck even, naive. God forbid. ‘Ghastly’ was the social word of the decade. We devoured it. We dropped it like a little bomb whenever we felt we needed to pass judgement. But guess what? That ghastly ship has sailed. The ghastly horse has bolted. The ghastly milk is spilt. It is most definitely time for a ghastly moratorium. We throw down the ghastly gauntlet: be assured that, should this word pass your lips, it will say so much more about you than about the party or person to whom you refer. None of it good. ‘Ghastly’ is a kind of external manifestation of an internal mean-spiritedness. Unfashionable. Unattractive. Rather gauche in the end. Don’t do it. Marv. I’m glad we agree. So perhaps we can hop down off our soapbox for long enough to admit that – while ‘ghastly’ is banned – things are not always absolutely rosy. Sometimes a damning word or phrase is needed quicksmart. Something that trips off the tongue. Something that scratches the itch. So here are a few of our favourites. With a helpful little indication as to what their employment may say about the utterer:

TATLER BANS THE WORD ‘GHASTLY’ Aren’t you nonchalant, damning everything wonderful with this one mean little word? It’s time to stop, says Annabel Rivkin

I

t was probably about 10 years ago that I heard the word from someone my age outside of a Nancy Mitford novel. With hindsight, I see that the person who delivered it with such nonchalant hauteur was probably trying to sound exactly like someone from a Nancy Mitford novel. Because words like this don’t just fall into your mouth. ‘Ghastly party,’ he murmured out of the corner of his mouth as soon as he stepped through the door. I still remember feeling startled – and that he stayed all night, appearing to have a lovely time, and that

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maybe it was a word I should use because it was so classy. I was young. That was the first time, but ‘ghastly’ hung around, captured the collective, spoilt imagination. ‘Ghastly bore’... ‘Ghastly woman’... ‘Utterly ghastly’. It became a thing: go to a party full of like-minded and often rather rich and winsome types. A vulgarity of booze. Brilliant food. Flattering lighting. Perfect music. Posh loos (with mints and hairbands and those fold-up flat ballet shoes and everything you could ever want). ‘Ghastly’ would ripple round the room.

What a shit party Hardly a wordsmith but more than prepared to tell it as it is. Boring and reassuring. Probably likes watching soccer. What a synthetic party Nicely put. By someone who is probably a bit of a dick. Possibly an artist. Probably a bad one. What a bloodless party This person is sexy. Cold-hearted but thinks they are warmhearted. Dangerous. What an awful party Can’t argue with this if it’s true. Common or garden fed-up. You can be our friend. Let’s get drunk. What a rotten party Less shimmering than ‘ghastly’. More Blyton than Mitford, but ticks a retro box. Faintly droll, but we suspect the speaker is a low-level depressive. What an annoying party This is a conversation starter. There are clearly things to be discussed. Debrief central. Excellent. Spoken by a gossip. What an abomination of a party Oh, nothing’s that bad. Go away, take yourself in hand and give yourself a firm talking-to. Miss Piggy is this one’s spirit animal. What a party! Like ‘What a baby!’ Perfection. Shows lightness of touch. (

2 3 4 5

6 7

8

PHOTOGRAPH: ADOC-PHOTOS/CORBIS VIA GETTY IMAGES

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MOSCOW, RUSSIA

CREATING SUCCESSFUL RESTAURANTS AND BARS

condenastinternationalrestaurants.com


LEFT, ADWOA ABOAH & FRIENDS AT FRAN CUTLER’S 2016 HALLOWEEN PARTY AT ALBERT’S. RIGHT, MARY CHARTERIS, OCTOBER 2016

ALL THE FUN...

...is happening at Albert’s, the new nightclub/supper club enticing scenesters down its Balmoral-tartan-clad staircase. By Tibbs Jenkins

A

manda Sheppard, Lord Edward Spencer-Churchill, Charlotte Dellal, The Bens (Goldsmith and Elliot): yet another bloody committee? But wait, dear reader – they’re not trying to persuade you to attend a charity boxing night. No, this gang’s cause is far more alluring: they’ve banded together in the name of Albert’s, a stylish boîte that you’ll find at 92b Old Brompton Road. An area that was known as Albertopolis in the 1850s, named to celebrate Prince Albert’s role in Victorian life. And it is after Queen Victoria’s love (and not his penis piercing) that this Albert’s is named. It’s the latest creation of Jake Parkinson-Smith, Carlo Carello, Piers Adam and Fraser Carruthers – magical names that every ex-boarding-school kid will associate with long-ago nights of teen debauchery at their former HQs: Raffles, Mahiki and Boujis. Ah, Boujis... do you remember how we danced, how we followed Prince Harry into the loo? Boujis’ doors are sadly shut now, and it’s rumoured that it will be turned into a Five Guys. But what does that matter, when the doors to Albert’s are open?

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And they open early, fyi – at 6pm, in fact. Because this is not just a nightclub (they’re dying a slow death across the country, as we all know). No, this is a members’ club for the chic and mainly over-25s. This isn’t somewhere simply to pitch up after pizza at Pucci’s or a bowl of courgetti/carbonara at Cornelia’s flat in Parson’s Green (though you can, if you like, and are fortunate enough to be a member, for £500 a year). No, there is food to be had here. And it’s v. good – none of this fancy foam nonsense, but instead trusty fare like steak tartare and veal Milanese, as well as fabulous drinks... You know, all the good things in life. Talking of which, you’ll also find Celia Weinstock eating there with Oliver Holcroft; Sam Sangster hosting his b’day sups in the corner (probably discussing the racing syndicate he’s set up with Albert’s); and Archie Manners wondering where he’s put his house keys after one too many at the whisky bar. So far, you may think, so Chelsea crew – which is extremely sensible of Albert’s, seeing that its location makes it the perfect rival to the members’ clubs of Mayfair, its handy postcode meaning you can nip home beforehand, light a candle, have a bath, pet

the dog, pat the children and still be ordering a seabass fillet with your godfather by 8.30pm. Happy days. But its appeal extends further – even up north! Rafferty Law, the Primrose Hill dweller, has nipped in; Jo Wood danced away with Fran Cutler at her Day of the Dead-themed bash at the club; and Arizona Muse was found taking selfies in the bathroom. In fact, the list of people taking selfies in the bathroom is almost never-ending: Lily Frieda, for instance, and Georgina Cohen – who captioned her Instagram of it, ‘Thanks for bringing some cool back into the hood.’ And so it has, with its bright Colefax and Fowler wallpaper, which feels a little Alice in Wonderland on ayahuasca, and its joyfully slimming mirrors (purposely done, btw). But you don’t want to hear about the loos. Not really. What you want to do is actually go there. You want to slink down the Balmoraltartan-clad staircase and eat all the food. And then? Well, post-dinner, the lights go down, the music goes up, the tablecloths get whipped away, the ice buckets come out and ta-dah! – the restaurant is now a dancefloor. Yep, welcome to the Twist. OK, nightclubs per se may be doomed. But we’ve still got to dance, right? (


A bou t Tow n SEEN AT ALBERT’S: LEFT, ADELE MILDRED & JASMINE GUINNESS, DECEMBER 2016. RIGHT, LINDSAY LOHAN LAST HALLOWEEN

PHOTOGRAPHS: HUGO BURNAND, XPOSUREPHOTOS.COM, REX FEATURES, GETTY IMAGES

Harry Styles arriving at a Dior party at Albert’s last October

Alice NaylorLeyland at Albert’s in December

ABOVE, JEREMY CLARKSON AT MARIELLA FROSTRUP’S BOOK LAUNCH AT THE CLUB LAST OCTOBER. LEFT, CHARLOTTE DELLAL, DECEMBER 2016

Remember how we danced, how we followed Prince Harry into the loo? TATLER.COM

TAT L E R M ARCH 2017


I’m coming, my duchess

HOW KATE CAN SAVE THE WORLD Come and join me, Vladimir!

It’s been a dodgy 12 months, so thank heavens for the Duchess of Cambridge, who, with her hair and unique soft diplomacy, can solve most international problems. By Clare Bennett

T

he Duchess of Cambridge, according to a former ambassador, will be a ‘potent force’ in the wake of Brexit, as we attempt to establish break-up rules with the EU. But wait. Couldn’t we extend the magic of her semi-divine, crisis-neutralising powers beyond Europe? What chance would the world’s problems stand in the face of those slender ankles? ‘Climate change is stupid,’ explains the Duchess. Sea levels are rising. Ice caps are melting. Polar bears are running out of space. Yes, the COP21 Paris agreement was significant, but how to make sure the big-hitters meet their side of the bargain? The Duchess of Cambridge travels to the Arctic to observe first-hand the results of the world’s carelessness with CO emissions. Striding through the snow in a belted snowsuit, which somehow still makes her look thin, the Duchess takes in the scene as a group of scientists explain the issues. ‘What is it you need?’ she asks, the cold bringing a flattering pink flush to her wondrous cheeks. ‘A worldwide reduction in greenhouse gases,’ the spellbound scientists reply. The Duchess locks eyes with a distant polar bear, exchanging some kind of mutual understanding and respect with an almost imperceptible nod. ‘What about a photo of me making snow angels?’ she beams, the sun bouncing off her megawatt smile. The picture is front-page news in every nation on earth: ‘Angel Duchess Ends Global Warming As Polar Bear Looks On’, shouts the world’s press. Who wants to be the fool who thinks car manufacturing is more important than this heart-exploding photo? No one, that’s who.

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‘The gender pay gap doesn’t work for me,’ the Duchess informs men. ‘The difference currently stands at 13.9 per cent – in some cases, for women who do exactly the same job as men,’ an equal-rights group informs the Duchess at a charity event. She sweeps a bouncing lock of extraordinary, gardenia-scented hair back over her shoulder. ‘What the actual..?’ she murmurs, her green eyes flashing incredulously. Invited to open a state-of-the-art building in the City, the Duchess sweeps in, radiating extreme charisma to the universe. The traders take in her teal LK Bennett peplum skirt suit and Rupert Sanderson heels. She is invited to close a deal. ‘Don’t worry, Your Royal Highness, if we can do it, you can do it,’ she is assured. ‘Why not make it an even 500?’ the Duchess negotiates flirtatiously. She hangs up to applause. ‘£500 for your first deal is brilliant,’ the broker says. The Duchess smiles: ‘£500 billion.’ A stunned hush falls across the room. ‘As you said, anything you can do, I can do – which is true of ALL women. Know what I’m saying?’ The Duchess leaves with a commitment from the CEO to roll out a global plan addressing equal pay with every company they do business with. Government legislation quickly follows. ‘The right to go to school for all of you,’ the Duchess declares, gesturing broadly to the world’s children. ‘George loves nursery,’ the Duchess smiles, opening a school’s new drama centre. ‘He’s making Charlotte desperate to go too.’ ‘And yet 60 million children around the world won’t even make it to primary school,’ sighs the headmistress. ‘OK – what?’ the Duchess frowns, clenching her perfect fists. At the next state dinner hosted by Buckingham Palace, the Duchess is seated alongside the new UN secretary general. Dazzled by her stunning Jenny Packham dress and the Cambridge Lover’s Knot Tiara nestling in her mindblowing hair, he quite forgets to eat his filet de turbot à l’Amiral starter. ‘Secretary General – about the world’s children,’ the Duchess begins. ‘They must all have the right to go to school.’ ‘Yes,’ he whispers, trapped in her royal lair. ‘I know it’s complicated, but...’ She looks at him, raising her eyebrows. ‘I must do better,’ he gulps. ‘I know you will. And then maybe you and your family could come and stay at Anmer,’ she adds. ‘For a whole weekend. George and Charlotte could sing you “Doe, a Deer.”’ The secretary general’s eyes start to well. She pats his hand. ‘Finish your turbot.’ The goal to get all children into school by 2030 picks up unprecedented momentum, spearheaded by the UN secretary general. Malala gives a tearful speech to global leaders, stunned at the progress. George enrages Charlotte by telling her about the amazing sandpit at nursery and how she’s not allowed into it because she’s too small. ‘Satan 2 doesn’t go with my outfit,’ the Duchess reveals. The RS-28 Sarmat thermonuclear-armed ballistic missile, fondly known as Satan 2, is Russia’s new 10-ton nuclear warhead, 2,000 times more powerful than the Hiroshima bomb. Reaching speeds of 4.5 miles per second, it could wipe out France – or the UK twice over. Everyone is uneasy about it. What if Putin just thinks, ‘I hyave hyad enyough of UK! I dyon’t care about bilateral relations! I just want to play ice hyockey and ride motorbike in Crimean Peninsula!’? We’d be in big trouble of the ‘we don’t exist any more’ variety. Except, no. One royal trip to Russia sorts that out. ‘I’d love to see the photographs of you flying that motorised hang-glider between two Siberian white cranes,’ the Duchess tells Putin as they tour the Kremlin. Excitedly, Putin whips out his iPhone and scrolls through his pictures. ‘Gosh, here you are on a horse with no shirt on,’ the Duchess says, blushing magnificently. ‘President Putin, I’m a married woman.’ ‘My dear – call me Vlad,’ he says, transfixed by her captivating teeth. He leans over to an assistant. ‘We cannot destroy the country that gave us thyis lyubimaya. Point it at Texas instyead.’ (

PHOTOGRAPHS: REX FEATURES, ALAMY, ISTOCK

A bou t Tow n


condenastjohansens.com The Chedi Andermatt, Switzerland


A bou t Tow n

How to speak English like a posh person

T

By Philip Womack

he forest of English surnames is heaving with pitfalls, ready to catch the unwary. If you run into someone called Cholmondeley, you must say ‘Chumley’, and a Marjoribanks is squashed into ‘Marchbanks’. It’s ripe for satire: in Evelyn Waugh’s Decline and Fall, the wicked Margot Beste-Chetwynde takes on a whole new resonance when you realise her surname’s pronounced ‘Beast-Cheating’. But what makes it even more complicated? And fun? There are no rules.

One of the first things my grandfather taught me was how to pronounce Featherstonhaugh. ‘It’s “Fanshaw,”’ he would bark before pottering off to his armchair (that’s arm-chair – posh people always stress the second syllable; no one knows why). Perhaps he sympathised. Our own surname is surprisingly difficult. In the Middle Ages it was spelled – are you ready for this? – WIUHOMARCH. When spoken, its bearers would pronounce the ‘H’ and say ‘Hwommock’. I can’t think why we settled on ‘Woah-mack’.

hard. More happily, Charles Tyrwhitt looks like a mouthful but is actually easy – ‘Tirrit’. The world is a lot more enjoyable with such mysteries. They may seem like a way of reinforcing social barriers, but actually show how language and vowels have shifted over the centuries. The original bearers of these names would have been much ‘ob-lay-ged’ for a favour, and would have met the ‘Dook’ of Wellington at ‘sivin’ o’clock. It’s a window into another world. Though how a Cholmondeley deals with automated phone conversations is beyond me. (

1

H OW YO U S AY ? *

‘Good afternoon, Lord Wriothesley’ ( a Rizzley ( b Wri-oth-es-ley ( c Wrigley

2

‘Let’s go and see the new Fiennes movie!’ ( a Fines ( b Feens ( c Phi-eee-knees

3

‘Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps is staying for the weekend’

( a Foth-er-in-gay-Phipps ( b Fungy-Phipps ( c Either of the above

4

‘That Menzies fellow is coming to supper’ ( a Duh, Menz-ies ( b Mingis ( c Vane-Tempest-Stewart

Speak now or forever hold the mouthpiece, says Emma Kennedy

O

h, hello there. Haven’t you got lovely teeth? If only there was a game that might allow you to show your gnashers off to great advantage, out and proud, with not a scrap of spinach in sight? I won’t lie – I feel your pain, dearest reader; I’ve got porcelain veneers. They’re going to waste.

TAT L ER M ARCH 2017

But steady on, Tonto – what’s this galloping up the rear? Whyioughtta, it’s only Speak Out! For this game you will need: – A mouth. That’s it. You need nothing else. (*Whispers*: if you have an uncle whose breath is reminiscent of something ancient and biblical,

TATLER.COM

deploy emergency mints. Repeat: deploy the mints.) Take it in turns to place a plastic device in your mouth that is not a million miles from a dental mouth opener. Don’t panic.

Next, take one of the many cards and read it. This is where it gets tricky. The cards give you phrases that you have to read out loud and everyone else has to guess. If you want an idea of what I’m talking about, pull your mouth apart with two fingers and try saying ‘Priscilla’s pristine

pumpkin’ or ‘I have to risk it for the biscuit’ (my daily mantra). You’re against the clock and drooling. The struggle is real, people. If anyone is able to work out what you’re trying to say, they win a point. WARNING: You may literally die from laughing. £19.99; available at all good retail outlets.

*ANSWERS: 1A, 2A, 3B, 4B. PHOTOGRAPH: WEINSTEIN COMPANY/SEE-SAW FILMS/REX FEATURES

Fan-shaaaaw

Some surnames are too grand to finish themselves: here you’ll find the likes of Prevost, (‘Prevo’) or Blyth (‘Bly’). Others gently elide their middles, like Tollemache and Wellesley – it’s ‘Tolmash’ and ‘Wellsley’. Imagine saying them after two bottles of port. But the biggest batch are the ones where vowels aren’t what they seem. Try putting your chops round Culme-Seymour. Think you’re on safe ground? It’s ‘Cowlme-Seamer’. See an Outram on a placement? It’s ‘Ootram’. Douglas-Home is not ‘Home’ as in Homebase but ‘Hume’ as in the Cardinal. A Heathcote will look askance if you talk about heaths and coats – they’re ‘Hethcut’. And beware the Herveys: not ‘Herrvey’, but ‘Harvey’, as in Nicks. Sometimes they can’t even agree among themselves. Meet a Ponsonby baronet and pronounce as you see, but if you come across Baron Ponsonby? It’s Lord ‘Punsonby’ to you. And then there is Lord Sinclair, whose title is pronounced ‘Sinclair’ but whose name is pronounced ‘St Clair’. It doesn’t end with social situations. Even such an apparently simple matter as buying a shirt can be complex. Ask the way to ‘Jeeves & Hawkes’ and you will get odd looks – the ‘G’ in ‘Gieves’ is


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It wasn’t me (although maybe it was)

And everyone heard it

Goodbye. I am emigrating to Australia

OK, so you did a terrible thing in front of some important people you really wanted to impress. Don’t let it ruin your entire life, counsels wise Annabel Rivkin

S

o you’re walking or talking, or eating or sleeping, and suddenly... violent buttock clench combined with solar-plexus punch, hand over face and maybe a small, terrible sound. This is you remembering your social shame. Your horrible, unrecoverablefrom social shame. Oh God, oh God, oh God. You need to think about something else. You can in no way face up to the idea that this actually happened. I call it ‘the horrors’. Social shame is not the same as some socking great scandal. It’s not public shame or political

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shame or financial shame. No, no, no. It is very specifically when you do something tiny but misjudged and it drenches you in humiliation and self-disgrace, from which you can never salvage your pride. Your pride is shot. Yes, it’s small scale, but you still slightly hate yourself for this aberration. And you will continue to do so forever more. Not so long ago, a handsome financial type (name him? NAME HIM? Are you insane? He can hardly speak his own name since this little episode) was at a grandish house party somewhere in the green and pleasants. Prince Harry was a fellow houseguest and all the assembled were

super-cosy with the ginger royal, having known him for years from school or the Army, or just around and about. Anyway, the manifestation of this cosiness was that they all called him ‘Wales’ – his surname as given at Eton. So on night two, after a few wines and having had a rather bonding 24 hours, our anti-hero yelled, ‘Oi! Wales!’ in an off-hand, after-dinner-games fashion. Prince Harry turned and gave our poor about-to-be-shamed guy a slow finger wag. ‘Wales’, it turns out, was a step too far. The anti-hero remains covered in mortification – eight years later. Even though no one else saw. That’s the thing about social

shame – it has a narcissistic element to it. Your humiliation gathers all the imagined forces of the universe to focus on you, when, in fact, no one noticed, let alone remembered. In most cases. There are exceptions. How to put this tastefully? OK, so there is no way to put this tastefully. A brave woman recently admitted to this writer that she had once farted full in the face of a man who was... oh, what the hell – going down on her. He will not have forgotten, we reckon, but she says that the shame was diffused in the telling of the tale. Because shame cannot survive being spoken about. Then there was the girl who walked – full sashay – around a party, parading in front of her much-missed and lamented ex-boyfriend, only to discover that she had a long tail of loo paper dragging behind her, attached to her knickers. She could not think about this for a full 15 years. She tried to blank it out, but the shadow was there. Because, when you are fully confident and sunny, social shame wields far less power; when you are broken-hearted and cast low, you are more vulnerable to everything. The loo-paper girl also managed to walk the full length of Claridge’s lobby with her skirt tucked into her pants. She was buoyant at the time and couldn’t have cared less. One cheerful gent remembers a house party where his bottlegreen suit and kipper tie (this was some time ago) gleaned much pompous sniffing from the assembled toffs and then, later, ‘it was growing dark. I was getting hungry,’ he remembers. ‘I walked back from the garden through the vast and open picture window to see waiters putting food down on a table. Amongst it, I noticed, were some dried fig-like things. I idly picked one up and bit deeply. I had started to eat a very expensive truffle. I left shortly afterwards. The hostess has neither forgotten nor forgiven, and nor has she addressed a word to me since.’ Her problem, bottle-green boy. Not yours. In the end,

PHOTOGRAPHS: PETER DAZELEY/GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES

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Oh the shame! Someone saw Made in Chelsea’s Binky’s boob by mistake

A POLITICAL PORTRAIT BY

QUENTIN LETTS SI R N I CH O L AS SOA M E S Less girth, just as much mirth

W One girl walked around a party with a long tail of loo paper attached to her knickers. She could not think about this for 15 years minding too much is as shaming as nibbling too much. So, next time you find yourself dealing with the horrors, try one of three things: – Take yourself in hand and give yourself a firm talking-to. If anyone even noticed, they have forgotten. Your little fuck-up is lost in the annals of time. Gone. Poof. – Tell someone. Anyone. ‘I remember the time when...’ How bad can it be? No one died – or if they did, then you are clinically insane and mistaking embarrassment for murder. – Thirdly, if nothing else will do, revisit the scene of the crime. Or the recipient of the gaffe. Like one man who, upon meeting Elisabeth Murdoch, had no idea who she was but merely heard an American accent. Fancying himself something of a didact, he began to slowly, patronisingly and very, very basically instruct her in the ways of the British political system. ‘Later, of course,’ he says, ‘I realised that her father runs the British political system. And she’s no slouch.’ He relentlessly sought her out and joked and joked and joked. Neutralised the shame. Made a friend. Happy f***ing ending. (

e see less of Sir Nicholas Soames these days. The veteran Tory backbencher, once a barrelling 20 stone, has lost so much weight that he’s practically unrecognisable. Until about a year ago, he would sail into the Commons Chamber in wellstuffed Savile Row suits – often one of those double-breasted jobs with chalk stripes as thick as they use on Centre Court at Wimbledon. Today he is a balloon deflated, a football punctured, a cheese soufflé minutes after it has been harpooned by a gourmand. Whoosh! The air has gone out of the Soames mainsail. We hope it is not breaking privacy protocols to note that gallantly jovial Sir Nicholas, 69, has had painful hip problems. Losing several stone made sense – but would it diminish him politically? For his girth was his trademark. Chums say he shed the bulk the hard way – eating less, ditching the booze and taking to a bicycle. His tailor must have wept at all the alterations to those suits. Nico’s face, now hollowed, may not beam with quite such Bunterish bonhomie as of old, but there is sap in the old boy yet. He has been very prickly about Brexit (he was a Remainer) and is furious with Eurosceptic newspapers for teasing top judges. Freedom of the press may not be his top priority, but what can you expect from a former equerry to the Prince of Wales? After earlier indications that he would quit at the next election, the re-energised Rt Hon Nick is now speaking of seeking another term as MP for Mid Sussex. You never know – he might one day become

Illustrated by GERALD SCARFE

Father of the House, as his grandfather was. For Sir Nicholas is a grandson of Sir Winston Churchill. That link has been a help and a hindrance. Foes could allege that he was merely a creature of privilege, an impression perhaps not helped when, aged 12, he went fishing with Prince Charles and the two boys became firm friends. He may blow forth in a wonderfully double-cream pukka accent, but he has always been more interesting than lazy caricatures suggested. And he is ferociously proud of his Churchill ancestry, particularly of his late mother Mary. Quite right too. He was schooled at Eton (cough, seven O-levels) and trained in the Army (11th Hussars). After a spell as personal assistant to Sir James Goldsmith, Soames landed himself the Commons seat of Crawley in 1983 and achieved middling ministerial office. He has always been proEurope, pro-NATO and matey with Arab rulers. V. much pro-Wiltons on Jermyn Street too. Along the way he has held various directorships, some a touch gamy but necessary to keep the old nosebag full. The Prince of Wales was best man at his first wedding (to Catherine Weatherall, a friend of Diana, Princess of Wales). After that marriage ended, Soames married heiress Serena Smith in 1993. He was once known for his Commons heckles – ‘Mine’s a gin and tonic, Giovanni’ he’d shout at sometime oceanliner steward John (now Lord) Prescott. Labour women complained that he could be a sexist brute. These days he does his heckling online, having become an unlikely ace on Twitter. ‘Get a haircut, put on a tie and generally smarten up,’ he told ITV’s Robert Peston, and Eurosceptic Tory MP John Redwood was told to ‘b***** off’. Skinnier? Yes. But Soames is still full of beans. Quentin Letts writes for the Daily Mail.

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Books

Horse therapy, stars behind the lens and the life of a super-spy. By Sebastian Shakespeare

THE WILD OTHER BY CLOVER STROUD (Hodder & Stoughton, £20)

This is the poignant memoir of a girl who suffers a cataclysmic tragedy that colours her whole life. Clover, daughter of TV director Rick Stroud and his wife, Charlotte (also the mother of pottery designer Emma Bridgewater), moved to Wiltshire at seven and enjoyed a blissful childhood surrounded by ponies, cats and Lycett Greens. But the idyll was shattered by a riding accident that left her then 52-year-old mother brain-damaged. She survived, but ‘could say nothing, and do nothing, and knew nothing’. Clover was just 16. ‘The day of the accident wrote trauma inside me and I’ve never rubbed that out,’ she says, likening it to a single domino that ‘sent a trail of little black squares tumbling forward, their onward force unstoppable through time’. Horses are central to the drama and provide salvation as Clover travels to gypsy camps in Ireland, rodeos in Texas and to the Caucasus before settling in the Vale of White Horse, Oxfordshire. Given the emotionally charged material, the book must have been hard to write, and it’s sometimes hard to read. But it is compelling and candid, deftly weaving together past and present. Clover has a son and daughter with an alcoholic gambler in her mid-20s, and an affair with a Caucasian horseman who worked in her sister Nell’s travelling circus, before finding her soulmate, with whom she has three more children (a mixed blessing since she suffers from postnatal depression – ‘far, far more painful than childbirth’). Her mother remains a spectral presence in the book until her death in 2013. It’s a heart-wrenching story, told in haunting, lyrical prose – we are left with the image of her mother’s face: ‘Bright, like that glitter of raindrops when they’re just caught in the grass.’

FIRST LOVE BY GWENDOLINE RILEY (Granta, £12.99)

The author of the acclaimed Sixties-gangster novel The Long Firm resurrects the low life of an earlier era with panache. From her cell at Newgate, the notorious 18th-century prostitute and pickpocket Edgworth Bess gives us her account of how she and her lover, the equally notorious thief Jack Sheppard, formed the most famous criminal partnership of their times. As her day of reckoning approaches, is there a way of escaping the gallows? Richly atmospheric.

Here’s a masterclass in wonderfully waspish dialogue. ‘My tone is ugly, honey,’ says Edwyn, the husband in this savage portrait of a fictional marriage in crisis. ‘I don’t have a nice bone in my body.’ Neve, his wife, is fraught and overwrought, but can’t quite manage to extricate herself. Their toxic relationship is defined by vitriolic verbal battles that underlie what seems like emotional co-dependence. It’s a modern-day Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

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PHOTOGRAPHERS BY MICHAEL PRITCHARD AND TONY NOURMAND

(Reel Art Press, £45) Hollywood stars are usually seen in front of the camera, not behind it. But this unusual celebration of 20th-century photography includes some of the greatest icons – James Stewart, Ingrid Bergman, Sean Connery – with their Leicas, Nikons or Rolleiflexes. It also features captivating shots of famous photographers in action, as well as the best works of jobbing photojournalists. A magnificent survey.

A SECRET WELL KEPT BY CONSTANCE KELL

(Bloomsbury, £16.99) The fascinating life of Sir Vernon Kell, the founder of MI5, by his wife, Constance. Written in the late Forties, after his death, but only discovered by Kell’s greatgranddaughter 60 years later, it chronicles his career as agency director from 1909 to 1940, and his life before becoming a spy. He overlapped with Churchill at Sandhurst, fought in the Boxer Rebellion and travelled from Tokyo to Moscow. You’ll be swept along by the author’s enthusiasm. (

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES

THE FATAL TREE BY JAKE ARNOTT (Sceptre, £16.99)


Art for sale

Semi-precious paintwork, paper capers and naked truth. By Josh Spero STO N E D (£4,500) WHAT ROCKS THINK OF (2013) BY VERONICA SMIRNOFF WHY BUY I’m all for extravagance, but

Smirnoff takes it to a new level, as in this picture of women huddled beside some Dantesque riverbank. She grinds semi-precious stones, mixes them with egg yolk and wine (Lynch-Bages, perhaps), then paints the pastes onto panels blessed by Russian monks. Precious stones, for obvious reasons, have not often been used in art, the best-known exception being lapis lazuli, processed into ultramarine paint. If you’ve seen an unforgettable blue in a painting by Titian or Vermeer, that’s ultramarine. And that’s the tradition Smirnoff wants to be part of. WHEN 8 February–4 March. WHERE Jessica Carlisle, 4 Mandeville Place, W1 (jessicacarlisle.com).

WOM A N ’ S OW N

(est £15,000–£20,000)

PHOTOGRAPHS: VERONICA SMIRNOFF, CHRISTIE’S IMAGES LTD 2016

NU AUX BOTTINES (1916) BY SUZANNE VALADON WHY BUY There’s nothing unusual

CO R N I S H TA ST Y (£2,400) WILD POPPIES (1987) BY MARGARET MELLIS

WHY BUY If you ever feel so desperate to create that you grab the nearest piece of paper and draw, you’ll understand this piece. Mellis, a member of the St Ives School, ripped apart an envelope to capture these angular poppies, pushing them into every corner of the paper. St Ives may now be overrun by tourists, but in the mid-20th century its distance from London allowed artists like Mellis, Ben Nicholson and Barbara Hepworth to experiment in peace. WHEN 9–12 February. WHERE Gwen Hughes Fine Art at the Works on Paper Fair, Royal Geographical Society, Exhibition Road, SW7 (worksonpaperfair.com).

about the subject of this picture: painters painted women in states of undress for centuries – these Venuses often being no more than titillation masquerading as mythology. The woman at left has been painted by a woman who’s taking on this male preoccupation in the fresh style of the times – Matisse-ish, Fauve-ish. Valadon was the first woman admitted to the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts, triumphantly breaking an institutional barrier; Google Linda Nochlin’s essay ‘Why have there been no great women artists?’ to see how it was institutions, not talent, that kept female artists down. WHEN 3 March. WHERE Christie’s South Kensington, Old Brompton Road, SW7 (christies.com). Josh Spero writes for the Financial Times.

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Restaurants

OCTOPUS AT BAR DOURO

Bondage and brilliance at David Muñoz’s StreetXO. By Jeremy Wayne

HOW MUCH Lunch or dinner, about £160 for two, with wine WHAT TO EAT La Pedroche, pig’s-ear dumplings, club sandwich WHO GOES Naomi Campbell, right, Victoria Beckham, Tom Hiddleston

First up, there’s La Pedroche, croquetas of toro tuna bathed in sheep’s milk – so creamy it’s like eating Leonidas white-chocolate truffles – and topped with lapsang souchong and XO sauce. It’s a stunner. Then, hot smoked scallops with ponzu in a coconut and kaffir-lime reduction, superbly cohesive and almost intoxicating. And now here’s the head chef, grinning: ‘I know it’s Mayfair,’ he says, ‘but you need to eat this with your hands.’ This being StreetXO’s club sandwich: ricotta in a steamed bun with some

PIG'S-EAR DUMPLINGS AT STREETXO

SIDE ORDERS B A R D O U RO Arch 35b, Union Street, SE1 (bardouro.co.uk) This Bankside newbie is PICK one of those ideas you wish ME! you’d had yourself. But you’re not Max Graham, scion of the Churchill port family, who has spent a year in Portugal getting inspiration for his brand-new tasca. Authentic Portuguese tapas sit alongside juicy roast suckling pig – and the white port, with plenty of ice, is superb.

BARRAFINA 26–27 Dean Street, W1 (barrafina.co.uk) When the landlord made plans to redevelop the site of their original Barrafina on Frith Street, tapas maestros Sam and Eddie Hart simply moved it into the rear dining room of Quo Vadis, their Dean Street flagship. Executive chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho remains at the helm and nothing much has changed, so it’s a win-win situation.

E Y R E B ROT H E R S 70 Leonard Street, EC2 (eyrebrothers.co.uk) I love this Shoreditch Iberian, with its understated interior and great South American/African music mix. Mozambique prawns followed by solomillo ibérico are the dishes to go for, complemented by a crisp vinho verde. Even with the odd grumpy waitress (like the one who served my huevos a la flamenca), Eyre Bros is very hard not to like.

THE BARFLY Dickie’s At the end of the day, at the end of the night – sometimes it just has to be Mayfair. And where jollier to head to than Dickie’s, Richard Corrigan’s recently relaunched bar? Once an integral part of the genial Irishman’s restaurant, Corrigan’s Mayfair,

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Dickie’s is now making a bid for glory as a go-it-alone, with a separate street entrance and New York mixologist Gregory Buda, of Dead Rabbit fame, twirling the swizzle stick. Irish whiskey is a good place to start. 21 Upper Grosvenor Street, W1

PHOTOGRAPHS: JOHN CAREY, ISTOCK, GETTY IMAGES

W

ho doesn’t like the occasional bit of bondage? But there are limits. At StreetXO, enfant terrible David Muñoz’s new London outpost of his threeMichelin-star Madrid restaurant DiverXO, the staff uniforms have so many straps and buckles that you wonder how the waiters and kitchen crew are ever going to get out of their work gear and back into normal clothes come the end of the evening. But silly uniforms aside, I just love this modernist basement restaurant, love its energy, love its buzz, its sense of organised (one assumes) chaos, its red-lacquered tables, its surgical instrumentlike cutlery and its kitchen counter, where you absolutely must sit to get up close and personal with the chefs. But, most of all, I’m loving the food, with its roots firmly in Old Castile, its alter ego in Asia.

chilli cream for heat, topped with a fried quail’s egg. Knife and fork, begone. Directly across the counter from me, a dark-haired girl is dipping a paintbrush into strawberry hoisin sauce and flicking it, Jackson Pollockstyle, across sheets of waxed paper on which will sit XO’s famous crunchy pig’s-ear dumplings. And speaking of ears, here comes Muñoz, a large silver bone the size of an ingot through his ear, and with a Mohican that is pure Eighties King’s Road. ‘Try this,’ he says, pushing a plate of robata pigeon our way, lollipops of bird breast with migas – which is what they call breadcrumbs in Spain – the coronary-inducing food of the poor, cleverly reimagined here with chorizo and lily bulb to delight the better-off. Bondage and all, StreetXO is a dazzling piece of theatre. So dazzling that next time you call my office at lunchtime and they tell you I’m all tied up, you’ll know where to find me. 15 Old Burlington Street, W1 (streetxo.com).


Gadgets This month’s gadgets were selected for the editor who has twin toddlers and I am a suckbutt and would like to get into her good books. That’s OK, isn’t it? By Emma Freud TOT GEAR

Daddy Saddle

Time Out timer stool

Baby urinal

DADDY SADDLE

IPAD POTTY

For kids who eschew what generations of toddlers that came before them did – travelling perfectly happily on the neck of their parents, using only the adult’s neck muscles as a seat. Now some smartarse has invented a saddle that attaches to your upper body to provide a supportive chair for the infant’s bum, which means it’s finally comfier, safer and easier for the child to kick the grown-up in the tits. £70 at saddlebaby.com

I’ve featured it before, but it’s so brilliant that here we go again. What every toddler attempting pottytraining needs – the iPotty, a seat with a neat iPad holder so they can update their stock portfolio or check how many followers they have on their YouTube channel while waiting for gravity and nature to take their course. The rest of us should install a grown-up version as well, so we can catch up with the latest developments on CBeebies. £29.99 at amazon.co.uk

TIME OUT TIMER STOOL

POOP ALARM

Not speaking from personal experience or anything, but here are some purely hypothetical scenarios of when it’s appropriate to give a child ‘time out’: 1) When your five-year-old, who may or may not be called Spike Curtis, shouts ‘Mummy, please don’t hit me’ really loudly on a busy Tube just to see what happens. 2) When you go for a playdate in a posh house and your four-year-old ‘borrows’ your phone and takes close-up photos of the host’s childrens’ bottoms. 3) When your six-year-old rings Childline because you wouldn’t buy him a bag of Haribo in Tesco. Problem is, ‘time out’ often fails because after about 90 seconds the child manages to convince you that they’ve been on the stool for long enough. The truth is – it’s never long enough. This giant 10-minute timer is the future. Thank you to the exasperated mother who invented it. £84 at amazon.com

For the past 200,000 years (I Googled it), humans have used one gadget to work out if their toddler’s nappies needed changing. It’s called ‘the nose’ and it’s a highly effective tool but not an entirely pleasant experience for the nose-owner. 2017 sees the end of that antiquated method. Now, when your children launch their regular dirty protests, you will be alerted by a blinking LED light and an alarm to the nightmare that has just happened inside their pants. Helpful for the parent and not at all embarrassing for the child. Model Mark II will play ‘Oops!... I Did It Again’ loudly on Bluetooth speakers and include a hat with a large neon arrow pointing down at their groin and lighting up a big sign that says ‘eeww yuck’. £8 at ebay.co.uk

BABY URINAL iPotty

Poop alarm

Lie-detector test

A tiny urinal for little boys who are working on the progression to becoming big boys and whose parents have experienced the indignity of holding up the little boy so he can reach the big-boy urinal bowl but discovered their hands are consequently full of little boy, which means they can’t also help direct the liquid emanating from the little boy and end up getting the flow all over the bowl, and the floor and their feet and their trousers, and sometimes also, incomprehensibly, their hair. This gadget makes it all easier. Also great fun for the little ones to have an opportunity to wee inside an animal’s mouth without being told off. £5 at wish.com

LIE-DETECTOR TEST Start as you mean to go on, I say. Plug one end of this home lie-detector test into your computer and attach the sensors to your toddler’s tiny deceitful fingers to register baseline readings of their pulse rate and their skin’s electrical resistance. The machine can then measure any changes in response to serious questioning: for example, declaring the amount of screen time they’ve had; admitting whether or not it was them who ate the expensive sea-salt truffles you were keeping in the fridge for emergencies; and whether they used the secret students-only WhatsApp group to copy the correct answers for the colouring-in homework at kindergarten. It’s a bit expensive, but surely worth the investment – learning how to lie convincingly is an important life skill for every child. £240 at hammacher.com

The tiny urinal is for little boys working on the progression to becoming big boys – and they now have an opportunity to wee inside an animal’s mouth without being told off

N E X T M O N T H I H AV E N O T Y E T D E C I D E D , B U T AT S O M E P OI N T I W I L L A N D I T W I L L B E YO U R FAVO U R I T E T h i s i s m e o n t h e w e b – e m m a f r e u d . c o m

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TOFF GEAR ig ambitions – bu Small car, b t will

S

o, electric cars. What a solid idea. You can still do the school run, but you’re actively protecting the environment while you do it by purring around quietly in a futuristic, space-age bubble. Plus, Londoners, electric cars don’t have to pay the congestion charge. So it feels a bit like you’re saving the planet AND beating the system at the same time. BMW have two electric models. The i3, shaped like a ladybird, and the more sportif i8. There is a pure-electric version of the i3, but I tested the hybrid Range Extender, which means it uses both electricity and a small petrol engine in case you’re low on battery. Or you can’t find a charging station. Or you don’t have a driveway in which you can park your moon buggy to charge it from the mains overnight. Because this is the problem with electric cars. The i3 is an absolute pinger to drive (which is a good thing). You could blow softly on the accelerator and you’d be off, 40 feet from the lights in seconds, such is the power of the electric acceleration. But while the car technology is there, the infrastructure is lagging. I drove around London for several days in this little love bug. Nipping in and out of lanes, carving up taxi drivers, weaving between buses and generally acting as if I were auditioning for a role in Herbie Goes to Tatler Towers. Come charging time, though, we had a problem. Charging stations are those bollards with vibrant blue and

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o u r h e ro i n e f i n d a c h a r g e r i n t i m e

THE HUMAN WILL NEVER CRACK THE CODE – AH HA HA HA!

BOLLARD IN DISGUISE

We’re gonna need a bigger boot

BOLLARD SAYS NO

THIS IS HOW SOPHIA ALWAYS LOOKS JUST AFTER SHE HAS SAVED THE UNIVERSE

SOPHIA APPEASES THE MACHINE BY STROKING IT

...and the

BMW i3 hybrid

?

green lights at the top. In theory, you park up alongside one, use a pre-registered Oyster-like card to grant you access to the socket, run a cable from your car into the bollard and leave it. Plugged into one of those, the i3 would top itself up to 80 per cent in just over three hours. Trouble is, there aren’t enough bollards. Some bollards were out of order, the Berkeley Square one was always in use and one batch I found in Hackney was still covered in protective plastic, waiting to be unveiled. So I drove round and round and round, desperately looking for another one, which, in London traffic, doesn’t do much for the blood pressure. It would be easier to find Lord Lucan than an unoccupied charging station. However, if the missing-bollard situation doesn’t fill you with too much trepidation, then I can’t recommend the hybrid i3 enough. It gives you 272 miles from a full charge and full tank. Also, it’s a BMW, which means the inside is swanky and spacious and it’s slightly more elevated than other hatchbacks, so you can look down on other drivers – physically and environmentally. In an ideal world, you’d also live in a big house on Holland Park Avenue with a drive where you could park your i3 at night and run a cable inside to charge it. But if you don’t have that, then, well, you know that panicky feeling when you’re out all day RRP £30,980 and you’re down RIVALS NISSAN LEAF, to three per cent RENAULT ZOE of phone battery SPIRIT ANIMAL SHORTand haven’t HAIRED JACK RUSSELL got a charger on TERRIER you? That. (

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAUREN BANISTER

Featuring

Sophia Money-Coutts...


5-6 APRIL 2017, MUSCAT, OMAN SHANGRI-LA BARR AL JISSAH RESORT & SPA

Navigating the New Silk Routes THE PREMIER EVENT FOR THE FASHION AND LUXURY INDUSTRY Join Suzy Menkes and 500 of the international luxury and fashion industry’s top creative and business names for two days of learning, networking, inspiration and discussion about the topics that are reshaping business.

SPEAKERS INCLUDE:

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CEO, Jimmy Choo

TOPICS TO BE DISCUSSED INCLUDE: HOW CAN LUXURY GOODS COMPANIES REIGNITE CONSUMER DESIRE?

Noor Fares

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ARE FRAGRANCES AND ACCESSORIES STILL THE ENGINE OF GROWTH? WHAT IS THE NEW DYNAMIC IN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN DESIGNERS AND BRANDS? WHERE ARE THE NEXT LUXURY RETAIL HOTSPOTS? HOW IS TECHNOLOGY CONTINUING TO RESHAPE LUXURY?

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REVENGE WILDENSTEIN OF THE

WOMEN

Sylvia, Liouba and Jocelyn Wildenstein. Opposite page, Daniel, Guy and Alec Wildenstein, 1999

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PHOTOGRAPHS: © THE HELMUT NEWTON TKTKTKTKTK ESTATE / MACONOCHIE PHOTOGRAPHY

The thoroughbreds have been sold, the chateaux have been emptied of priceless art, the Wildenstein empire is collapsing. Why? Greed, lust, the fury of wronged wives and the biggest tax bill ever*. Keith Dovkants investigates *Possibly

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ABOVE, ALEC WILDENSTEIN, PARIS, 2004. BELOW, RECEIVING THE GOLD CUP FROM THE QUEEN AT ROYAL ASCOT, 2005

Alec Wildenstein with his champion racehorse Kesaco Phedo at Deauville, 2002

PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

or four generations, the Wildensteins just kept winning. The Franco-American clan were the world’s pre-eminent art dealers, amassing fabulous wealth and inspiring awe with their collections of priceless masterpieces. Honours and prestige were heaped upon them and it seemed their soaring upward trajectory was unstoppable, until the night a suspicious wife returned home unexpectedly. Just before midnight on 2 September 1997, Jocelyn Wildenstein, accompanied by her two bodyguards, let herself into the family’s palatial townhouse on East 64th Street, Manhattan, and made straight for her bedroom. There, she said, she glimpsed a naked woman (it turned out to be a 21-year-old Russian model) and her husband, Alec Wildenstein, who grabbed a towel to put around his waist and then a loaded 9mm pistol, which he pointed at his wife. The bedroom scene ended with Alec spending the night not with his young companion, but with the NYPD. The affair might have been closed with his release the next morning, but instead was the point of departure for dramas that are being played out to this day. The head of the Wildenstein family, Guy – Alec’s brother – has just been cleared of criminal charges that could have seen him swapping his home filled with museum-quality art at Sutton Square, overlooking New York’s East River, for a prison cell. Guy had nothing to do with his libidinous brother’s escapade, but the loaded gun in the bedroom episode was, as one New Yorker put it, the loose thread that unravelled the sweater. During his trial, Guy walked out of court in Paris displaying all the calm and hauteur for which he is known. He is close to many of France’s most powerful figures and was made a commander of the Légion d’Honneur by his friend, the then-president Nicolas Sarkozy. As a young man, Wildenstein played polo with the Prince of Wales and the two became friends; Charles is godfather to Wildenstein’s son, David, 36. At his lawyer’s side, Wildenstein was composed, almost impassive. But there was an ashen tinge to his tan. He had just heard the prosecutor, Monica d’Onofrio, call for him to be sentenced to four years in jail, two suspended, with a fine of €250m (£225m). Wildenstein, 71, was accused of defrauding the French tax authorities and of money laundering. His alleged crime, d’Onofrio said, was ‘the longest and most sophisticated tax fraud’ in modern French history. But in a surprise decision in January, Judge Olivier Géron acquitted him, his nephew Alec and his brother Alec Sr’s widow, Liouba, on charges of tax fraud and money laundering. Guy still faces a demand for £470m in unpaid tax in a separate civil case. In the run-up to the trial, the Wildensteins had been selling off property, including Marienthal, their chateau in Paris, and the fabled New York townhouse that has, among other features, an executive office created from the entire panelled interior of the salon in the 18th-century Paris home of Napoleon’s foreign minister, Talleyrand. They also ordered the dispersal of the family’s legendary racing stable. Owning and raising thoroughbreds began with the family patriarch, Nathan Wildenstein, who fled to Paris from Alsace in 1870 during ]


PHOTOGRAPHS: EVAN AGOSTINI, BERTRAND RINDROFF, MYCHELE DANIAU, HULTON ARCHIVE/ GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES, ALAN DAVIDSON/SILVERHUB, MICHAEL EULER/PA IMAGES

LEFT, GUY WILDENSTEIN ARRIVES AT COURT, PARIS, 2016. RIGHT, THE WILDENSTEIN INSTITUTE, PARIS

THE WILDENSTEINS BY (BIG) NUMBERS $42.5m (£37m) Sale price of the Wildenstein East Street mansion, back in July 2008.

Prosecutors described Guy’s alleged crime as ‘the longest and most sophisticated tax fraud’ in modern French history The Prince of Wales and Guy Wildenstein at Deauville, 1980

400 Italian primitives, two Botticellis, eight Rembrandts, eight Rubens, three Velázquezes, nine El Grecos, five Tintorettos, 79 Fragonards and seven Watteaus Just some of the many paintings reportedly stashed in lead-lined vaults by the Wildensteins.

$4m Amount of money Jocelyn Wildenstein is said to have spent on cosmetic surgery.

332,001 Number of facelifts you could have with a $2.5bn divorce settlement.

16 hours Length of time Alec Wildenstein, having pulled a 9mm pistol on his wife, spent in New York police custody.

200 buildings, two swimming pools, 55 manmade lakes, 400 staff At Ol Jogi, the Wildensteins’ former private wildlife conservancy in Kenya.

10 years

PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

Potential length of Guy Wildenstein’s prison sentence if he had been convicted of tax evasion and fraud in France (prosecutors called for four years).

£85m Estimated value of Caravaggio’s The Lute Player, which was not included in the Wildensteins’ original declaration of inheritance in 2002.

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ABOVE, JOCELYN IN LOS ANGELES, 2009. BELOW, WITH HER STEPMOTHERIN-LAW, SYLVIA, AT OL JOGI IN THE EIGHTIES

Jocelyn and her five Chanel-clad greyhounds, New York, 1998

PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

LEFT, A ROOM IN OLYMPIC TOWER, NEW YORK, WHERE ALEC & JOCELYN WILDENSTEIN LIVED IN THE SEVENTIES. RIGHT, DANIEL & ALEC WILDENSTEIN AT LONGCHAMP, 1973

Georges Wildenstein, 1939

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PHOTOGRAPHS: JONATHAN BECKER/CONTOUR PHOTOS, HORST P HORST, BETTMANN, MANUEL LITRAN, JORDAN STRAUSS, GAMMA PHOTO /GETTY IMAGES PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

Daniel and his second wife, Sylvia, at the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, Paris, 2001

[the Franco-Prussian War. He worked as a tailor and then, after successfully selling some pictures on behalf of a client, began his career as an art dealer. His art training, family lore says, was 10 days spent in the Louvre, studying its masterpieces. He prospered and, in 1905, bought a grand building at 57 Rue La Boétie, now the headquarters of the Wildenstein Institute. Nathan acquired a string of successful horses and his son, Georges, continued the tradition. But it was Georges’s son, Daniel, and his son Alec who made the Wildenstein name rank with the Maktoums and the Aga Khan. Their stables in France, England and the United States produced a long line of winners, including Westerner, which won the 2005 Ascot Gold Cup. Now the Irish bloodstock auctioneers, Goffs, are selling the last of 110 horses, which, in all, are expected to raise up to $20m (£15.6m). The horse sales, especially, create a sense of a once all-powerful dynasty being hastily dismantled, and the question that persists is: how did this happen? The answer lies in the way the Wildensteins treated their women. First Jocelyn, then her stepmother-in-law, Sylvia, and finally, Liouba, Alec’s second wife. All three, at different times over the years, claim they were cheated on by Wildenstein men who then refused to give them their fair share of the family wealth. Each of the three women took their own revenge, with cataclysmic consequences.

Vegas within a year. Alec took his bride back to New York, where they settled into a penthouse in Olympic Tower, before moving to the Wildensteins’ Manhattan townhouse – the couple had 14 rooms, each hung with pictures worth many millions. Alec’s father, Daniel, was against the marriage from the start and refused to attend the wedding celebrations in Switzerland, but Jocelyn did not allow his animosity to spoil her fun. She had two children, Diane, now 36, and Alec Jr, 35, while simultaneously indulging her passion for big-game hunting and designer clothes. This meant a lot of jetting around in the Wildensteins’ Gulfstream; to Kenya and Ol Jogi, and to Paris for clothes. When her divorce from Alec hit the courts in 1998, it emerged she had paid Chanel $350,000 (today £410,000) for a dress she co-designed with Karl Lagerfeld. She adored Chanel; her five Italian greyhounds had Chanel collars and leashes. The person who looked after the dogs was on a salary of $48,000, and other doggy outgoings, including food and grooming, totalled $60,000 (today £70,000) a year. Jocelyn provided evidence to show the couple drew around $250,000 a month to cover living expenses alone. Her outfits and accessories averaged $800,000 a year and the annual dry-cleaning bill was $36,000. She calculated they needed around $1m a month to get by. It was not clear whether this sum covered cosmetic surgery, for Jocelyn was spending millions of dollars on remodelling her face. Again and again she went under the knife to try to capture her ideal of feline beauty, seen in her pet lynx and the two tigers she kept in a cage of armoured glass at Ol Jogi. Jocelyn doesn’t just look like a wild cat – she can act like one too, it seems. In December 2016, she was charged with assault after her long-term boyfriend, fashion designer Lloyd Klein, accused her of raking his face with her nails and slashing him with a pair of scissors. Photographs of Klein with bloody gouges down his face accompanied reports that Jocelyn attacked him because he was spending too much time on social media. If his injuries need cosmetic surgery, he’ll be hoping for a better outcome than that achieved by his (now) ex-girlfriend. Jocelyn’s many procedures left her looking grotesque – ‘The Bride of Wildenstein’, as a New York tabloid dubbed her. Her divorce lawyer asked for her to be awarded an allowance of $225,000 a month and $50m in cash, pending a final settlement. Alec’s legal team said he was merely an assistant to his father on $100,000 a year and had only $75,000 in the bank. For those who have studied the decline of the Wildensteins, this is generally accepted as Mistake Number One. Jocelyn fought back. Her lawyers demanded detailed accounts. Where was the money going to? What did the IRS – America’s tax authority – have to say? Jocelyn’s knowledge of the family’s affairs was in danger of becoming very public and Daniel Wildenstein – who, according to Jocelyn, made all the decisions – acted swiftly. A secret deal was reached and Jocelyn held her fire. One report suggested she settled for $2.5bn, but no one really knows because she refuses to say. For good reason, as Magali Serre, a French filmmaker and author, explains. Serre is a dogged investigator whose documentaries and book, Les Wildenstein, helped penetrate the secrecy for which the Wildensteins are renowned. But even she could not persuade Jocelyn to tell all she knew. ‘They bought her silence,’ says Serre. ‘We talked and I felt she was dying to tell me things she knew, things that had never been revealed. But when she signed that agreement, the American lawyers made sure she would never speak.’ Serre did talk at length, however, with the late Sylvia Wildenstein, Guy’s stepmother, who finally helped pull back the curtain that had concealed the family’s fortune for decades. Sylvia was Daniel’s widow, a former Israeli-army sergeant who went to Hollywood and found ]

Jocelyn joined Alec on a lion hunt and ended up bagging the 37-year-old heir to a multibillion-dollar art fortune

J

ocelyn, now 71, grew up in Lausanne, Switzerland, the daughter of a department-store buyer. At 20, she moved to Paris, where her looks and figure gained many admirers, including the Italian filmmaker Sergio Gobbi. They were together for five years until, in 1977, Jocelyn met Alec Wildenstein. She was a guest at Ol Jogi, the Wildensteins’ 66,000-acre ranch in Kenya, which was used in the shooting of the Meryl Streep and Robert Redford movie, Out of Africa (the ranch is currently available to rent at £200,000 a week). Jocelyn, 31, joined Alec on a lion hunt and ended up bagging the 37-year-old heir to a multibillion-dollar art fortune; they were married in Las

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[minor fame as an actress and model. Her friends describe her as a woman of extraordinary vivacity – beautiful and joyous, dazzlingly generous. One year at Royal Ascot, her hat was so big she couldn’t get into the limo. Yet before she died, in November 2010, Sylvia was broke, beset by huge debts and cared for by a couple of loyal staff she couldn’t pay. For this, she blamed Guy Wildenstein. ‘I don’t have a sou,’ she told a friend, shortly before her death, aged 77. ‘All this has brought me to my knees.’ Sylvia told Serre that after Daniel died in 2001, aged 84, her stepsons, Alec and Guy, told her that Daniel was bankrupt and that she was liable for a massive tax bill. According to her, they persuaded her to sign away her rights to a share of the family fortune in exchange for an allowance of €30,000 a month. Then she was moved from her enormous apartment in Avenue Montaigne – there was a Cézanne over the bed, a Renoir on the opposite wall and a Monet between them – to a smaller flat near the Bois de Boulogne. One day, Sylvia said, she discovered her racehorses had been transferred to different ownership. ‘They took my horses – my babies!’ she told Serre. ‘Can you imagine?’ That was probably Mistake Number Two.

S

ylvia engaged the formidable Paris lawyer Claude Dumont Beghi to fight for what she believed was her legacy. Dumont Beghi suspected the Wildensteins had art worth billions in secret stashes around the world: strongrooms in the United States, Tokyo and Switzerland – even a former nuclear bunker held unseen, priceless treasures. At one point, to prove her claim, Dumont Beghi took Magali Serre to a customs-free zone at Geneva Airport. There, Serre said, in a bare security vault they saw 19 pictures by Bonnard. ‘It was amazing,’ she says. ‘But what was really incredible is that the Wildensteins had treasures like this all over the world. It is impossible to know exactly what and exactly how much it is worth. But they have it.’ The Bonnards were owned, it emerged, by a trust based in the Bahamas. Sylvia went public with her knowledge of the hidden art and her testimony proved crucial, but it would never have been made if she had received what she was sure her husband intended for her, Serre maintains: ‘They cheated her and she had no choice. It was like that with Jocelyn and Liouba [Alec’s widow]. Guy Wildenstein would not be in the situation he finds himself in now if the Wildenstein men had taken proper care of their women.’ Alec died of prostate cancer, aged 67, in a Paris hospital in 2008 and, says Serre, was reconciled with Sylvia on his deathbed. After his divorce from Jocelyn, Alec married Liouba Stoupakova, a beautiful young Russian (not the one in the bedroom scene) who, unlike many other women in his life, was cultivated and clever. As Serre reveals, Alec wanted to make sure Liouba was taken care of properly after his death and named her beneficiary of two trusts registered in tax havens. Both contained pictures worth millions. When Alec died, history began to repeat itself. Liouba, a talented sculptor, found herself with a tax bill of €12m she couldn’t pay. She couldn’t gain access to the fortune she believed Alec had left her and at one stage she had bailiffs at the door, with her telephone and electricity both cut off. She claimed she was owed €200m, but it was not forthcoming. The way the Wildensteins and their advisers treated Liouba may well have been Mistake Number Three. Her father had been an agent in the KGB, and she started some investigating of her own. In March 2009, she went to France’s fiscal authorities with evidence that showed the Wildenstein fortune was secreted in multiple trusts registered in tax havens. Her testimony helped form the basis of the charges against Guy Wildenstein of which he has now been cleared. But Liouba was astonished when the prosecutor added her name to the indictment. ‘I am at war with this family!’ she said indignantly when she appeared

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LEFT, SYLVIA AT VINCENNES, 1998. RIGHT, HER LAWYER, CLAUDE DUMONT BEGHI. BELOW, ALEC & HIS SECOND WIFE, LIOUBA, 2000


From left, Kristina Wildenstein, her husband Guy, his grandmother Mme Georges Wildenstein, his father Daniel and Sylvia Wildenstein, Longchamp, 1983

PHOTOGRAPHS: DON FEATURES, BERNARD BISSON, JOEL SAGAT/GETTY IMAGES, ALAN DAVIDSON/SILVERHUB, BBC ARCHIVE, VLADA KRASSILNIKOVA/PARIS MATCH VIA GETTY IMAGES, NATIONAL POLICE FRANCE

ABOVE, THE WILDENSTEINS’ PARIS VAULTS, WHERE POLICE SEIZED 30 ARTWORKS. BELOW RIGHT, LIOUBA, ALEC’S WIDOW, 2015. LEFT, FIONA BRUCE & PHILIP MOULD WITH THE PAINTING THE WILDENSTEINS DENY IS BY MONET, 2011

in the dock with Guy, Alec’s son, Alec Jr, and a number of the Wildensteins’ legal and financial advisers. (Guy’s daughters – Vanessa, 34, Olivia, 32, and Samantha, 30 – are not involved in the case.) During investigations by the Paris police, the Wildenstein Institute was searched and 30 artworks that had been reported missing or stolen were seized. They included Degas drawings, a Rembrandt Bugatti sculpture and a Berthe Morisot painting valued at over $1m. Guy Wildenstein said he had not known the artworks were there and that no inventory had been kept. This amazed those who had dealings with the Wildensteins, because their company is famous for its meticulous documentation and chronicling of art. Indeed, in the case of leading impressionists, they wrote the book: Daniel Wildenstein was an art historian whose work on Monet, Manet and Gauguin made him an acknowledged authority. His five-volume, 1,540-page catalogue raisonné of Monet’s work stands as the ultimate reference for the artist. Because of Daniel’s scholarship and his book’s stature, the Wildensteins have long held a virtual monopoly on decisions relating to anything by Monet – if the Wildensteins say it’s real, it is. If they decline to issue their all-important certificate of authenticity, a picture is considered a dud. There is unease in the art world over the way the Wildensteins exercise this power of life or death, as it were. In a long-running saga that still rumbles on, they have been accused of allowing a bloated sense of self-importance to unfairly damn a masterpiece. The picture is Bords de la Seine à Argenteuil, an impressionist riverscape that bears Monet’s signature. Daniel Wildenstein rejected the picture as a fake in the Eighties; in 1993, it was bought by retired naval officer David Joel, an author and art historian. Joel did his own research and was convinced the painting was ‘right’. In 2011, Fiona Bruce and London art-dealer Philip Mould took up the case on their BBC programme, Fake or Fortune?. After extensive research and scientific tests, a number of leading experts, including Mould, concluded the picture was indeed a Monet. They took it back

to the Wildenstein Institute in Paris – which again rejected it as a fake.‘This was surprising, in the light of the evidence that had been produced,’ says Joel. He is a spry 88-year-old who lives in a rambling house on the South Coast, filled with books and pictures and, on a library table, copies of correspondence with Guy Wildenstein. Joel felt the Wildensteins were acting unfairly and abusing their power as arbiters of Monet’s work. He tried to have their decision reversed by a court in Paris, but earlier this year his case was thrown out. The Wildenstein Institute demanded €120,000 in damages. The court ordered Joel to pay €10,000. ‘I’m not paying,’ he says. ‘This is a question of justice, fair play. I shan’t give up. I want justice for the work and for the man who painted it.’ Mould says he was disappointed by the Wildenstein decision.‘We covered all the arthistorical ground punctiliously and I admit to being highly surprised,’ he said. ‘I think there was very good reason for them to accept it as authentic and I would very much like them to reconsider.’ For the moment, that seems unlikely, not least because Guy Wildenstein has other things on his mind. He faces legal action from at least two families who claim their lost masterpieces were hidden in Wildenstein vaults. He still has to deal with the French tax authorities, who say he owes them £470m, and he will take little comfort from the words of the judge who said the acquittal might be ‘misunderstood’ because there was a ‘clear intention’ to hide Wildenstein wealth, but grey areas of French law made a guilty verdict impossible. ‘What the Wildensteins cannot escape is a perception of arrogance,’ Magali Serre said, ‘a sense that they considered themselves above the rules that apply to everyone else.’ The Wildenstein brand – once unassailable – has been badly bruised, and in Paris the newspapers are calling the affair ‘Dallas sur Seine’. There can hardly be a more painful punishment for Guy Wildenstein, the patrician head of a once great house, than to find himself the star of a real-life soap opera. (

At one stage, Liouba, Alec’s widow, had bailiffs at the door, and her telephone and electricity both cut off

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AA Gill and his daughter Flora illustrate a piece he wrote about the tyranny of children for Tatler in 1994

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PHOTOGRAPH: RORY CARNEGIE

THE GENIUS OF AA GILL


He was a beautiful writer and a beautiful man – and his first piece of journalism, about his alcoholism and new-found sobriety, was published in this magazine. Here we celebrate Adrian with some of his most elegant, intelligent, funny and brilliant articles for Tatler

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WHY ARE THE MIDDLE CLASSES SO BAD AT SEX?

Are our children walking all over us? Yes, and it has to stop

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Sex is the one area of human behaviour that ought to be classless. Unclothed, we are all as God made us, and who can say whether a thrusting groin went to Eton or Borstal. But the subject of class erects its ugly head everywhere, and it is only the middle classes who would care about the thrusting groin’s education. I know a Hungarian emigrant who has been married to three English girls. As a penniless refugee he wed the landlady’s daughter; then, as his business took off, he wed the only daughter of a bank manager from Cheam; and finally, after collecting his knighthood, he took up with an earl’s daughter. ‘Why,’ he asked, ‘are middle-class girls so bad at sex? I thought it might have been just my number two wife, but I slept with all her friends to make sure, and they were all dreadful too.’ Why indeed are the middle classes so abysmally bad at it? Let’s look at a few hard class facts. The middle classes think sex is important, or rather, they think who you do it with is important. The upper and lower classes have always known that by and large you can have perfectly good sex with anyone. The middle classes invented guilt, and they are incapable of getting undressed without putting on yards of thick, scratchy morals. The upper and lower classes think that guilt is something you get on a picture frame and a moral is a type of mushroom. The middle classes are hopelessly euphemistic; they would rather eat soap than call a penis a penis, and how can you possibly expect to enjoy a gut-churning, passionate fuck with a ‘thingie’ and a ‘front bottom’, or, worse still, an ‘ickle mousie’ and a ‘hidey hole’? Just read all those pages and pages of Valentine messages in The Guardian: ‘Mr Pigglie Wigglie misses the bearded clam – lay your pearl before the swine.’ Cringingly embarrassing. You just know that midnight on 14 February will witness the entire Home Counties shuddering with appalling three-and-a-halfminute sex. The upper and lower classes not only call a penis a prick, but they shout instructions, bellow encouragement and shriek on approaching orgasm. If you live in a castle, no one can hear you anyway, and if you share a room with three siblings, there is no point in trying to pretend you are reading a book. The sad truth is that the middle classes only ever get to fuck each other. The upper and lower classes collaborate all the time – whether it is eldest sons practising on the maid, or their mothers banging the keeper in the heather, top and bottom of the social scale have a mutual attraction, and the poor, dull, middling centre bobs along in the dark with all the zeal of a depressed missionary. If you are considering the bedworthiness of a new partner, here is a little quiz to help you ascertain their social origins. Do they have a dimmer switch in their bedroom? Dimmed lights are unutterably bourgeois – candles are the only lighting for a bedroom. Anyway, neither the upper nor the lower classes can afford to pay the electricity bill. Do they consider Janet Reger underwear a sexy gift? Wearing camiknickers is totally Ealing. The upper and lower classes do not use underwear. Do they think bestiality is disgusting? The upper and lower classes know that animal passion is fine as long as it does not lead to pregnancy or shorten the odds before a race. Do they use a bidet before or after sex? Only the middle classes would own such an item. Which do they consider more important: being good in bed or having nice manners? Only the middle classes talk about being good in bed. Fucking is a free-for-all: you enjoy yourself as much as possible and your partner does the same – if they do not have multiple orgasms, then it is their own silly fault. The upper and lower classes understand that fucking is great, but manners are everything. Published in Tatler, February 1992.

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PHOTOGRAPH: ANDREW LAMB

‘What do you think, Alice?’ A mother (I use this term in a purely biological sense – don’t assume a socio-metaphysical meaning) leans across me in the middle of one of my better, wittier, more urbane, grown-up anecdotes and says: ‘What do you think, Alice?’ In midsentence, at a dinner party, at half past nine at night over the Moravian poussin: ‘What do you think, Alice?’ All 10 adult eyes turn to look at Alice – eight of them with raised eyebrows – in an expectant, kindly, approving, enquiring sort of way. Mine burn with something less generous. Alice, now the centre of attention, cocks her virtually bald head coyly, her fingers playing with a plastic spoon. Tell us what you think, Alice. What do five-year-old girls think about winter in Barbados as opposed to St Barth’s? What is your position on the bloodstained glove? Have you any little nuggets about Emily’s List and the future of women in the Labour Party? Tell us, do. Pray, inform men and women who have seen 10 times as much of life as you. Please offer enlightenment from a pristine brain that can’t write its own name yet, that can’t read a yoghurt pot. Go on, Alice, what do you think? ‘I think you are a silly man with a poo-poo head.’ ‘Ha, ha, ha, Alice. What a little card, what a munchkin Dorothy Parker. Thank you, ha, ha.’ Cynical, me? Potential infanticide, me? Herod’s greatest fan? You bet. I’ve had it with kids – not my kids, I hasten to add. No, my kids are bliss. I’ve got some photographs here somewhere. No, it’s your kids: they’re the ones I can’t stand. Your gargoyle-faced, dull, loud, spoilt, overindulged, overtired and all-over-me kids. We live in a totalitarian age, an autocracy of primary colours and sticky bits on the arms of chairs. We live under the iron heel of the Start-rite and of king baby, emperor toddler, despot kid. And it’s getting worse. The infantile demands of the dictators are getting more outrageous, taxing me to despair, pushing me towards armed insurgence. Childhood used to be biologically necessary, the unenviable transition between birth and adulthood. It was messy, repetitive, dull, frightening and dangerous and the sooner you could be dragged through it, the better. But today childhood is seen as a magic period, a pristine, perfect time. Children are imbued with certain qualities: unspoilt humanity, innocence and plain speaking (though with a limited vocabulary and dodgy grammar). Kids are seen to be unspoilt by the temporal worries of economics, sexuality and manners. All this nonsense comes from America, of course, along with and mixed with Oprah-style guilt. Extract from an article published in Tatler, July 1994.


HOW AA GILL FOUND THE WILL & THE WAY TO STOP DRINKING The house is large, too large to be a family home but not big enough to be a country hotel. It is pretty but not exceptional, meriting only a dismissive sentence in Pevsner. You approach it down a dark drive of leggy rhododendrons and laurels; the view at the bottom is wonderful, beyond the ha-ha stretches and folded chalk of Wiltshire. I saw it first six years ago on 1 April. The bluebells were just finishing and the daffodils starting, or maybe the bluebells were starting and the daffodils were finishing. My grip on the natural rhythm of things was shaky. My grip on most things was shaky. I stood in the spring sunshine, pigeons cooed, flowers nodded, the clouds scudded and I swallowed hard on the rising foam of tears and vomit. How unfair that I should have been reduced to this. At the age of 30, my best endeavours, a river of booze and a desert of chemicals had brought me to the bon viveurs’ Lubianka – a drying-out clinic. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’re an alcoholic; there really isn’t any doubt about it.’ Two weeks earlier I had been sitting in a tasteful private doctor’s consulting room and a tasteful private doctor had told me that I was an alcoholic. ‘Fine.’ I tried to make it sound mildly inconvenient, but not worrying. ‘What can you give me for it?’ ‘It doesn’t work like that. I can’t prescribe you any drugs. You would simply abuse them and drink. Anyway, you should go to a treatment centre. I can book you in now. It’s expensive, but I strongly recommend you go.’ ‘Fine, but not right now. I’ll go in two weeks.’ ‘Two weeks... that’s 1 April then.’ He smiled at a tasteful private joke. It is 2 April and I am sitting in my first group-therapy session. I have just spent my first night in treatment. This is the first day in 10 years that I haven’t started with a drink. This is not what I expected. This is hell. I don’t know quite what I did expect – fruit juice and brisk walks, housey-housey and stern lectures from low church ministers, but not this. This is like some awful parody of boarding school, the same smells, the same gloss paint and tatty furniture; inmates being sent and summoned by bells, books to read, homework and, worst of all, dormitories. I am sharing a room with five other poor bastards, ranging from a scholarly-looking heroin dealer who has just had his leg amputated, to a cacophonously flatulent transcontinental lorry driver who couldn’t stop having one for the road. I’m put in the bed by the door. Later I learn that alcohol withdrawal can be fatal. They put new boys next to the door just in case. I have my blood pressure taken every 20 minutes. All night. By the time the bell goes at 7am I want to die. The nurse gives me a Heminevrin, a sort of shandy in a pill that takes the edge off the shakes. I can’t face breakfast. The morning is spent filling in multiple-choice forms. Have you ever stolen money to buy drink? Yes. Have you ever manufactured an argument so that you could go out for a AA Gill and his drink? Yes. Have you ever gone to bed with partner Nicola Formby, an inappropriate partner because you were photographed for drunk? Oh my God, yes. Have you ever Tatler at the National Gallery, 2006 had blackouts, shakes, hepatitis, DTs, partial

paralysis, peripheral neuritis? Yes, yes, yes. Page after page of little ticks. I can’t face lunch. ‘Group’ is the central core of treatment, 10 chairs ranged in a circle. The meeting is facilitated by a counsellor who is a recovering addict and alcoholic. He is an unappetising little chap who chainsmokes, has bitten fingernails and appalling shoes. I, on the other hand, smoke a different brand, have long filthy nails and am wearing someone else’s appalling shoes. The group is the engine that drives treatment; if the group doesn’t work, treatment doesn’t work. There is no particular magic involved, just a lot of talking. Why this should work when so many other more complicated therapies fail is a mystery. But work it does. Most alcoholics have tried dozens of different strategies to halt the steady decline from social drinking to park bench: going to psychiatrists, changing jobs, changing homes, changing drinks, changing partners, only drinking at weekends, never drinking before 6pm, going to health clubs, reading self-help books, taking prescribed drugs, aversion therapy, acupuncture and good old-fashioned willpower. The list is endless. The vast majority die trying to contain an increasingly chronic condition. The lucky few make it to AA via a treatment centre or on their own. Sitting in my first group feeling sad and sick and lonely, I didn’t feel in the slightest bit lucky. The next hour convinced me that I had been handed over to the Moonies’ Gestapo. ‘So, tell us a little bit about yourself and why you’re here.’ I mutter a few anodyne platitudes: ‘Bit of a drink problem... life somewhat at sixes and sevens... need time to re-evaluate... bit of a breather – glad for any help you can offer...’ and finish with a winning smile. The group stares at me. A girl sitting opposite leans forward and shouts, literally shouts, ‘What a fucking crock of shit. You’re just a snotty sick alcoholic. Christ, get fucking real.’ I am so horrified I can’t reply. I can feel tears pricking my eyes. I turn helplessly to the counsellor. He just looks at me with a seen-it-all-before expression, and says, ‘Sarah’s right. You must be scrupulously honest with the group. We all know what it’s like. We’ve all been there; just sit back and listen. Try to hear the similarities to your life. Don’t concentrate on the differences.’ The group continues, with everyone taking a turn to talk, some mumbling evasively, some garrulous with born-again enthusiasm, but all recounting sad, horrifying, funny episodes, laced with the sort of words I associated with polytechnic psychologists or Californian gurus. I concentrate on feeling sorry for myself and thinking of a ghastly revenge for Sarah. Sarah, I later learn, is a one-time model and social gad. Her family live in a house on Cheyne Walk and she went to St Mary’s Ascot. She is also a junkie whose family have changed the locks to stop her selling any more of their possessions. She has borrowed or stolen money from everyone she knows. Before coming here she was working as a prostitute on the Earl’s Court Road. There is a point when all alcoholics or addicts in treatment reach a crossroads. They either believe that their lives can be rescued from the brink with the help of others, or they don’t. If they do, things start to change quite fast. If they don’t, they usually discharge themselves, trusting in some personal scheme to save their lives. Realistically, their chances are almost nil. I saw a glimmer of hope C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 9 1

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THE FA S H I O N FUN The best of the new collections, shaken about a bit

Styled by SOPHIE GOODWIN TAT L E R M ARCH 2017

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Photographed by SARAI MARI


S TA R T S

HERE!

GUCCI

GRACE HODGE WEARS SILK & COTTONORGANDY COAT, £8,910; SILK & WOOL HEADBAND, £560; PATENT SANDALS, £480

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Charlie Newman

Charlie, 21, lives with her best friend Connie in a flat near Little Venice. It is, obviously, a gluten-free zone (their flat, not Little Venice. There are some rather fine bakeries in Little Venice).

CAROLINA HERRERA

CHARLIE WEARS TAFFETA DRESS, £1,745

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Bloom Twins Twins Anna and Sonia Kuprienko, 20, combine modelling with music. Both are classically trained and can play the piano, flute and harmonica. They’re in a band called Bloom Twins, which is pretty self-explanatory.

FENDI

FR , ANNA WEARS LEATHER JACKET, £4,480; MUSLIN TOP, £640; COTTON SKIRT, £1,370; ELASTICATED SANDALS, £890. SONIA WEARS MUSLIN TOP, £685; COTTON-BROCADE SKIRT, £1,800; ELASTICATED COTTON BOOTS, £710

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Grace Hodge Grace, 22, recently graduated from Keele University as a physiotherapist, which means she is very good at soothing tension with her hands.

DOLCE & GABBANA

OPPOSITE PAGE, FR LEFT, SONIA WEARS COTTON, SEQUIN & SWAROVSKI-CRYSTAL JACKET, £21,085; COTTON PANTS, £1,250; COTTON-JERSEY T-SHIRT, £425; LEATHER HEELS, £770. ANNA WEARS COTTON & SWAROVSKI-CRYSTAL JACKET, £12,480; SILK-CHIFFON DRESS, £1,590; SILK PANTS, £215; SWAROVSKICRYSTAL HEADBAND, £2,110; SPONGE SLIPPERS, £170

OSCAR DE LA RENTA

GRACE WEARS SILKORGANZA DRESS, £6,165; EMBROIDERED LEATHER SANDALS, £710

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Edie Rose

Edie, 16, is studying for her A-levels. Her go-to fancy dress is The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, which is extraordinary for one so young...

HERMES

EDIE WEARS POPLIN SHIRT, £1,340; COTTON-DRILL TROUSERS, £1,160; CALFSKIN HEELS, £1,330

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DIOR

GRACE WEARS SILKCREPE-GEORGETTE SHIRT, POA; TULLE SKIRT, POA; KNIT PANTS, £580; CHOKER, £210; EARRINGS, POA

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CHLOE

CHARLIE WEARS LACE JUMPSUIT, £7,660; CALFSKIN SANDALS, £595

PRADA

OPPOSITE PAGE, , ANNA FR WEARS JERSEY TOP, £730. SONIA WEARS JERSEY & OSTRICHFEATHER TOP, £1,030 FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR BY ROKU ROPPONGI AT SAINT LUKE, USING KERASTASE. MAKE-UP BY ARIEL YEH AT SAINT LUKE, USING TOM FORD BEAUTY & CREME DE LA MER. NAILS BY KIM TREACY AT STELLA CREATIVE ARTISTS, USING DIOR SPRING LOOK & CAPTURE TOTALE DREAMSKIN ADVANCED. MODELS, BLOOM TWINS, CHARLIE NEWMAN & GRACE HODGE AT MODELS1. PRODUCTION, AYSHA SURSOCK. FASHION ASSISTANT, XUXA MILROSE

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YO U WA N T MORE? Good, because we’ve got more. Even more fabulous fashion from the new collections. Worn by the same girls as last time, but with slightly different make-up Styled by SOPHIE PERA Photographed by SARAI MARI ALBERTA FERRETTI FROM LEFT, SONIA WEARS COTTON DRESS, £2,030

GIANVITO ROSSI

SATIN BOOTS, £1,520

MILLY

ANNA WEARS COTTON DRESS, £320

CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN LEATHER BOOTS, £995

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Hannah Kern

Hannah, 26, lives in Islington. She is originally from Germany, which is probably why she loves knitting.

SAINT LAURENT BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO

HANNAH WEARS DEVORÉ VELVET TOP, £3,425; GABARDINE TROUSERS, POA; EARRING, £425 (FOR ONE)

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BOTTEGA VENETA

GRACE WEARS WOOL JACKET, £1,315; WOOL TROUSERS, £560; CALFSKIN SHOES, £755 WOOL HAT, £79, BY LOCK & CO

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CHANEL

FROM LEFT, SONIA WEARS TWEED JACKET, £4,670; TWEED SKIRT, £1,180; CALFSKIN & METAL NECKLACE, £550. ANNA WEARS SILK-CREPE-DE-CHINE JUMPSUIT, £2,025; PEARL & RESIN NECKLACE, £875; PATENT CALFSKIN MULES, £520 SONIA WEARS LEATHER BOOTS, POA, BY CHURCH’S

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MICHAEL KORS COLLECTION

FROM LEFT, SONIA WEARS CREPE JACKET, £1,765; SILK-GEORGETTE BLOUSE, £665; LEATHER BELT, £345. SILK-CREPE TROUSERS, £1,190. ANNA WEARS CREPE JACKET, £1,625; BLOUSE, AS ABOVE; CREPE-DE-CHINE SKIRT, £810

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AMANDA WAKELEY

HANNAH WEARS SATIN TROUSERS, £495

BOSS

COAT, £700; LEATHER SANDALS, £415

LEATHER BRA, £295, BY FLEET ILYA. STELLA WEARS HER OWN CLOTHES

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GIORGIO ARMANI

GRACE WEARS SEQUIN & TULLE BLOUSE, £9,150; SEQUIN & TULLE TROUSERS, POA

JIMMY CHOO

SUEDE FLATS, £395

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Sydney Lima

If Tom Odell’s girlfriend had to meet the Queen, she’d wear her favourite Adidas tracksuit. Sydney, 23, also recently discovered scones, so they’d have lots to talk about.

VERSACE

SYDNEY WEARS NEOPRENE & CRYSTAL BODYSUIT, £1,015; SILK-CREPE-DE-CHINE & CRYSTAL-MESH SKIRT, £5,850; LEATHER & NEOPRENE HEELS, £759

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LOUIS VUITTON

GRACE WEARS JERSEY DRESS, £5,800; PYTHON & CALFSKIN BOOTS, £1,640 FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR, MAKE-UP & NAILS, AS BEFORE. MODELS, HANNAH KERN AT ELITE MODEL MANAGEMENT, SYDNEY LIMA AT STORM MANAGEMENT. PRODUCTION, AYSHA SURSOCK. FASHION ASSISTANT, XUXA MILROSE

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The

super dealer

Dominique Lévy, left, and her partner Dorothy Berwin, 2014. Opposite, Lévy with an Yves Klein painting and a Lucio Fontana sculpture, 2013

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PHOTOGRAPHS: JOE SCHILDHORN/BFA.COM, FREDERIKE HELWIG

Dominique Lévy attended Art Basel when she was three, made a turnover of $100m in her first year at Christie’s New York and now lives in a mega-loft with her partner, their children and some alarming modern art. Marcus Field meets the woman the world’s most discerning billionaires call when they want something new for their walls


D

ominique Lévy is looking at a painting on the wall of her London gallery. The abstract canvas is large, bigger than a door and smeared all over with thick white paint. Nails have been hammered across its surface. Lévy tilts her head, straightens it again and finally speaks. ‘This gesture is so strong,’ she says. ‘It needs more light.’ A team of gallery staff nod and make way as she exits. It’s opening day for Lévy’s new exhibition and every detail must be right. The canvas is one of six recent paintings by the German artist Günther Uecker, 86, and the show is called Verletzte Felder (Wounded Fields). Lévy’s reputation as one of the top art dealers in the world rests largely on headline-grabbing sales of modern masterpieces – the Picasso portrait she sold for £12m from her stand at the Art Basel fair in 2013, for example – but the bread-and-butter business of selling work like Uecker’s is equally important to her. His paintings are serious, respected, expensive, with prices for canvases starting at £710,000. We sit down to talk in an office at the back of the gallery, in a former townhouse on Old Bond Street. There’s a vintage Fifties desk and four more Ueckers on the walls. A mobile by Alexander Calder quivers gently on a side cabinet. This is the inner sanctum, the kind of room in which Lévy, 49, made her name when she started the private-sales department at Christie’s New York in 1999, turning over $100m [now £115m] in her first year. In 2013 she opened her own gallery, a business that this January became a partnership with former Christie’s chairman Brett Gorvy (Lévy Gorvy is the new name on the door both here and at their Madison Avenue gallery). She still cuts deals on the secondary market [resale of works that have been purchased before], giltedged artworks that the owners want to sell discreetly, without the razzmatazz of a public auction. ‘A pure and beautiful commercial tool,’ Lévy calls these hush-hush sales, outlining the advantages with the kind of chic Swiss-French accent (she was born in Lausanne) that smoothes high-level financial transactions the world over: ‘You can give the seller anonymity and a very quick sale and, on the buyer’s side, you could have access to something very special.’ ]

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Ernst Beyeler with his wife Hildy, 1992

[And over the years, some very special things have passed through Dominique Lévy’s hands. Among her proudest achievements, she tells me, are the two works she sold to Ernst Beyeler, one of the 20th century’s greatest connoisseurs of modern art (when he died in 2010, his collection was valued at £1.6bn). ‘There’s an extraordinary cubist Picasso that he bought from me [Femme assise dans un fauteuil, pictured below] – it was maybe my second or third transaction at Christie’s. And later a Bacon triptych. Now they are in the Fondation Beyeler in Basel and they will be there forever. Beyeler was my god at the time; that he trusted me and bought something from me and it was so good that he kept it – that I am proud of. That my turnover at Christie’s was $100m in the first year – it’s not that I’m not proud of that, it’s just that it doesn’t matter.’

says. ‘But I know my mother took me in my stroller, because she has told me so. And every year from then on our Basel outing was a breath of fresh air.’ Lévy’s father, André, arrived in Lausanne as a Jewish émigré from Egypt after General Nasser came to power in 1956. ‘He started in the cotton business in Egypt, but he lost everything. He came to Switzerland with his hands in his pockets, a complete refugee. He had to start all over again and invented a currency-trading system that became very successful.’ By the late Seventies his business was exchanging over $1bn [now £3bn] a day. This new wealth allowed the family to indulge their passions, and Lévy’s mother, Evelyn, began to collect art. ‘She was a war child, born in an ambulance escaping Brussels, so originally she’s Belgian. They took one of the last boats from Portugal to America and évy is the official representative for spent her first five years there. When she the estate of Yves Klein, the French artist came back to Europe, she never forgot the whose name is synonymous with the energy of America, so, for her, going to blue paint he mixed (International Klein Blue). museums and art fairs was nourishing. At the Also in her stable is Frank Stella, 80, one of time she collected American pop art. My the last of the generation of New York artists father was more drawn to Latin American art who transformed American painting in the late and surrealism.’ Later the family acquired Fifties. At the Frieze Masters fair in London a pied-à-terre on New York’s Park Avenue and last year, she showed a collection of paintings Dominique’s love affair with the city began. by Stella, including a large canvas from As a young adult she also had another keen 1958 called Delta. ‘It’s a phenomenal painting interest: the circus. ‘I used to be a clown,’ Lévy – genius,’ declares Lévy, and worth £17m. But in case you’re trying to work out her Femme assise profit on that figure, she adds a coda: ‘You dans un fauteuil know, the higher the price the lower your (1910) by commission.’ What is paramount, she insists, Picasso, which is the quality of the work and the privacy of Lévy sold the deal. ‘I think that nobody should know to Beyeler people’s passions, unless they decide to make them public. And then that is their privilege, prerogative and pleasure.’ Delta is currently reserved; the buyer remains anonymous. Lévy grew up just outside Lausanne and first attended Art Basel – still the world’s most prestigious art fair – at the age of three. ‘Don’t ask me if I remember it, because I don’t,’ she

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tells me. ‘Not in the circus, because my parents didn’t want me to – but in hospitals and at parties. I had my own face and my own costume – I was called Miquette. I think clowns are so beautiful.’ She still collects clowns’ shoes, although she tells me she is no longer allowed to keep them at home. As if on cue, the office door suddenly slides open and in comes Dorothy Berwin, Lévy’s girlfriend of 18 years (they are registered domestic partners in the US) and the enforcer of the clown-shoe ban. Berwin, 57, is a vivacious film producer and daughter of a celebrated British lawyer, the late Stanley Berwin. Most recently she worked as executive producer on the Oscar-nominated film Carol. Dressed in crushed blue velvet and with an Emily Blunt voice, she starts to tell me about the 19 years it took her to realise the project, before Lévy cuts her off: ‘Are you really going to hijack this interview?’ Berwin laughs mischievously and leaves. Lévy tells me how she met Berwin in London in the late Nineties and how Dorothy joined her in New York when she moved there to work for Christie’s, bringing her son Caleb with her (his father is the London architect Seth Stein, to whom Berwin was previously married). They set up home in a Tribeca loft, which quickly became the focus for their social and business life as one of New York’s power couples, with Lévy working at Christie’s and Berwin in films. Was it difficult for Lévy to be open about her sexuality in the often buttoned-up world of auction houses, where many of the clients are red-blooded male bankers? ‘Look,’ she begins, ‘I left Switzerland because I felt I couldn’t have the life I wanted and be happily treated or accepted in society. When I was a young adult, I kept my private life completely secret and lied when I had to, because my parents were very opposed to it and they wouldn’t see me and wouldn’t talk to me. I’m totally comfortable with my life now, but has it been easy? No, I’m not going to lie about that.’ Things got more bohemian when Lévy gave birth to two children of her own, Samuel, 14, and Solal, 7, whose Spanish father, an old friend of Lévy’s, moved from Madrid to New York to be near his sons. ‘Since the age of about 14 I’ve wanted to have a family,’ she says. ‘To me it’s a conventional family – I like my kids to go to bed at a certain hour, have a rhythm... but sometimes I’m reminded that it’s not. I had to pull my son out of the Lycée because of bullying remarks about his family structure.’ They now live in a duplex on the Upper East Side, in a converted hospital designed by the fashionable architect Peter Marino. There are photographs by Hans Bellmer,


‘SHE IS INCREDIBLY GOOD WITH CLIENTS, INCREDIBLY CHARMING, A SEDUCTRESS’

PHOTOGRAPHS: RENI BURRI/MAGNUM PHOTOS, DEAN KAUFMAN/TRUNK ARCHIVE, ROBERT BAYER, EXPRESS NEWSPAPERS/STAFF, ELISABETH BERNSTEIN, DELFANNE PHOTOGRAPHY

Simon de Pur y famous for his disquieting dolls, and a painting by the self-taught artist Carol Rama. ‘The collection is very much about identity, about the body. I think sometimes my children think it’s a bit dark. There is a lot of angst in the work I go for,’ Lévy says. There may be angst, but you get the sense that there is also a lot of fun in the household. Lévy describes outings with her children to museums, to the theatre (a passion of Berwin’s) and to play sport. Although Lévy says she has ‘only four or five really close friends’, she has a large and diverse social circle. Among them is the celebrated New York artist Roni Horn, who challenges conventions as much with her appearance as with her work. ‘I remember, once the doorman didn’t know if she was a man or a woman and my son said, “Who cares – she’s Roni.”’ After studying art history and political science in Geneva and Paris, Lévy got her first job in the art business as an intern at Christie’s New York. In the late Eighties she moved to Sotheby’s in Geneva, where her talents were spotted by Simon de Pury, then in charge of the auction house’s Swiss branch. ‘An inner engine was there,’ he remarked of Lévy to the New York Observer in 2014. ‘She is incredibly good in her skills in dealing with clients, incredibly charming, a seductress...” The day after our interview I meet Lévy again at a dinner she hosts for Uecker, who has flown in from Germany for the opening of his show. Among the 95 guests at Wild Honey in Mayfair are the architect John Pawson and (now former) Serpentine Gallery co-director Dame Julia Peyton-Jones. There are also ‘collectors, people from the museum world, a few friends from abroad’, and Lévy is dressed in a red trouser suit for the occasion. During the dinner she makes a speech, paying tribute to Uecker and his nail-filled canvases. She concludes with a line I heard her use the day before: ‘I’m a profound believer that art can transform lives.’ For Lévy it’s a kind of mantra. And when you look at her standing there, and think of the journey she has been on, it’s hard not to see her as living proof. (

Berwin and Lévy in their New York apartment, 2012

LEFT, BÄ

US

(TREES FROM ONE TRUNK) BY GUNTHER UECKER. RIGHT, DOMINIQUE DRESSED AS MIQUETTE THE CLOWN, C.1975

LEFT, YVES KLEIN WITH ONE OF HIS SPONGE SCULPTURES, C. 1958. RIGHT, ANOTHER UNTITLED BLUE SPONGE SCULPTURE BY KLEIN, C. 1959

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Photographed by BEN RAYNER

Styled by SOPHIE GOODWIN

WARDROBE ENVY Frankie Herbert wearing nothing but Miu Miu

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THIS PAGE, WOOL JUMPER, £360; SILK & WOOL JACKET, £1,550; SILK & WOOL SKIRT (JUST SEEN), £450; PATENT HAT, £560 OPPOSITE PAGE, SATIN SWIMSUIT, £635. ALL BY MIU MIU

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THIS PAGE, PLEXIGLASEMBROIDERED CANVAS JACKET, £2,385; PATENT & PLEXIGLAS BELT, £300; SWIMSUIT, AS BEFORE OPPOSITE PAGE, SILK & COTTON DRESS, £2,020; PATENT SLIDES, £555. ALL BY MIU MIU

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F

rancesca by birth; ‘Cheskie’ to her father, Harry Herbert, director of Highclere Thoroughbred Racing Ltd and brother of the Earl of Carnarvon; and ‘Fruity’ to her mother Chica. But to everyone else she’s just Frankie, including Debbie von Bismarck, for whom the 21-year-old works at her appointment-only Knightsbridge showroom, Debonnaire; it counts Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss and Alexandra Shulman among its customers. Frankie has her own plans to open a label in the future, featuring ‘funky colours and patterns’ that her customers can ‘rock in their own way’. TJ

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Princes among men


PHOTOGRAPH: TIM GRAHAM/GETTY IMAGES

Prince William, 1997

Oh, the benign, free, uncomplicated pleasure of a heart-throb, someone so magnificent they actually make our hearts throb in our chests! Prince William was my first. I had a poster of him on the pinboard above my bed at Wycombe Abbey: lots of floppy blond hair back in 1998, big white teeth, a blue check shirt. I was obsessed. As were various other girls who had the same poster on their pinboards. So if you walked into our dormitory, several Prince Williams grinned out at you. Dreamy. For a sheltered, nice girl like me, Prince William was IT. Chief heart-throb in those days. He had everything – good hair and a square jawline, several fairly big houses. And he was accomplished in manly things like polo and skiing. Also, he was an actual prince. And there was a vulnerability about him because he’d lost his mother. I wanted to marry Prince William. I wanted to make him happy again. Heart-throbs tended to be Etonians in my day. Isaac Ferry was another. So too was a swaggering, burly chap called Harry Iles, vice captain of rugby, who everyone wanted to dance with at school socials. Further afield, I also wanted to marry Leonardo DiCaprio, Josh Hartnett, Ryan Phillippe, Joshua Jackson and, briefly, Paul Nicholls. Not all at once. My enthusiasm for them ebbed and flowed, depending on what my hormones were up to that day, but they were all – for a time – major heart-throbs of mine. The alchemy of the heart-throb can be complicated. Looks are obviously important, but it’s not just that. It’s also a certain bravado, a sense that they could pick us up and swing us into the trees on a vine with one hand while smoking a cigar and cradling a baby in the other. It often helps if they have a weak spot that we can fix or soothe. Like Prince William. A chink in that manly armour.

Some smoulder (Heathcliff ) while some have dimples (Harry Styles, Channing Tatum), and with many of them (but not all, and certainly NOT with Prince William), there is a suspicion that they might be the tiniest bit of a shit. But we don’t care. We can’t care. Because our hearts are throbbing away under our shirts and all the blood has been redirected so our heads are empty of rational thought. Each generation has its own heart-throb, and one generation’s fancy is something else entirely to the next (though there are exceptions). I thought I would die laughing when my stepmother told me that the Prince of Wales was a major heart-throb in her day (the Seventies), but today’s teenagers may similarly keel over at the idea of the Duke of Cambridge giving anyone butterflies. Often one of the key attributes of a heart-throb is a tantalising unobtainability. But every so often they do walk out of the poster, magazine or screen and into real life. Aged 14, I saw Prince William from afar at a polo match, and it was an intensely emotional moment. For me. Possibly not for him. It didn’t happen on that occasion, but obviously, should the opportunity present itself, you should definitely snog your heart-throb. Hell, even shag him. But be careful about marrying him, because it could be a crushing disappointment. How could any mortal – however handsome – live up to the idealised person who for so long has existed, so very actively, in your imagination? Which is why I’m pleased that Kate Middleton, not me, married Prince William. He has his sweet children and his sensible boat shoes – and I have the happy, innocent(ish) memories. Everyone’s a winner. Sophia Money-Coutts ]


60S

50S

by G le n ys R obe rt s

b y N ic k y Hasl am

H

aven’t we all been there? To that secret place of the heart, that pavillon d’amour, where you know, simply know, someone famously attractive, desired worldwide, is really waiting only for you? Well, rarely, these days. Genuine heart-throbs are thin on the ground or grown gross with age. It’s not a question of being merely starstruck. Movie stars are all too visible. Rather than being blue-moonpapped at El Morocco with Hedy Lamarr on their arm, musicians grunge it in slovenly Shoreditch. Glamorous officers in the Senior Service (debs and their mamas swooned for Captain Sir Vyvian Naylor-Leyland and for suntanned Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten glistening in naval whites) are now invisible, their sensuous uniforms banned. Artists have become businessmen, whereas Lucian Freud was a shy, sly heartbreaker at a mere 17. Sportsmen – think of those impeccable flannels – sweat in Lycra; tennis players kick off in big, black pants; bless, please, Pancho Gonzalez’s little cotton shorts. Earlier heart-throbs had been literary – Darcy and their ilk. When books became films, it was the actors who took over, pushed by the popular press, and the gradual acceptance of personal publicity. Many were American. Fred Astaire, Tommy Hitchcock, John ‘Shipwreck’ Kelly, John ‘Jock’ Whitney and, king of the crop, Douglas Fairbanks Jr. But the US being still somewhat Puritan, they were wholesome; fast, but not louche. That enticing quality was distinctly European, and with an aura of exotic foreignness, rumours of equally exotic endowment, hints of scandal, fast living, sport mania and devil-may-care, there came the all-time heart-throbs. Prince Aly Khan, Porfirio Rubirosa, Gianni Agnelli, Dado Ruspoli and Jai Jaipur took the next couple of decades by storm. They had every attribute to set hearts racing, with their planes, their palaces, their titles – prince, maharaja and, in the case of the Spanish racing driver Fon Portago, no fewer than eight, all the way up to marquis, to say nothing of the many mistresses they swapped. The label ‘playboys’ only added to their allure.

T

he year was 1968, and William Pigott-Brown, surrounded by miniskirted models and magnificent in a maroon kaftan, was scolding the butler in his Wiltshire house. ‘We’re starving, where’s the dinner?’ ranted the eligible baronet. ‘Oh Sir, I’ve been looking for you,’ said the hapless Jeeves. ‘Only I didn’t recognise you in a dress.’ The Sixties revolution began not on the streets but on the country estates, where legendary heart-throbs used their trust funds to revel in unisex costumes and – post-pill and pre-AIDS – act out their wildest imaginings. The feuding Thynns (clan chief: the Marquess of Bath, with 74 wifelets) and the hedonistic Harlechs were the babe magnets of their epoch. Heart-throb Mark Palmer took off round England in a gypsy caravan with a bunch of beauties, including Francis Bacon’s only female model, Henrietta Moraes. Meanwhile, in Shugborough (near Stafford), the Queen’s photographer cousin Patrick Lichfield entertained lavishly. What a Sixties hero Lichfield was, with his biker leathers and Borzoi looks. Every girl I knew wanted to sleep with him. Most of them did. ‘Live now, live dangerously and, above all, dress well’ was the Sixties heart-throb’s motto. The foppish Guinness heir Tara Browne was a star at 16 when he paraded his precociously outrageous dress sense at an Irish debutantes’ ball. By 21 he was dead, still wearing black velvet, having wrapped his Lotus Elan round a truck in Chelsea. Moody Cockney photographer David Bailey attracted beauties of international calibre – Penelope Tree, Catherine Deneuve – and inspired the cult film Blow-Up, starring David Hemmings. Hemmings and Terence Stamp were fantasy figures for both sexes, as was the utterly beautiful shock-blond Old Etonian antiques dealer Christopher Gibbs, who moved seamlessly among oil-rich Gettys and rock royalty. And then there was Mayfair tailor Douglas Hayward, with his dark hair, blue eyes and fabulous wit, who came from the wrong side of the tracks but dressed dukes and kings. He epitomised the classless Sixties heart-throb. I know, I married him.

The Duke of Edinburgh, 1951 The Duke of Beaufort, 1965

THE AF TERSHAVES WORN BY HEART-THROBS

50S OLD SPICE

60S 4711 COLOGNE

70S DIOR EAU SAUVAGE

80S FAHRENHEIT BY DIOR

90S CK ONE BY CALVIN KLEIN

00S DIOR HOMME COLOGNE


PHOTOGRAPHS: CAMERA PRESS, COLUMBIA PICTURES, MOVIE POSTER IMAGE ART, GEORGE PRESTON/GETTY IMAGES, ADVERTISING ARCHIVES, REX FEATURES

70S

by Emma S o am e s

O Terence Stamp, 1963. Below, Jack Nicholson on the set of The Fortune, 1975

ABOVE LEFT, JACK NICHOLSON IN THE LAST DETAIL, 1973. RIGHT, LORD LICHFIELD, 1967

NOW CHANEL BLEU

ne of the defining features of a heart-throb is a degree of remoteness – a distant swoon and a soupçon of fantasy but not too much knowledge of their dirty secrets. In the Seventies, celebrities didn’t live in the impenetrable bubble that has grown around them in the decades since. So I’d bump into Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson at parties, notably those given by Michael White or Martin and Nona Summers in their ravishing house in Glebe Place. But it was a bit like being in the same room as royalty – one adopted a courteous nonchalance as a cover for the angst-filled desire to actually meet them. Anyway, a chance would have been a fine thing. Other girls gathered around them like flocks of cockatiels and I was far too well brought up to use my elbows. Jack Nicholson was a legend even 40 years ago. I had grown up with Easy Rider, and Chinatown was up for several Oscars that year. I had met Anjelica Huston when I worked on two shoots with her and her then boyfriend, the photographer Bob Richardson, for French Vogue. Rather alarmingly, Richardson didn’t think he’d ‘got the shot’ until he’d made her cry. The details of how it was set up are lost in the mist of my memory, but somehow I ended up spending a magical weekend with Jack and Anjelica in Paris. They stayed at the Ritz and I holed up on Avenue Foch with Daniel Hechter, an old friend from my days at French Vogue. It was early summer and the three of us cruised around the city in a white convertible Mercedes, which Nicholson drove with aplomb and the sense of entitlement required to deal with Parisian traffic. The waters parted at traffic lights and in bookedout restaurants. In les boîtes de nuit we were given the best booths, bien sûr. We ate like kings and danced at Jimmy’s and Régine’s. While she was lovable and vulnerable, Jack was intensely romantic and mischievous. He also adored an audience – hence my presence was tolerated on this romantic and otherwise intimate weekend. He gave everyone nicknames: at that stage in their long relationship Huston was ‘Toots’ and I quickly became the Goose – as in Gooseberry. I sat in the back of the car and watched him seduce and amuse her. He was the best fun to be with, and I am not surprised they ended up spending nearly 20 years together – on and off. But his status in my heart as a throb was wildly increased by watching him seduce a beautiful girl (even if it wasn’t me) from the back of a convertible, gazing at Paris in the sunshine while idly listening to their conversation and laughter. A nod, too, to the best-dressed and best-looking man in England, David Somerset, later the Duke of Beaufort. Twice I got to sit next to him at lunch at Badminton and had to tell my racing heart to calm. His clothes, his patrician manner and the butler made for a truly seductive package. ]


80S

by Ma ry K il le n

H

eart-throbs of the Eighties seem, in retrospect, to have been rather more manly than today’s heart-throbs (is the subsequent oestrogenisation of the water supply perhaps to blame?). Men were tall and broad, with hairy chests and deep voices. They were brave on the hunting field and on safari; they were competent at piloting their own boats around the Caribbean and flying their own small planes. Decisive on the dancefloor, lustful in the days before internet pornography. There was no texting – so proper Lotharios sent roses and telegrams. They also paid for restaurants. None of them was on a diet and some of the most fancied were heavy drinkers like Dai Llewellyn. The idiosyncratic Soho restaurants like the Gay Hussar were enchanting. The Ritz was still gloriously romantic and slightly fantastic. Mark’s club was incredibly intimate and sexy, with dogs and crackling log fires. The much-fancied Charles Delevingne was still single in the early Eighties, as was Imran Khan, while Martin Summers, who was between marriages, owned a house with a roof garden in Glebe Place and wined and dined women on his boat, Bluebird, in Chelsea. Summers was, it is alleged, irresistible. Pictureframer Philip Elletson was much admired, but it was Mark Shand who regularly got away with not-committing without it being too heartbreaking, since he was always out of the country attending to ‘important’ conservation issues. In the mid-Eighties, leading throbbers included Colin Emlyn, Cosmo Fry and Christopher Brooks. Robert Fox came back on the market when his wife ran away with Liam Neeson. Tim Hunt, the younger brother of James, was famously fit for purpose but left London to work in New York in the art world. Later in the decade, the drop-dead-gorgeous included Philip Dunne. Polish count and historian Adam Zamoyski and fellow superbrain Martin Amis were heartbreakers more than heart-throbs, being able to access the supersensitive side of a woman that other, more brutal men could not. They had all the bohemian and mildly effeminate appeal of poets, along with the slight disdain for women that made women even more desperate to win their hearts. Both married late, leaving many broken hearts in their wake. Rupert Birley – the son of Lady Annabel Goldsmith and Mark Birley – who vanished while swimming in Africa, was one of the most handsome heart-throbs of the whole century, let alone the decade. Although, of course, the Duke (or Dude) of Beaufort, who started the Eighties as David Somerset, remained the leading ‘all-rounder’ throughout the decade as regards being fancied, even though he wasn’t single. Still much fancied by all age groups, although by then fiftysomething, were the Marquess of Londonderry, Lucian Freud and Tony Lambton. We didn’t ‘lust after’ the men, as women claimed to do later. We just fancied them rotten.

HEART-THROB SHOES

50S

MR CLEVERLEY

80S y GUCCI LOAFERS

60S

HANDMADE LOBBS

90S y VANS

70S

CHELSEA COBBLER

00S y REEBOK CLASSICS

ABOVE, MARK SHAND IN BIHAR, 1988. BELOW, COSMO FRY AT CAFE DE PARIS, 1986

Martin Amis, 1987


90S

Dan Macmillan, 1998

b y D a i s y d e L i sl e

HEARTTHROB HAIR

T

PHOTOGRAPHS: © ADITYA PATANKAR/ELAND BOOKS, REX FEATURES, ALAN DAVIDSON/SILVERHUB, UIF ANDERSON, ALLSPORT/GETTY IMAGES, © VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM, LONDON

Imran Khan, 1987

hose at all-girls London day schools in the Nineties will remember the Lumley-Savile triplets and the monopoly they held. It was almost frowned upon not to have snogged at least one of them, and there was a completely unspoken understanding that you should enjoy one and then pass him on. ‘I snogged Peter at the weekend and it was just how you described’ or ‘Katherine is going out with James but she also really likes Robin’ were things you might have heard after assembly on a Monday morning. Thrillingly, they were identical, which suggested all kinds of potential mischief. I myself snogged Peter for the cred because it was what one did. He even rang me, which would have been good had one of my brothers not answered and subsequently asked ‘Is it Peter?’ every time someone rang me for the next FOUR YEARS. There was not the same generosity of heart when it came to River Phoenix. You were not allowed to just ‘love him’ all of a sudden. You had to be an early adopter and know Stand By Me inside out. I kept a picture of him I’d stuck to cardboard and covered in sticky-backed plastic (for protection) in my maths book, so I could look at him instead of learning how to multiply fractions. I also told a girl in my class I’d ‘kill my parents to meet him’ in a moment of sinister competitiveness – I was annoyed that she said she loved him too. When he died, my mother broke the news to me as if he genuinely had been my boyfriend. By that point, I was (mentally) going out with Robbie from Take That, so I was devastated but at least had Robbie to turn to for comfort. Robbie was a prominent figure on a wall we created at school called Real Studs (originally ‘General Studies’, until we rearranged the letters and stuck pictures of boys over notices about the role of art in society). He was naughty. And troubled. Intoxicating combination. I was introduced to a very young Dan Macmillan at a London ball where everyone put vodka in their Coke cans and chainsmoked. We both had braces and he was shorter than me, so I snogged his friend instead, a tall, persistent Etonian with glasses. Dan snogged my short friend Susy. Then he grew a foot, shaved his head and started going out with Kate Moss. It coincided with me going out with a tremendous show-off from St Paul’s who everyone thought was an idiot. I think they call that karma. I remember meeting the gorgeous teenage Ralph Foljambe at the Burghley Horse Trials when I’d gone to stay with a great friend in Lincolnshire. We, along with every other girl there, did not take our eyes off him long enough to know if any horses turned up that day. The following spring, the same friend put me next to him in the seating plan for her 21st, the most coveted position in that entire 21st season. I was too ill to go. April is the cruellest month. ]

TIM JEFFERIES Playboy hair Your fingers want to run through it. They’ve actually just twitched.

RUPERT EVERETT Rebel hair Thick, tousled, curly, unruly, unrepentant. Hair that will treat you like shit. Perfect.

MARQUESS OF DOURO Future-duke hair Short but slick. Hair that means business. If only that business was us...

JEREMY KING Luxur y hair Silver and foxy. Like all the best things in life.


W

hen I look back at my heyday, from the early Eighties to the midNineties, I’m amazed that anyone wanted to sleep with me at all. I mean, the clothes were dreadful. I really must have been good-looking for the girls to see through the stonewashed denim and the mullet and still want to shag me. And shag they did. Three hundred, four hundred, who knows how many there were. Only a shit like Don Giovanni would keep tally. All I would say is – just think how many more there could have been had I been in my prime now. Young men today are blessed with good clothes, clean teeth and moisturiser. My morning regime back then involved a Marlboro Red and a splash of Old Spice. But maybe that’s what made us attractive – we were authentic. I never thought of myself as particularly sautable until the night I met Princess Margaret. The way she undressed me with her eyes... well, it was quite an experience. After that, everyone wanted a bit of me, and I can’t pretend I minded. Girls, boys, their mothers, fathers – I really did have to draw the line sometimes. I remember on one occasion, when I was going out with the daughter of a very grand landowner, being put in a bedroom at the other end of the house. After a successful nocturnal visit, I had almost made it back to my room when her sister sprang out and caught me. She threatened to tell unless I paid her a similar compliment, so naturally I obliged. The net result being that I saw to both my host’s daughters, whereas if he had put me in the same room as my girlfriend it would have been just the one. A false economy, wouldn’t you say? There were times when being goodlooking was a hindrance. At one point I tried my luck in politics, but nobody seemed to take me seriously. And in my professional life ever since, my wives have always banned me from having female secretaries, just in case. There have also been some awkward moments at parties, usually when I’m introduced to Mrs So-and-So and suddenly recall in graphic detail precisely what we were up to on the floor of her Tite Street kitchen 30 years ago.

00S

by Ti bbs Je n ki n s

T

he Goldsmith brothers, Ludi Salm, Charlie Green and Tristan Hoare – those were some of the big names of the decade, and I was screamingly jealous that my best friend got to go on holiday with them (due to her having snared the equally handsome Ed Sackville). There was Raoul Fraser too, with whom I once lay on the grass at a Stanway party. Except not actually with. Just coincidentally near, as he stared up at the stars talking to someone else. In fact, I was in no way part of their conversation. Still, that was nice. Nor should we forget Archie Keswick. He got married to Alice Rugge-Price, who was also one of the most lustedover creatures of that time. Their marriage made sense. And now they have babies together, who in turn will no doubt be heartbreakers. I snogged one of the Thomson twins once (mental high-five) at Grace Pilkington’s 21st-birthday party. What the theme was I forget, but he was wearing a Union Jack jacket and a highly flammable blue wig. Despite this, you definitely would. Because they were every teenage girl’s dream, and I knew of them waaaaay before I ever saw them – these two notorious twinkle-eyed Eton boys, Jake and Luke. Everyone wanted to smooch them. The younger girls all quite liked Jakie Warren, Nick Nock Palmer and Grey Hutton. Equally, Theo de Gunzburg, whom I first encountered circa 4am in Wiltshire. I had gone for a nap in the back of someone’s car and woke to it being merrily driven around a field – he seemed a bit perplexed by this dozy stranger suddenly stirring in the boot and was keen for me get out of the car. I didn’t mind. He was pretty. (Come to think of it, so was Eddie Wrey.) And, come to think of it again, it would be wrong not to mention Ben Cassey. Having just searched my old emails for his name, I came across this foolproof plan a friend and I hatched in 2007: ‘EXCELLENT NEWS: BEN CASSEY IS GOING – so this is a “leave your boyfriend at home night”– I know I am. Let’s stalk him all night and demand that he loves us.’ This plot was not successful. Then there are the heart-throbs that, for one hopeful moment, you believe you are the first to discover. Say, for example, Tommy Adeane. Handsome, handsome Tommy Adeane, with the world’s best smile. I was wrong. Everyone had clocked him – and I remember one night (around 2003–04) being forced to swap tops with a friend, she having decided my top was going to be the clincher for his affections. It wasn’t, and neither she nor I got any further than lightly brushing against his lovely, lovely forearm. And so to Dan Macmillan who, like David Somerset, spans the decades a bit. He dated Jade Jagger for some years – Jade, who sent Kate Moss a diamond necklace that said ‘Slut’ after Kate hooked up with him. I remember him at Fred Lambton’s 18th birthday. He had a girlfriend with him – I think she was in PVC. How many girls at that moment wished to be her? Or maybe they were distracted by Ian ‘Rusty’ Russell, who, though dressed as a Tibetan monk, was the one that every girl had a soft spot for. Looking back, that was a v. good party. V. good decade, even. ]

ABOVE, ARCHIE KESWICK, 2003. BELOW, JAKIE WARREN, 2011

Charlie Green, 2016

PHOTOGRAPHS: HUGO BURNAND, MARCUS DAWES, DON FEATURES, REX FEATURES

MEMORIES OF A HEART THROB


LEFT, THEO DE GUNZBERG, 2007. RIGHT, ED SACKVILLE, 2001

Grey Hutton and Eddie Wrey, 2008

Ludi Salm, 2007

Nick Nock Palmer, 2009

Raoul Fraser, 2003. Right, Ben and Zac Goldsmith, 2004


2017

by Cl e me n t i ne B r o o k

C

urrently, there are a few, key heart-throbs circulating the scene, all threatening to ruin two or three years of your life. Plus ça change. Exhibit A is Lord Settrington, or Charlie to his pals. The 21year-old Oxford student is the future Duke of Richmond and Gordon and the only man alive known to have pulled off a baby-blue leather jacket. He’s handsome, with deep blue eyes and long floppy hair that he ties into a man bun. Yes, he can pull off the man bun. Obviously, he’s taken – by a beautiful blonde he regularly treats to dinner at Quilon, on Buckingham Gate. But nothing lasts forever. Just a warning: his favourite trick is to get you into one of his supercars on the track at Goodwood and scare the daylights out of you with the g-force. Next up are twins Ted and James Macdonald-Buchanan, 20, both Oxford students. Heart-throbs often have the effect of making you slightly delirious and see double, so imagine what happens to a girl’s equilibrium when these identical blonds enter a room. Things get even more complicated after the punchy G&Ts they like to make. A kaleidoscope of dreamboatery. On one occasion, this became a reality for a poor Oxford fresher who put all the groundwork in with one brother only to end up pulling the other. Good news, though – they’re single, and hang out with other well-known hotties George Pearson and Will Gordon-Lennox. Max Dodd-Noble is another. He has chocolate-brown hair, radiant olive skin and the most infectious laugh around. Then there are the musical heart-throbs, like Rufus Taylor, Tara Ferry and Ned Wyndham, who sings in the band Scoundrels. Brooding models like Milo Astaire and Kate Moss’s protégé Leo Baines too. Talking of which, we mustn’t forget about Tassilo von Bismarck, cute brother of Moss’s on-off squeeze Nikolai. Finally, the new kid on the block: Michael Roy – tall, dark, handsome and once linked to blossoming singer-songwriter Lily Atkinson, daughter of Rowan. Currently single and studying equine management at Cirencester, Mikey’s your man if you like racing at Ascot every other weekend; his father, Paul Roy, owns a string of successful racehorses. Giddy up. (

Tara Ferry. Above, Tassilo von Bismarck

Ned Wyndham. Above, Milo Astaire


PHOTOGRAPHS: DON FEATURES, OXFORD UNIVERSITY POLO/INSTAGRAM, DAVE BENETT/GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES

Max Dodd-Noble. Below, George Pearson

Louis Baines

Rufus Taylor Lord Settrington

ONE TO WATCH

Jimmy Fox


Sam and Irène Malin at Hailes, their 14-century Scottish ruin

138 T A T L E R M A R C H 2 0 1 7

TATLER.COM


SAM WEARS VELVET SMOKING JACKET, £895; TWEED TROUSERS, £275,BOTH BY NEW & LINGWOOD. SHIRT, HIS OWN. IRENE WEARS SILK SHIRT, £562; SILK TROUSERS, £417, BOTH BY FRS FOR RESTLESS SLEEPERS. GOLD-PLATED & SWAROVSKI-CRYSTAL MESH BRACELET, £225; GOLD-PLATED CHAIN NECKLACE, £145, BOTH AT SUSAN CAPLAN VINTAGE. SUNGLASSES & RING, HER OWN. FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR & MAKE-UP BY MOLLY SHERIDAN, USING MARIO BADESCU & BOBBI BROWN. STYLED BY AILSA MILLER

‘I’M JUST BRINGING FUN TO THE GENTRY. TRUST ME’ The new owners of Burke’s Peerage want to drag the arcane handbook of the aristocracy into the 21st century, starting with a guide to the Kardashian family tree. David Jenkins meets Sam and Irène Malin – or Lady Hailes, as she’s also known... Photographed by SOPHIE GERRARD

B

urke’s Peerage and Burke’s Landed Gentry are publications that sound like the fusty stuff of a more decorous age: stolid, hidebound and in thrall to outmoded genealogical grandeur. You’d expect their owners to reflect that, and you’d be wrong, just as you’d be wrong about the Peerage, a fascinating work that Oscar Wilde described as ‘the best thing in fiction the English have ever done’. One owner, Maundy Gregory, used in the Twenties to sell honours for the then prime minister, Lloyd George, and was eventually jailed for it; ran a hotel described as ‘the biggest brothel in south-east England’; and was strongly suspected of murdering his best friend when she refused him a loan. Another, Baron Frederik van Pallandt, was a successful Sixties pop singer who turned to drug smuggling and was shot to death on a Philippines beach. Burke’s directors, on the other hand, have included such sterling characters as the hereditary Lord High Constable of Scotland, the late Earl of Lichfield and Sir Iain Moncreiffe of that Ilk. So Sam Malin, the new owner of Burke’s, and his wife, Irène, have much to live up to – though the 37-yearold Irène lays down a marker when she sashays into the drawing room of the Scottish hotel where we meet, her black leather jacket from Jitrois, her jodhpur-like trousers from Eva Herzigova, her purple bag by Dolce & Gabbana, her enormous double gold-rimmed shades by Chloé and her zipped-up-and-over-the-knee boots by Chanel. ‘They’re my hooker boots!’ she cries, her accent beguilingly

flecked by the French she learnt in her native Cameroon. ‘Six years old!’ She’s tall and striking, as you’d expect from a former Miss Lions Cameroon (the country’s top beauty contest of 1995). And, as the new luxury and fashion director of Burke’s, she’s clear about her idea of the future: ‘The dress-up, the whole ooh-la-la, the whole bigger-thanlife thing. With Burke’s, you have all the books with the gentry and all that, and it’s not really me. So I’m bringing a new era to the brand, and I think fashion is part of that. I’m just bringing fun to the gentry. Trust me.’ I do, and so clearly does her equally tall husband. Sam Malin is 53, a slightly shy and very likeable Canadianraised geophysicist who went to Cambridge and made his pile in 2006 with a company called Madagascar Oil. No longer the main shareholder, he’s still got a variety of mineral interests in Madagascar – ‘gold, uranium, graphite and coal’ – and an oil and gas exploration company that’s ‘looking at opportunities in the Indian Ocean and East Africa’. All very serious by comparison with his 2008 purchase of the freehold of Hailes Castle, a roofless, mainly 14th-century ruin in East Lothian, which is where the Tatler photoshoot takes place. That, says Sam, his face alight with boyish enthusiasm, is all to do with his love of history and the affection any Canadian feels for Scotland. And, he adds, after a long and hyper-detailed description of feudal and manorial rights in Scotland as against England, it also means that Irène can rightly call herself Lady Hailes, should she want to. As for Burke’s, he bought it in 2013 for ‘a substantial seven-figure sum’, and has been ensuring ‘all the intellectual property was under one roof and protected’. That’s ]

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[now done, and he’s ready to take it forward. He knows full well, he says, that people often buy titles like Burke’s as a means of social advancement; and yes, he and Irène have found themselves invited to events they might not have gone to before (parties with Princess Michael of Kent, rencontres with Julian Fellowes, even a trip to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen, whom Irène asked for a politely rejected selfie – you get the picture). Which is all very jolly. But it’s not what matters to Sam: he’s genuinely interested in genealogy – he started filling out his family tree at the age of 10 and has now got more than 10,000 names on his family database, including ‘my sixth or seventh cousin, I’d have to check’, Derek Jacobi, with whom he shares ‘a Huguenot ancestor’. And he believes there’s money to be made from the august publications. Although there’s not been a new print edition of the definitive title since 2003, Burke’s is still the gold standard by which matters genealogical are measured – and as such TV hits as Who Do You Think You Are? have demonstrated, there’s a public fascination with ancestry. ‘It’s not just about bringing it into the 21st century,’ he says. ‘We actually have to bring it into the 20th century and then push it kicking and screaming into the 21st century. But we don’t want to damage the brand or cheapen it in any way. So we want to make sure people know that Burke’s Peerage still exists and that it’s still doing everything people expect of it.’ Which means a new edition of the ‘core, defining product’ – the three-volume Peerage, with all its family trees and entertaining narrative histories of Britain’s dissolute dukedoms – and new versions of such extant spin-offs as volumes on European, Middle Eastern and African royal families, as well as putting zip into its online activities.

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‘I THINK I WAS BORN TO BE IN FRONT OF A CAMERA. A PEACOCK, THAT’S ME’ But, adds Sam, an excited if wary look in his eye: ‘We’d also like to cover distinguished families.’ Distinguished? ‘I’m going to use a word now which is unlikely to be the word that ends up on the volume, but it will show you what I mean: mediatised families.’ Does he mean..? Well, let him say it: ‘One of the issues is, would we include the Kardashians? Now, they are certainly mediatised, but unless they end up with an English title, they won’t be in the three main volumes. But they may be in a volume of modern, mediatised families. In fact, if you look at Twitter, Rob Kardashian mentioned Burke’s Peerage, so the idea is there.’ Yeeeees. Now, on one level, this makes perfect sense. Indeed, says Hugo Vickers, the royal biographer and one-time employee of Burke’s, ‘a celebrity family-tree book could be interesting: the Beckham family tree, for instance’ – always providing standards are maintained. But the fact is that Sam and Irène have form with Kardashian-esque

yes, and not just because my wife is very interested in it.’ Interested? Is that a strong enough word? ‘I think I was born to be in front of a camera,’ says Irène, a wide, wide grin on her face. ‘A peacock – that’s me. I’m just the star of my own show. It should be that way, right?’ It should, because Irène is very charming, very funny and very self-mocking. Sure, she’s an attention-seeker, but she’s a delightful one, and you certainly see why she grabbed Sam’s attention. It is, in fact, a romantic tale. There was Sam, criss-crossing Europe in pursuit of his oil deal, when he found himself at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. And there, emerging from customs, was ‘an attractive, tall, elegant lady struggling with some huge bags, so I made a beeline to help her. And I can picture her still: she was wearing a sort of silver pantsuit, with multi-colours on it – it was really quite something. We ended up chatting and...’

PHOTOGRAPHS: ALAMY, ALPHA PRESS, GETTY IMAGES, CHANNEL 5

One-time Burke’s owners: Maundy Gregory, 1923; and, below right, Baron Frederik van Pallandt, 1960

self-exposure: Irène and her sister Elsa appeared on The X-Factor in 2014, prompting Simon Cowell to describe their performance as ‘like going to hell’; the Malins bought a house in Essex for £600,000 in 2007, spent more than £1m doing it up – an in-house hair salon, a dancing pole, a mahogany staircase – and then appeared on Channel 4’s Million Pound Properties, attempting to sell it; they’ve featured on both Britain’s Pushiest Parents and Britain’s Flashiest Families. They have five children, ranging from 16-year-old Samantha to Lulu-Marie, Pearl, Lincoln and Mona. Samantha is at Cheltenham Ladies’ College, which she loves; the other girls are pining to join her. They now live in Ingress Abbey, a 47-room house in Kent that’s surrounded by a housing estate, and Irène is given to telling the world she loves Birkins and never buys less than five of everything. And the world, in its turn, sometimes bites back: ‘A couple of people will come up and say, “Let me tell you, you’re Lady Hell of Hailes,”’ says Irène. ‘But that’s OK. For me everything is a dream.’ Is it for Sam? Is he comfortable with the reality-TV world? ‘Gosh,’ he says, squirming on a sofa. ‘No and yes. And that really is a truthful answer. I’m not entirely comfortable at times, but also


No: don’t get ahead of yourself. This was Irène’s sister and she was already dating. But, she said, if Sam ever found himself in Cameroon, ‘Why not come for dinner? I’ve got an interesting sister.’ So Sam hightailed it to Yaoundé, invited himself over but went first to a fashion show at his hotel where he met a tall, striking model... who was Irène. And when he did go to dinner at the family house, Irène’s father was in his full presidential guard uniform, with his sidearm on the table, making it clear that in his ‘extremely conservative’ family daughters didn’t make a habit of bringing strangers back to the house.

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othing daunted, they swiftly married: ‘I was 18 going on 40,’ says Irène. ‘I like the whole idea of being married, so for me it was never a doubt.’ And, says Sam, he wants to make one thing clear: ‘There’s a perception that Irène met a wealthy oil and gas man and jumped on board really quickly. Actually, not at all. Irène met a struggling consultant and helped slap me into line. At times, it was the proceeds of her modelling that kept us going.’ ‘There’s always a woman behind every man,’ says Irène sagely. ‘I’m a good adviser.’ And a good mother. ‘How did we end up with five kids?’ she cries. ‘You killed me! I do love them, though – they keep me grounded, they keep me young.’ But didn’t she want to pursue a modelling career? ‘I’m still doing it! That’s the funny part. No matter how many kids I’ve got, I still fit into the same clothes I had when I was 17. Don’t you find me hot? Five kids!’

‘I’m going to interrupt you for one second,’ says Sam the Sensible. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but I feel you mean to say you don’t want to be derailed from your dream. Children do take up a lot of time but you’ve done [bit parts in] Bond, Ali G and even EastEnders. And you really do love fashion.’ Yes, fashion – and Irène is, let us not forget, fashion director of Burke’s, as Sam reminds her. ‘Why don’t you mention your idea?’ he suggests. Irène’s up for that: ‘The vision I have for Burke’s is something that doesn’t exist yet in this country: the beau monde.’ Some great and glamorous families might think they’re pretty much the beau monde already, but Sam and Irène have their hearts in the right place. Sam, in particular, adores Burke’s. Hugo Vickers thinks it’s impossible to make money from the printed Peerage, but Sam is intent on a new edition, produced under the aegis of William Bortrick, Burke’s chairman. ‘Just one bit of trivia,’ says Sam, as he’s photographed at Hailes Castle. ‘William Bortrick is really from a family called Borthwick, but there was a king who wrote a

ABOVE, IRENE & HER SISTER ELSA, 2013. BELOW RIGHT, INGRESS ABBEY, THE MALINS’ HOUSE IN KENT. LEFT, IRENE WITH FOUR OF HER & SAM’S FIVE CHILDREN, FR LEFT, LULU-MARIE, LINCOLN, PEARL & MONA, 2015

letter misspelling the name as Bortrick, so they kept it. And then it turns out that a John Borthwick was at this castle in 1600, charged with defending it...’ And Burke’s is ideally suited for the online age: where the print volumes go rapidly out of date when some moth-eaten earl falls off his perch, the internet allows matters genealogical to be kept right up to date – with the added bonus of Burke’s imprimatur of accuracy and rigour. ‘Because a lot that’s on the net isn’t reliable, it hasn’t been properly referenced and researched.’ What no one can match, certainly, are the arcane splendours to be found in Burke’s – the pages devoted to Grand Cross Conventual Chaplains ad honorem or the Dames of Honour and Devotion; or the narrative passages in which, for instance, it’s written of the Bath family: ‘An important library was amassed at Longleat over the centuries, to which the 6th Marquess added a collection of Hitleriana, though he was careful to point out that he was no supporter of the controversial German leader politically’; and, poignantly, of the murderous and missing Lord Lucan: ‘Richard John Bingham, 7th Earl of Lucan... has/had George Bingham, putative 8th and present Earl of Lucan.’ Sam loves that sort of thing, which is all to the good – it means Burke’s is in devoted hands, both his and hers. As Irène says: ‘I’m having the time of my life, my whole life is a dream. Pinch me!’ (

ABOVE, THE MALINS WITH, FR SECOND LEFT, JOHN BURKE (DESCENDANT OF THE FOUNDER OF BURKE’S), LADY ELIZABETH ANSON, ARTIST ROBERT FOSTER & BURKE’S CHAIRMAN WILLIAM BORTRICK, LONDON, 2016

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HOME Edited by GERRI GALLAGHER

Photographed by MARK COCKSEDGE

A photograph of Henry John’s late father Ben John (grandson of Augustus), who bought Charity, his house near the Welsh border, in 1967

ARTISTS & LOVERS Augustus John was a philandering creative genius who sired generations of hard-living and beauty-loving bohemians – not least Ben John, furious smoker, wonderful whittler and creator of Charity, his rural hideaway, now restored by his son, the artist Henry John. By Matthew Bell TATLER.COM

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ore or less everyone in Henry John’s family is an artist. His great-grandfather was the post-impressionist painter Augustus John, whose portraits of T E Lawrence and Lady Ottoline Morrell hang in the National Portrait Gallery, and who was said to have sired 100 children. His grandfather Edwin was a painter and boxer, and his father Ben John was a designer, who was never without a cigarette or a whittling knife. Ben had three wives and five children, of whom Henry, an artist who studied at the Ruskin School, is the youngest. As you can imagine, Henry, 36, grew up surrounded by beautiful things. Books, paintings, landscapes: his childhood and teenage years were divided between Cornwall, France and the King’s Road. The Johns are originally a Welsh family, Augustus and his sister Gwen John having escaped the southern fishing town of Tenby to become luminaries of the art world. Augustus was a Falstaffian figure with a snowy beard who gossiped with Ronald Firbank in Venice and introduced Dylan Thomas to his wife Caitlin. Gwen was more retiring: she shut herself away in a dingy Paris flat with five cats, sent thousands of letters to her lover, Rodin, and died after a long walk to Dieppe. The family has strong connections to France and Cornwall and London, but it is to Wales that many of them return. Edwin lived in France, then Mousehole, Cornwall, where he bought an old pilchard factory in which to paint, but retired to North Wales. Ben grew up in the pilchard factory and was sent to Bryanston, then spent years in Chelsea, and the rest of his life near the Welsh border. It is to his house, Charity, that we have come today, a 15th-century smallholding down a four-mile track in the shadow of the Black Mountains. Ben’s first wife Bridget, also a painter, grew up nearby, and it was while striding along this valley in 1967 that he first spotted what was then a tumbledown ruin. ‘He just fell in love with old buildings,’ says Henry. ‘He always loved medieval structures in stone and oak.’ Aged 32, Ben had inherited £1,000, which was enough to buy the ruin and make it habitable. He had had three children with Bridget before meeting Henry’s mother, the cookery writer Lindsey Bareham, who was then working for Time Out. They got married in 1977, had Henry and his elder brother and would come up to Charity at weekends. In 1986, after getting divorced, Ben started channelling his energy into the house. ‘My parents were planning to live in France, in some medieval house, but then their marriage fell apart, and I think he transferred all his love of medieval architecture and old stone buildings into this project. He stopped his London design practice and threw himself into this,’ explains Henry. In 1989, the stone barn and outbuildings came up for sale, and Ben was able to buy them. Throughout Henry’s childhood, these buildings had been used by the farmer who owned them to store hay, and were where he and his brother would spend hours making booby traps. Life at Charity had always been very primitive: baths were heated up from a cauldron on the fire, and ‘sheep would come up to the front door and shit everywhere’. Over the 20 years until his death, in 2006, Ben John was constantly improving the house, but it was a slow process. ‘There was always something to do at Charity,’ Henry says. ‘You would always be put to work when you came – everyone was involved in this grand design of Dad’s.’ Z

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ABOVE, HENRY JOHN & HIS LURCHER ARROW. BELOW, AUGUSTUS JOHN IN HIS STUDIO, 1930


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PHOTOGRAPH: BETTMANN/GETTY IMAGES

The main barn, now a cinema/ party space


LEFT, THE DINING ROOM. RIGHT, THE VIEW FROM THE KITCHEN OVER THE VALLEY

CLOCKWISE FR LEFT, THE BILLIARD ROOM; A BEDROOM IN THE OLDEST PART OF THE HOUSE; ONE OF HENRY’S PAINT TUBES

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Henry and Arrow in the main barn, with locals in the background

to contribute, people wanted it at the same time, there were fractious relationships anyway...’ After five years of muddling along, they decided to sell, but Henry couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of his father’s house. ‘It still holds his personality for me, and I didn’t want to lose that.’ So he sold his flat in London and bought the others out. It took a while – they made him get nine valuations and pay the highest price. ‘That was tough,’ he sighs. By the spring of 2012, Charity was finally his. He remembers leaving Chelsea and driving here in his clapped-out Range Rover that first day in April, and the whole valley being knee-deep in snow. ‘It was like a winter wonderland, it was amazing. I remember passing a neighbour who was effing and blinding about the snow, but for me it was magical. The mountain road had been cleared, so I could get a certain distance, but the [steep] track to the house hadn’t. And I just thought, “F**k it” and drove down. That first night I had a fire blazing, the front door open and some really upbeat ska playing, and it was so bright because the moon was reflecting off the snow. I couldn’t believe I had exchanged and it had really happened. Then, of course, the following day I couldn’t leave.’ Henry spent the next four years knocking the house to pieces and completely rebuilding it. ‘There were always frustrations with this house,’ he says. ‘I banged my head on so many beams, you couldn’t see the view, it was always freezing. But there was so much potential.’ Over three red-wine-fuelled dinners in London with an architect friend, Henry devised a complete redesign of the house. ‘The premise was to think of everything that would make Charity the best it could be, and then scale back. But the scaling back never happened.’ So the house as it stands today is a warm, spacious, well-equipped farmhouse with incredible views from the kitchen and five grand bedrooms. The barn is now a cinema, games room and party space, and what used to be the entire ground floor of the cottage is now one big sitting and dining room. When Charity was built, nobody cared about having a view, as it was lived in by farmers who spent all day in the fields. The house had tiny windows and was hunched into the hillside, sheltering away from the elements. Henry opened up the small windows and built a kitchen that takes full advantage of the panorama.

Henry’s father would sleep like a medieval king in the middle of the room, the wind howling through the rafters Y The barn was converted into a very draughty master bedroom, where Henry’s father would sleep like a medieval king in the middle of the room, the wind howling through the rafters. He connected the barn to the main house by converting the outbuildings, laying underfloor heating as he went – quite an innovation for the time. But for all his outpourings of energy, the work on the house just never seemed to finish. A Francophile, gourmet and furious smoker, Ben John loved to keep his hands busy, and was obsessed with making beautiful wooden spoons and spatulas. He even chamfered the edges of the washing-line poles. One day, he dropped dead of a massive stroke while walking the mountain road. ‘He used to smoke these enormous rollies that could kill you with one breath,’ Henry says. ‘When we came back from the hospital, we found his ashtray with his half-smoked cigarette and an enormous cup of Santos Java coffee – also deadly. And next to this was a drawing of seven or eight spatulas or spoons, the latest tweaking of his designs. Five of them had been crossed out, because they weren’t good enough. He was a perfectionist.’ In true Napoleonic style, Ben left the house to his five children equally. They tried to share it, but it didn’t work out. ‘Nobody wanted

There is limitless hot water and even a croquet lawn and a billiard table. ‘There was always a billiard table when Dad had it, but there were places where you couldn’t take a shot, because a wall got in the way.’ So Henry knocked down the wall. To say it was a labour of love is something of an understatement. Henry spent four years living on a building site with no one but his lurcher Arrow and several Polish builders for company. ‘It was hard labour for 12 hours a day from 8am till 8pm. Once I had started, and bashed a hole in the wall, there was no going back. It was chaos. But the worst thing you can do is to stop. I wouldn’t feel relaxed unless I could hear several power tools working, because that meant progress.’ One day he plans to come and live full time at Charity, using the barn as his studio and watching one season change into the next. But for now, it’s back to the King’s Road and the Chelsea Arts Club, while renting out the house for holiday lets, and having the occasional weekend party. Is he looking for another project? ‘Absolutely not!’ he laughs. ‘It took over my life and more or less killed my social life’ – and his fun, philandering great-grandfather would not have approved of that. ( Charity is available for exclusive holiday rental via Unique Home Stays (uniquehomestays.com; 01637 881183).

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FIND YOUR HORMONE SOLUTION START

Practically volcanic PRONE TO MILD OUTBURSTS?

Not especially

HOT TER THAN AN AGA?

KEEP FORGETTING YOUR HUSBAND’S/CHILDREN’S/ DOG’S/OWN NAME?

Night-time is the worst SO YOU’RE NOT SLEEPING?

What business of yours is it if I am?

HELPED BY THE ODD KITKAT?

Not much... Sorry, what?

LET’S TALK ABOUT YOUR SEX DRIVE...

Concentration nil, waistline also nil

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MARK COCKSEDGE. ANIMATED BY CAROLYN JONES

Plus several cups of tea and a lot of sugar...

No point, haven’t seen it in years This ought to be a quick conversation

HOW’S YOUR SELF-ESTEEM?

Like a rollercoaster, veering between extreme anxiety and almost manic happiness

T U R N T H E PAG E F O R AC T UA L FAC T S A B O U T HORMONES

Currently at rock bottom, if not lower

OESTROGEN

PROGESTERONE

TESTOSTERONE

May be out of whack

Might be lacking

Could be improved

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WHO CO N T RO L S YO U R BO DY ? It’s not you, it’s your hormones, and we are only just starting to understand them. By Joanna Moorhead

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t was the heyday of la dolce vita: Italy in the Fifties, a country oozing with A-list celebrities, sharp fashion, bright sunshine and glittering glamour. Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn were zipping around the capital on their scooter filming Roman Holiday; Sophia Loren was flashing her famous legs on the beach in Sorrento; and in a convent in Lazio, a community of nuns was helping to revolutionise fertility treatment. The nuns’ contribution to a cure for childlessness was not a difficult ask. All they had to do was pee, and their pee was collected regularly from the tank in which it was stored and transported to the HQ of the pharmaceutical company Serono. Researchers there were working feverishly on what they knew would be a huge, and lucrative, breakthrough in medicine: they were aiming to create treatments for couples unable to have children, for whom the only way forward until then had been adoption. What a scientist at Sorono, Piero Donini, had discovered was that an ovulation-stimulating hormone called FSH (follicle-stimulating hormone) continued to be made by women after the menopause and, since it was no longer needed by this stage of their reproductive lives, was simply excreted by the kidneys. Ergo, the scientists thought, if only they could find a group of older women willing to donate their urine, the hormone could be extracted from it and used to treat women with fertility problems. But where to find those women in numbers great enough to make enough urine collection practicable? The solution came from a Serono board member, Giulio Pacelli, who dreamt up the idea of asking elderly nuns to help. And why would they agree to it? Well, Pacelli just happened to be the nephew of the reigning pope, Pius XII. Enough said. The urine was collected, the FSH extracted, purified and licensed as a treatment called Pergonal (derived from the Italian for ‘from the gonads’). In 1961, a woman who had been unable to conceive became pregnant after being treated with it, and gave birth to a healthy girl. It kicked off a revolution that would lead, in time, to the development of IVF (in vitro fertilisation), and the births of millions of children, and counting. Ironically, the Vatican would later condemn IVF, but it was too late: by then, the nuns had done their bit and Pergonal was being produced synthetically. The story is delightful on all sorts of levels – there is something rather wonderful, after all, about a group of women who had eschewed their baby-making potential coming to the aid of another group w ho desperately wanted to use theirs. But more than anything, this tale illustrates the power of hormones to change the

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Be au t y world: my world, your world and even the whole world. They are chemicals, but their work in our bodies is so complex that doctors don’t even pretend to understand them completely. They’re also the source of much misinformation: oestrogen may be known as the ‘female’ hormone and testosterone as the ‘male’ hormone, but in fact both are present in the bodies of women and men. And while testosterone is often touted as the ‘aggression’ hormone, there’s evidence to suggest it has had a bad press, and that it’s not connected to risk-taking or egocentric behaviour. But while their precise workings have sometimes been a conundrum, what happens when hormones don’t work could not be more clear. You’ll soon know, for example, if your pancreas stops producing the hormone insulin. Its job is to control the body’s blood-sugar levels: if that doesn’t happen, everything starts to shut down, with symptoms including vomiting, abdominal pain, weakness and, eventually, coma and death. If the thyroid glands in your neck stop producing triiodothyronine (T3) and thyroxine (T4), your body’s metabolism will start to slow down, leading to tiredness, weight gain, aching muscles and depression. If the thyroid produces too much of these hormones, the impact will be the opposite: you’ll have difficulty sleeping, you’ll be nervy and agitated, and you may experience heart palpitations and weight loss. What’s more, hormone deficiencies influence our mood, our outlook, even our approach to life. Low levels of sex hormones, in particular, can cause depression, anxiety and low self-esteem. Men and women are affected psychologically by this dip – it’s less common in men, but very much so in women, especially at the menopause. Hormones are, in some ways, still the new kid on the medical block. Just over a century old, the word was used for the first time by an English physiologist called Ernest Starling (1866–1927) in 1905, during a lecture on the chemical control of bodily functions. Starling was pointing out that, while the body’s actions and activities are prompted and regulated by the nervous system, there is another crucial force at work too: the hormonal or endocrine system (‘endo’ means inside, ‘crine’ secretion). Hormones are most notorious for their effect on our sex life and our ability to reproduce, but in fact, explains consultant endocrinologist Dr Richard Quinton of the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle upon Tyne, they do a great deal more than that. ‘Hormones control almost every part of the body’s functions,’ he explains. ‘They travel in the bloodstream, and their effects are usually at a distance from the place where they’re produced.’ But the endocrine system is, he says, difficult to categorise: ‘There’s no single, solid organ system as there is with the heart, bones or brain. It’s more diffuse, and in some ways it’s so big that it can be hard to get a grip on what’s going on.’ In addition to their better-known effects on reproduction, hormones are, for instance, fundamental to both the digestive system and the body’s ability to fight off disease. The word ‘hormone’ comes from a Greek root meaning ‘to arouse’, and that is precisely what hormones do: they produce a reaction in the system they were designed to influence. So FSH – that hormone collected from the nuns’ pee – washes around the body in the bloodstream, but only comes into its own when it makes contact with the ovaries of a pre-menopausal woman, where it stimulates the production of follicles from which mature eggs are released, ready for possible fertilisation. In essence, hormones are like a red flag: emanating from one part of the body, they indicate something important in another part of it. As well as the signalling needed for

the baby-making process – where, of course, timing is all – the endocrine system also shows, via a hormone produced in the adrenal gland called adrenalin, that there’s a need to escape danger or otherwise exert oneself, shifting the body to a state of high alert to help us cope with, say, a scary job interview. So far, so (fairly) simple. But the problem with hormones is that they don’t always act in our best interests. There are different reasons for this. Sometimes (as with diabetes, or infertility) it’s down to the straightforward fact that the system isn’t working properly: the body is failing to produce the hormones it should. At other times, they are being produced but the amounts are out of kilter, or they’re bringing about changes in systems and parts of our bodies other than the ones they were primarily created to target. ‘When you get to midlife, your balance changes,’ says hormone specialist Dr Marion Gluck, who runs a clinic on Wimpole Street. ‘You experience changes that are the result of hormone fluctuations, and often you don’t like those changes.’ She’s talking about the menopause, which can cause a whole host of problems, including irregular periods, hot flushes, night sweats, a reduction in libido, vaginal dryness, mood swings and fatigue... the list goes on. Menopause problems are a relatively recent, and Western, phenomenon: in parts of Africa and Japan they are virtually unknown, and until women started living beyond their 50s, they weren’t clocked at all. ‘In the past, many women didn’t even reach the time when they’d have been going through the menopause,’ says Gluck. ‘Today we live in an age of longevity, but our physiology hasn’t caught up.’ We’re living longer but, she points out, not necessarily healthier – and that’s where hormones could make all the difference. ‘The ovaries stop functioning because our bodies aren’t expecting to produce babies – but oestrogen, the hormone the ovaries produce, is key for more than baby-making: it helps our bones, our skin, our hair, our energy.’ The good news about hormone deficiencies is that they can usually be treated by synthetically produced hormones – hormone-replacement therapy (HRT). Gluck is an exponent of a particular strand, called bio-identical HRT (see page 156). But the problem with HRT is that the endocrine system is so finely tuned that it is still insufficiently understood – and there have always been fears about unwanted side effects, including an increased risk of breast cancer. A study published last August shows HRT can triple the risk in women taking the combined oestrogen and progesterone pill (those who just take oestrogen are not at risk, but that’s usually only recommended for women who’ve had a hysterectomy). However, according to endocrinologist Professor John Studd, the research is already out of date as HRT has moved on, and oestrogen is now mostly given via transdermal methods (gels, patches and implants), as well as natural-progesterone tablets, and this does not carry the risks identified in the study. Women who take HRT to stave off the most troubling elements of the menopause don’t have to take hormones forever – usually, says Quinton, only for three or four years to see them through the eye of the storm. The important message about hormone problems is: don’t suffer in silence. Quinton recommends booking an appointment at a sexual health clinic. ‘You’re more than likely to find a doctor there who is knowledgeable about hormones and who can help,’ he says. Gluck, meanwhile, believes in the power of intuition. ‘Find out about your hormone system and how it works: if you feel something isn’t quite right, get it followed up because you’re probably correct,’ she says. Which, given that the hormone system is shrouded in a degree of mystery at the best of times, seems to make perfect sense. (

PHOTOGRAPH: SHUTTERSTOCK

A COMMUNITY OF NUNS REVOLUTIONISED FERTILITY TREATMENT

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Wake up to the menopause Because it might well be happening to you, right now. Mary Dudley on why you need to get your hormones checked

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Probably, but I was too tired to care. How was my libido? Ha! Did I sleep? Nope. Was I worried? Beyond. It sounded like a progesterone situation. After ovulation, during that last phase of your cycle known, mystically, as the luteal phase, oestrogen tends to spike. And if your progesterone doesn’t rise up to meet and balance the oestrogen, your body can veer into fight-or-flight mode, constantly warding off a sense of doom. Dr Galy called me a week later with the blood-test results. ‘The good news is that you have beautiful hormones as far as oestrogen and progesterone levels go,’ he said. ‘The bad news is that you have almost no testosterone. Let’s start you on some cream on the first day of your next period.’ Dr Galy rarely prescribes testosterone straight off the starting block, but the blood results were there in biochemical black and white. We got hysterical, me and my friends. Hysterical about me charging through the door, having mutated into the Incredible Hulk but bearded, trying to win everything and have sex with everything else. But it turned out not to be so funny. It turned out to be miraculous. I’d been applying a very conservative dose of cream to my inner arm for four days when my best friend called me and asked, as you do, how I was. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’ That little white squelch of testosterone cream had cut through my anxiety in a way no drug or talking therapy could. The worry was dissolved in under a week. And it has stayed away. Along with all the physical exhaustion, the aching bones. In fact, I think I’m sleeker. I still wake up early, but not at the arsenic hour of 4am. I feel able to handle moderate risk. I can talk to people over dinner without feeling haunted. It is a true – rather than frenzied – confidence. I am certainly chirpier, but whether that is a testosterone high or just relief from all the associated heaviness and dread cannot be established. And, of course, it doesn’t matter: I have met myself again in the corridor of life. I have finally coincided with myself as a grownup. And my sex drive? You really want to know? None of your business. But it’s back. Good God, is it back. You pervert. (

PHOTOGRAPH: THURSTON HOPKINS/GETTY IMAGES

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e need to talk, you and I. There are things to be said; things that may be hard to hear if you are between the ages of 35 and 45. I want to talk to you about hormones. Shifts. Ripples. Changes. There is shame here, I know. We are so efficiently conditioned to fear getting older that we stick Botox in our faces and try to fool our innards. And menopause is for other people, right? Menopause makes women unfuckable and irrelevant, just clogging up the world with their crumbling skeletons. But this piece is not about the menopause. It is about what comes in the 10 or 20 years before that. If you are between 35 and 45, you may still be oppressively regular, gloriously fertile and flashily youthful, but – whether or not you have had children – things are likely to be changing. Hormonally speaking. So get them checked. Just the big three: progesterone, oestrogen and testosterone. The earlier you get them checked, the more you’ll understand about what superstar endocrinologist Dr Martin Galy (see page 157) calls ‘your baseline – what your body needs, and what it can tolerate’. There is mass misdiagnosis of hormonal imbalance, mass over-prescription of painkillers and SSRI antidepressants, mass misunderstanding of the hormonal journey we embark on from birth. This is not about menopause; this is about life. That said, menopause (stupid name: Men! Oh! Pause!) will still happen, but if you’ve got one eye on your hormones, it won’t bash the hell out of you like some hot-flushing freight train. Menopause shouldn’t take you by surprise. It’s not some kind of bastard musical chairs. And, by the way, this hormone story has twists and turns. It’s not always the obvious. Here’s one woman’s story – mine. The antidepressants didn’t work. Nor did the anti-anxieties. And I wasn’t just heavy of mind – I was heavy of limb. Dragging each foot behind me up the stairs. Hauling myself out of bed to deal with the baby, having lain there for hours, agog with anxiety. Because although weariness ruled every cell in my body, I could not sleep past 4am. And the worry? Oh, the worry. Not like anything I had encountered before I was 40. I’d always veered towards fluttery worry, but this was bleak. So bleak that I started to think perhaps I didn’t want to go on like this. Punishing anxiety cornered me at every turn, stealing options, blocking out rays of hope. ‘Could be your hormones,’ suggested my therapist, unable to make the emotional maths add up. Yes, I had a fair amount going on, but the anxiety levels were not proportional. ‘I am NOT peri-menopausal,’ I countered. ‘My periods are perfectly regular.’ I am peri-menopausal, by the way. I can bear to say it now. Partly because Dr Galy explained to me that women can become perimenopausal from 35, and then drift into pre-menopausal, menopausal and post-menopausal. If I type the word ‘menopausal’ enough, and you read the word ‘menopausal’ enough, it will cease to horrify. We all need to grow up about it. Anyway, I dragged myself through Dr Galy’s door (he has the most soothing Trinidadian accent) and had a chat. Was I retaining water?


Be au t y

Lazy, grumpy, snoozy, not very interested in sex...

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s a 36-year-old man, I only have three things left to look forward to: my midlife crisis, the male menopause and death. And, of the three of these, male menopause sounds easily like the most fun. Death isn’t going to be a bundle of laughs, so let’s keep that one at the bottom of the pile for now. And although the midlife crisis might come with all the superficial trappings of fun – I’d get to drive an impractical car, wear impractical clothing and spend my Saturday evenings gratuitously overbiting to music I can’t stand in a series of unspeakable nightclubs – there would inevitably come a moment when I’d catch a glimpse of my own reflection midway through leching over a girl young enough to be my daughter, and I’d have no option but to vomit all over myself in an elaborate display of disgust. Compared to all that, the male menopause sounds like a veritable cakewalk. You lose interest in sex – and life in general – and spend

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the rest of your days tired and grumpy. If I had to pin my flag to one of these three milestones, the male menopause would get it every single time. Unfortunately, the problem almost certainly doesn’t exist. On the NHS Choices website, the term ‘male menopause’ carries inverted commas, like a tabloid headline trying to justify its own bullshit. It then goes on to denounce the condition as nothing like the menopause at all. Men don’t

This hasn’t stopped male HRT from becoming a thing, though. Testosterone is one of the most commonly prescribed controlled drugs in England and Wales, costing the NHS nearly £20m in 2015. And while it can be necessary for a small amount of patients, it’s thought that most prescriptions are simply written as a broad cure-all for middle-aged men who just want the rocket to be reintroduced to their pocket. And this is a shame. The male menopause – or at least the symptoms that get lumped together under its umbrella – is totally on trend right now. Increased tiredness. A general lack of enthusiasm. Reduced desire to exercise. The whole thing is essentially an orgy of falling asleep on your sofa while wearing a jumper, slightly drunk, after eating food chosen with no real thought for your physique, with your curtains drawn, at 8pm. If that isn’t the literal dictionary

My sex life is best described as brief, sporadic and eerily silent encounter the same precipitous hormonal drop as women; rather, their testosterone levels start to slide by about one per cent a year from age 30. The symptoms that might be attributed to the male menopause could be due to late-onset hypogonadism, which, as the name suggests, is testicular in nature. The more likely cause is a patchwork of stress, bad diet, too much alcohol, insufficient physical exercise and low self-esteem.

definition of hygge, I don’t know what is. And everyone loves hygge. Hygge couldn’t be any hotter if Bella Hadid got papped wearing it in an airport. Plus, in what universe is less testosterone actually a bad thing? According to science, my natural testosterone peaked when I was about 18. This, not coincidentally, was when I was at my most unbearable. I was much too cocky, too certain about everything to be helpful and desperate to

shove my haywire penis into anything that moved. (Desperate, I should add, but not successful. Being a sweaty, horny, herky-jerky testosterone puppet isn’t really all that conducive to success in the fine art of seduction, it transpires.) If someone offered me a pill to take me back to those days, I’d slap it clean out of their hands and then, as a service to humanity, kick them in the throat until they were dead. Besides, to return to those symptoms, I feel like parenthood is giving me a pretty good dry run of what to expect from the male menopause, and I have to say it’s not all bad. I suffer chronically from lack of sleep because there’s a two-yearold in the house. And my diet is atrocious. I’ve started to self-medicate like a late-era Elvis, gorging on chocolate to push me through until evening, then drinking minuscule quantities of wine to take the edge off at night. I don’t exercise any more for the simple reason that I’m constantly exhausted. And my sex life is best described as brief, sporadic and eerily silent. But that’s OK. I’m happier now than I can remember. It feels like I’ve been allowed to stop trying so hard and allow myself a few moments of something approaching contentment. If this is my future, sign me up. In fact, I’m fully expecting the male menopause to be even better than this, because 15 years from now I won’t have to keep getting up to shout at a toddler to stop playing with the oven. Testosterone can get out of town. I can’t wait to be menopausal. (

ILLUSTRATION: MR TWIT © QUENTIN BLAKE, 2010

Stuart Heritage on the male menopause – and why he can’t wait for it to happen to him


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The traditionalists P RO F E S S O R J O H N ST U D D Endocrinologist and gynaecologist

Complementary medicine doesn’t hold much sway with Professor Studd. Evening primrose oil? ‘Rubbish!’ Vitamin B6? ‘Nonsense!’ He’s a doctor of the old-school variety: straighttalking, rather gruff and very much to the point. And hell, does he get results. His view is that women are treated ‘shockingly’ in England (‘it’s worse in Scotland’), and that many very common problems – depression, low libido, PMS; all of which can have devastating personal consequences – are in fact very easy, and safe, to treat. Studd specialises in bio-identical hormones*, pinpointing patients’ hormonal balances (or lack thereof) with rigorous blood tests, a bone-density scan and in-depth questions. Treatment often involves oestrogen and testosterone gels (gels apparently lack the risks associated with pill-form hormones), and the results speak volumes: women with depression talk of feeling like themselves again; menopausal maniacs are soothed, calmed and cooled. One thing worth noting is that UK medical insurance typically doesn’t cover HRT treatment; now there’s a shocker. Consultation, £350 for 30 minutes. At 46 Wimpole Street, W1 (studd.co.uk; 020 7486 0497). *Bio-identical hormones have the same chemical structure as those that occur naturally in the body, unlike other synthetic hormones that may be similar but are not identical.

THE HORMONE D I R EC TO RY The best specialists in the business. They have the power to change your life. Really

D R R I C H A R D S I BT H O R P E According to Dr Sibthorpe, periods aren’t the main indication of the menopause. ‘Some clients have purely psychological symptoms but still have regular periods – everyone is different.’ Either way, he’ll get investigating: blood, urinary tests, thyroid hormones, vitamin D levels, adrenal function, toxins, inflammation, gut flora, pelvic scans and breast screenings. This 360-degree approach gives a much deeper understanding of the body’s whole system. It’s an exhaustive process but really does help to optimise your health. After he has identified what’s out of whack, there’s a solution, in the form of bio-identical hormones and supplements. He refers to the application as ‘start low, go slow: it’s easier to build up doses later and adjust them down the line’. He spends half his time in LA, shadowing doctors at the forefront of hormonal science to make sure

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he keeps up with all the latest trends in this very complex area of medicine. ‘Follow the science and keep it simple’ are his two mantras. Consultation, £120 for 45 minutes. At the Smart Clinics, 13 Crescent Place, SW3 (drrichardsibthorpe.com; 020 7052 0070).

DR LUCY HOOPER General practitioner

The first question that Dr Hooper asks women when they arrive at her door is a simple one: ‘What do you want?’ Softly spoken and kind, she deals in facts, but delivers them in a way that makes her feel like a friend – whether you’re in your early 40s and looking to conceive, or feeling the

first flicker of a hot flush. Blood tests are her initial port of call to check ovarian reserves or levels of FSH (follicle-stimulating hormones) – a sudden spike can suggest that things are slowing down. After the results are in, it’s all about managing the transition in the most holistic way possible. She’s not opposed to HRT, but simple methods like exercise, acupuncture and herbs are also high up on her list. If a thyroid imbalance or an iron deficiency crops up, she’ll take it in her stride. It’s all manageable, and with Dr Hooper in your corner, it feels like less of a struggle. Consultation, £110 for 30 minutes. At 109 New King’s Road, SW6 (coynemedical.com; 020 7731 3077).

PHOTOGRAPH: SOPHY RICKETT/MILLENNIUM IMAGES

Anti-ageing expert and cosmetic doctor


Be au t y D R M A RT I N G A LY

ZOI MARAKI

Bio-identical-hormone specialist

Herbalist

Dr Galy is the contemporary face of endocrinology. Yes, he’ll delve deep into the complicated sciencey side of treatment (he specialises in bio-identical hormones, which he’ll prescribe based on careful scrutiny of your bloods over a course of months, in cream form or the more readily absorbed lozenges) – but he’ll also welcome complementary medicine, like acupuncture, into the programme. There’s no one-sizefits-all cure: this is a proper investigation, involving a LOT of questions – and he actually listen to your answers. He’s also in it for the long run. He’ll keep talking to you, keep running the bloods, keep tweaking your dosage, keep keeping an eye on you. His clients range in age from their 20s to their 70s – so it’s never too late to pay him a visit. Consultation, £380 for 60 minutes. At 23MD, 23 Elystan Street, SW3 (23md.co.uk; 020 7078 0302).

Herbal specialist Zoi Maraki believes that herbs can strengthen the body’s natural functions – which means, you guessed it, hormones. From night sweats to irritability to plain old exhaustion, the solution might lie in her little glass jars of herbs. Maraki will assess your symptoms, then concoct a brew based on your ‘constitutional personality’. Perhaps a bit of black cohosh – to cool hot flushes and ‘dry spells’ elsewhere – mixed with some shatavari (an ayurvedic herb that contains natural plant-based oestrogens to balance hormones), plus ginseng to improve sleep. The result is a mysterious ancient recipe, which she decants into plastic bottles for you to take home. And though it might look (and taste) like witches’ piss, you trust her. Already you feel calmer. And it works. Not instantly – but slowly and surely. Consultation, £75 for 60 minutes. At Be Well London, University of Westminster Polyclinic, Hanson Street, W1 (bewelllondon.com; 020 3290 2203).

The alternatives

JOHNNY CHILDS Acupuncturist

A N G E L I Q U E PA N AG O S Nutritional therapist

You can’t imagine that Angelique ever gets stressed. Gentle, funny, with a South African charm, she’s so chilled she may as well be horizontal. She talks about stress a lot, though. How it suppresses the immune system. How it prevents you from digesting your food properly. How it overrides just about everything, including proper hormonal function. So stress is out – but FAT, apparently, is in. In fact, she talks about fat a lot: how the lowfat craze of the Nineties stripped a generation of women’s diets of ‘good’ fat, messing up our hormones in the process. Her manner creates a natural dialogue, so you’re quickly chatting away in a startlingly frank manner. Her advice is no-nonsense: eat more fat (avocados, nuts, flaxseed, oily fish), up your greens intake to six portions a day (six!) and increase your protein – another essential for hormones. She creates an easy-to-follow programme that fits in with your life and sends you all sorts of clever supplements. Three months in? Mood swings are on a more even keel, attacks of rage are rare, sleep is deeper – plus your skin has a rather sexy new suppleness. Sold. Consultation, £250 for 60 minutes. At 58 South Molton Street, W1 (angeliquepanagos.com; 020 7097 1381).

There is something disconcerting about discussing your hormonal problems with a handsome man. But you quickly forget Johnny Childs’ sparkly blue eyes and charming smile, mostly because he’s talking about the smell of rancid skin. You don’t take it personally, though – it’s all part of the diagnosis. Sessions start with a deep conversation: he assesses how you look, how you talk and, yes, how you smell (all very subtle, don’t worry), the idea being that in ancient Chinese philosophy, humans are all part of nature and have one element – fire, water, metal, earth, wood – that is imbalanced. This is our ‘causative factor’ – the factor that puts things out of sync. If yours is wood, for example, he’ll notice that the skin beneath your eyes has the slightest green tinge and that your voice can take on an aggressive timbre (woods are quick to anger). Treatments are short and sharp, targeting key points to release the right energy for your element. It’s less about ‘fixing’ your hormones, and more about getting everything else in order. So the hormones take care of themselves. After a few sessions – the acupuncture itself can feel like everything from a sharp, electrical burst, to a dull, bruise-like ache – you may just find you sleep better. Or you argue less. You’re a little calmer. You see a bit clearer (literally). It’s an eye-opener. Initial consultation and treatment, £165. At Gerad Kite, 19 Wimpole Street, W1 (geradkite.com).

The total immersions PA L AC E M E R A N O E S PAC E H E N R I C H E N OT, M E R A N O, I TA LY The anti-ageing programme

This Italian palace turned medi-spa is home to what world-renowned anti-ageing specialist Henri Chenot calls ‘second youth’. In a state-of-the-art medi-centre, your sexual hormones, thyroid (which governs metabolism), stress hormones, body composition and bone density all come under scrutiny. They don’t sugarcoat it and results can be a shocker: come 35, our hormones nosedive, slowing our metabolism and digestion, and dehydrating our tissues – and, er, other bits. Cue a balancing, six-day boot camp in the spa – hydro-aromatherapy and mud treatments, massage, meridian-activating energy sessions, yoga, pilates and Nordic walking. Daily sustenance? Barely-there portions of exquisite and delectable meals (meat-, dairy- and fat-free). But yes, those pounds fall away – and, everyone swears, the years with them. Six-day Regenerating Anti-Age Programme, from £3,550 per person, including meals, consultations and treatments (palace.it; 00 39 0473 271000).

V I L L A ST E P H A N I E , BADEN-BADEN, GERMANY The vitality programme

You can cover all bases at the elegant Villa Stéphanie. There are Sisley facials and personal trainers and wonderful massages, but there are also physios and dieticians and a full-on medical wing. The delightful Dr Schweizer will give you a general MOT, and send you down to Dr Dehm, the kindest gynaecologist you’ll ever meet. The best thing is that she covers everything from breast ultrasounds and (ahem) internals, to hormone blood tests and tips on how to feel more balanced. And then you can retreat to your flawless art-deco room overlooking a babbling river, flick the no-wi-fi switch and sleep the sleep of the gods. Healing Holidays (healingholidays.co.uk; 020 7529 8551) offers a seven-night Vitality Detox from £3,699 per person, full board, including transfers, treatments and activities. (

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LOOK and FEEL

BETTER... Now! Doctors discuss the personal benefits of in-home cell therapy and why everyone needs it

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BROCHURE SAT ON DR JOCELYN Eberstein’s desk for several weeks before she gave it serious attention. This pamphlet was about a Swiss cell therapy that claimed to revitalize cells in the human body, increase energy, combat chronic pain, and help improve overall health. “I get a lot of material about so-called wonder treatments, so I tend to be skeptical about everything,” says Dr Eberstein. She specializes in personalized health management programs that combine therapeutic treatments with the latest research and scientifically based approaches. “I don’t know why I didn’t just throw out the brochure, but the claims were intriguing and the results were based on firm scientific ground. So one day, I decided to put Celergen to the test and ordered a box.”

A few days later her order arrived. That evening, Dr Eberstein took two capsules of Celergen, which is now available after 30 years of research. Its key ingredient is DNA extracted from deep-sea marine life, and other ingredients include Peptide E Collagen, which reinforces skin elasticity, and Hydro MN Peptide, which rejuvenates joint cartilage. While some users of Celergen notice results within the first month, Dr Eberstein felt the positive effects immediately. “Throughout the night, I felt it pulsing through my body, but it was very soothing, so I was able to enjoy a good night’s sleep. It was similar to when you do acupuncture and open an energy pathway. It was like I was getting an acupuncture treatment in the middle of the night,” she says. “Come morning, I woke up refreshed and ready to go. I knew

LUPITA JONES Former Miss Universe and Celergen Client

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BENEFITS INCLUDE: • Improved energy levels and stamina • Reduced wrinkles, scars, and age spots • Reduced joint pain • Improved sleep • Reduced pain from osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis • Faster recuperation after exercise • Improved wound healing, skin resilience, tone, texture, and overall complexion • Improved blood sugar control • Enhanced focus and mental clarity • Increased sexual performance and satisfaction • Improved blood circulation • Strengthened immune system


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All healing begins at the CELLULAR LEVEL something good was definitely happening.” This initial experience came during a particularly stressful time in Dr Eberstein’s life. She had been sleeping terribly for months and often woke up feeling nauseous. When she would arrive at her clinic, she often felt tired and not as engaged as she would like to be. But after taking Celergen, all that turned around over the next several days. In addition, after studying her lab results before and after taking Celergen, Dr Eberstein noticed that her low white blood cell count had improved remarkably in addition to her other numbers across the board. “The icing on the cake was when friends and patients began remarking: ‘You look great. What did you have done?’ ” she says. “That’s when I knew I was on to something.” Dr Eberstein has since recommended Celergen to patients who suffer from a variety of maladies and chronic ailments. “I’ve only had one patient choose not to continue. That’s how effective and life-changing Celergen can be.”

“The icing on the cake was when friends and patients began remarking: ‘You look great. What did you have done?’ That’s when I knew I was on to something. I’ve only had one patient choose not to continue. That’s how effective and life-changing Celergen can be.” -Dr Jocelyn Eberstein

Celergen Provides Our Bodies with the Tools Needed to Heal Themselves Around this time of year – early winter – Dr Michael Hytros often meets with patients who feel worn out and depressed. “It’s perfectly understandable – they are facing months of awful weather. There’s plenty to feel depressed about,” says Dr Hytros. “More and more I recommend they give Celergen a try. When the bad weather sets in, it can act like the best antidepressant and mood stabilizer without

any side effects.” Like Dr Eberstein, Dr Hytros tried Celergen for himself before introducing it to his patients. “I woke up in the morning full of energy, which hadn’t been the case in a long time. Plus, I had a clear mind without the brain fog that tends to set in as I’ve grown older,” says Dr Hytros. That was two years ago, and since then Dr Hytros has witnessed Celergen’s effectiveness on many patients. One, a 58-year-old man with chronic back problems and muscle spasms, had gained an inordinate amount of weight as a result of his inactivity. One of his doctors recommended back surgery. Since the thought of that made him feel even worse, Dr Hytros suggested he try Celergen. “Within a couple of weeks, the pain and depression had left him. He felt so much better that he stopped all medication. After a few months he had lost 25 pounds and looked 10 to 15 years younger than when I had first seen him,” says Dr Hytros. “And now, there’s no need for back surgery.” Dr Hytros has many patients who suffer from chronic fatigue and has long recommended a regimen of Vitamin D-3. He now recommends they add a daily capsule of Celergen. He also makes similar recommendations for patients suffering from diabetes, metabolic diseases, and numerous other afflictions. “I can’t begin to explain why it works. I’ll leave that to the researchers. All I know is that it does work and it works differently for everyone who tries it,” he says. “In the human body, all our systems are connected, and Celergen seems to support and invigorate every system.” The Next Big Thing for Those Seeking Optimal Health and Beautiful Skin Dr Eberstein sees her fair share of patients who work in the film industry and who are committed to fighting the aging process with any and all tools available. “We don’t do Botox or fillers or any of that, but lots of my patients have had those treatments, along with countless kinds of cosmetic surgeries,” says Dr Eberstein. “I suggest that they try Celergen for a few months before going under the knife again or undergoing other invasive cosmetic treatments. In terms of anti-aging treatments, Celergen can be just as effective at turning back the biological clock without the pain or side effects,” she says. “It’s great to be able to live to 80, 90, 100, or beyond, but what good is it if there’s no quality of life with it?” says Dr Eberstein. “Celergen can provide an answer for making our lives as good as they can possibly be.”

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T R AV E L Edited by FRANCISCA KELLETT Emma Soames and David Jenkins on a rooftop in Kashan

ALL THE PLEASURES OF PERSIA

PHOTOGRAPH: EMMA SOAMES

Scented gardens, breathtaking mosques, ancient palaces, barrel-vaulted bazaars, delicious kebabs and locals who are delighted to meet you. There are so many reasons to visit Iran, finds David Jenkins

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Tr av el

O

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The Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque in Isfahan

a couple to ‘unite’ guilt-free for a brief time before divorcing. That, though, is a cheap shot. The fact is that many of Isfahan’s (and Iran’s) loveliest buildings are mosques – be sure you don’t miss the extraordinary Masjed-e Jameh, hard by the northern entrance to the city’s vast bazaar – and they’re full of the faithful. Though not all are as faithful as the mullah answering tourists’ questions in the madrasa adjoining the Royal Mosque, with its breathtaking blue tiles. There were, he said, bad people and bad governments everywhere – which raised a laugh – but it was clearly Saudi Arabia’s that he blamed for ISIS. As for the grip that the mosque has on the state in Iran, he batted that away. Still, all women – and that includes tourists – must wear headscarves in public and a loose, long-sleeved top that’s kurta-like in length. Many wear what’s known as a manteau, a sort of mac/coat that’s not too fitted and that can, in combination with a flowery scarf, only too easily evoke the kind of outfit worn to

Women in the fashionable Darban district of Tehran

the shops on a wet Sunday in Coronation Street. In the more conservative areas, the chador is the norm, and the sight of a chador-clad woman riding pillion on her husband’s motorbike is both common and cinematic; girls have to cover up from age nine. But Iranian women drive, are highly educated and are acknowledged to be powers in the land. Good doctors too – one of them treated me with no other man present, though I noticed that she didn’t ask me to remove my shirt. And it’s entertaining to see just how far back on their heads many women dare to wear their scarves, and how vivid their lipstick and their painted-on eyebrows are. Another fashion note: it’s common to see young women with strips of plaster on their noses, advertising the fact that they’ve had a nose job. Or, in many cases, pretending they have – it’s a status symbol. It’s also instructive to see how Western tourists adapt to the sartorial rules. In Iran, the French tended to be the chicest, if put in the shade by Emma, who’d scoured London for good looks. My favourite saw her grey-rimmed Cutler & Gross shades speaking to her grey Joseph scarf and her grey Linen Press shirt. Women need to wear a headscarf to pick up their visa from the embassy in Kensington Court, and if you’re British, American or Canadian you’ll have to be fingerprinted too. You’ll also have to have a guide with you in Iran. This may sound suffocating but isn’t necessarily the case. Ours – chosen for us by our irreproachable tour operator, Wild Frontiers – was relaxed, informative and

PHOTOGRAPHS: EMMA SOAMES, GETTY IMAGES, REDUX/EYEVINE

h, to have been Shah Abbas II, ruler of Iran from 1642 to 1666! He could sit on the columned terrace of Ali Qapu, his gorgeous palace in Isfahan, gazing out at the polo being played in the enormous square below, the acoustics from the exquisitely decorated music room above entrancing, the Shirazi wine delicious and the underground tunnel that led beneath the square from the stunning wonder of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque – once known as the Women’s Mosque – just begging to be used by one of the doe-eyed beauties in his harem. The favourites in that harem inhabited the Hasht Behesht (Eight Heavens) palace a few hundred yards away, eight being the number that represents the eight levels of Paradise in Islam. There were, of course, eight of them, and they could look out from the central chamber onto the fountains and long, tranquil pool at the centre of one of Iran’s many wonderful gardens, nine of which are listed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Among the best of these is the nearby garden at Chehel Sotoun, the palace where Shah Abbas II would entertain visiting statesmen at parties recorded in startlingly naturalistic paintings showing dancing girls swaying their hips and drunken revellers being taken away to sleep it off. All this beauty and all this hedonism are typical of the central Iran I visited, from Shiraz to Yazd, Isfahan and Kashan by way of Persepolis, all destinations that conjure up the words of Omar Khayyam, the 11thcentury Persian poet, mathematician and astronomer who first proposed that a year’s length be calculated at 365 days: ‘A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread – and Thou/Beside me singing in the Wilderness...’ How to reconcile all this with the Islamic Republic that Iran is today? Well, my last stop before Tehran was at Qom, where Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khomeini was a young student and which was later his power base. There, my travelling companion, Emma Soames, had, rather testily, to don a chador to visit the golden-domed Fatima Masumeh Shrine. All around, the devout scurried, many of them representative of the 25 million pilgrims who visit the town each year. But it was also a town, I learnt, frequented by Iran’s largest battalion of ‘ladies of the hour’ – ie, prostitutes so called because they engaged in Nikah mutah, a form of marriage that permits


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David Jenkins and camel near Persepolis

amusing; he told us, for example, that the longest anyone he’d guided had stuck around at Persepolis – a must on any traveller’s agenda – was eight hours, the shortest 16 minutes. Emma leant more to the latter camp, being less enthralled than I was by the stunning bas-reliefs, winged lions and soaring columns of the huge palace complex put to the torch by Alexander the Great in 330 bc. What Emma preferred was the tomb of Cyrus the Great near Pasargadae, 50 miles away. Solitary on a windswept desert plain, it sits like a Rachel Whiteread house, bold and unembellished. It has about it the feel of Ozymandias, ‘king of kings’, demanding that we ‘Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair’. On the road leading to the tomb, a huge black flag flapped, commemorating the martyrdom of Hussein, grandson of Muhammad, in 680 ad; an even larger banner showed a fearsome Ayatollah Khomeini berating unbelievers. Don’t be misled by this. Iranians are delightful people, themselves delighted to see foreigners once again travelling in their land. On the street, young men will ask you to pose for selfies and eagerly discuss Wayne Rooney’s form; in restaurants, men and women will smile enthusiastically and put their hands over their hearts to convey the warmth of their feelings. Let’s hope the advent of President Trump doesn’t bring a halt to that welcome, with his threats to tear up the ‘horrible’ nuclear deal that’s played its part in opening up the country – you can, for instance, now fly direct to Tehran with British Airways. You certainly wouldn’t want to miss Shiraz, with its barrel-vaulted bazaar, its ravishing Pink Mosque and the wonderful kebabs at the Shazni restaurant. Or, more soberingly, the now-restored fort where the Savak, the last Shah’s secret police, used to put political prisoners into bags filled with starving cats. Yazd is 280 miles from Shiraz and it’s great, as is the desert you’ll pass through. At first, ]

Emma in a chador at the Shah-e-Cheragh Shrine in Shiraz

LEFT, THE GOLDEN DOME OF THE FATIMA MASUMEH SHRINE IN QOM. RIGHT, TEHRAN CHIC

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The Fin Garden in Kashan

[with the Zagros mountains on both sides, there’s something of New Mexico to the scene; later, it’s reminiscent of the endless Texas desert of Tom Ford’s Nocturnal Animals, without the violence. Iran is very safe for tourists. Yazd itself is an ancient city, made of mud brick, and it’s a hot one too – temperatures can reach 50°C in July. To conjure up coolness, 10th-century Yazdians developed wind towers that suck the faintest of breezes down them, to be further cooled by a bowl of water at the bottom. It’s a technology as effective now as it ever was – get up on the roofs of the old town and see them dotted around. You’ll also see the exquisite Jameh Mosque, its 170ft minarets the tallest in Iran. In the evening, we sat on a carpeted dais on the roof of Café Fooka – the minarets before us, the moon above – eating fesenjan, a lamb stew in a pomegranate and walnut sauce. It was the ideal way in which to ponder the oddly compelling spectacle we’d just watched at the zoorkhaneh, or ‘house of strength’: a strange amalgam of keep-fit (men whirled like dervishes, juggled with gigantic Indian clubs and lifted impossibly heavy iron doors, all the while being led by the drumming and chanting of a man perched in a gaudy pulpit beneath a domed roof ) and, almost, contact sport. It was, said our guide, ‘the mother of wrestling’, a sport at which Iranians excel. Another form of wrestling had taken place before dinner in the Yazd Carpet Store, where a snake-hipped youth had battled Emma over

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the price of a silk carpet. He won. It wasn’t the only Yazd shopping opportunity that Emma seized. There’s a very cool clothes shop lurking in the back of what’s known as Alexander’s Prison, which she found vaut le détour – as is the Fahadan Museum Hotel, where a loquacious character with a parrot on his shoulder took us round the vast rooms and appealing courtyards of this funky retreat. Too funky, perhaps, for the Tatler reader, but it’s a good idea to stay in an old-town hotel if you can – the Fazeli Hotel is said to be excellent – as opposed to the more touristy Moshir-alMamalek, some two miles from the action. Same goes for Shiraz, where the Grand Hotel Chamran may have five stars – and only two hangers to a huge cupboard – but is far, far, far from the delights of the bazaar. It’s important to discuss the sort of hotels you want with your tour operator, though Iranians tend not to confirm hotel bookings till unnervingly close to the departure date. Be prepared. Yazd is worth lingering in, Nain a fleeting visit: its mosque is one of the oldest (and most austere) in Iran and has a subterranean complex where the townsfolk could pray in the savage summer heat. Which prompts the question: when best to go to Iran? March is hopeless; it’s when people are travelling to celebrate Nowruz, the Iranian New Year. April and May are pleasant but heavily touristed; June, July and August are for heat-seeking missiles only – and do remember that there’s no lying around in bikinis by the hotel pool with a G&T. Because – and it’s important to spell it out – there is no alcohol available, anywhere. September and October are good and November a bit bracing, though probably Three of the famed wind towers in the city of Yazd

the best month for deep cultural immersion for the simple reason that there are almost no tourists around. Or for shopping, for which Isfahan is fantastic – the miniature boxes are sensational, the backgammon boards beautifully wrought. (Iranians are big on chess, which they invented, and backgammon; an evening stroll through a Shiraz park took us past multitudinous games taking place on dedicated stone tables. Emma, who played at the Clermont, cast an approving eye.) Whenever you go, visit Kashan. It’s another mud-brick desert town, famous for its rosewater – there’s a huge rose festival at the end of May. It should also be famous for its food. Dinner at the Manouchehri Hotel was the best I had in Iran – outstanding koofteh menrej, or beef meatballs with Persian prunes, fresh herbs, yogurt and saffron rice; kashke bademjan, or grilled baby aubergines with dried mint, sour yogurt and walnuts; kabab torsh, or lamb kebabs with jewelled rice; and pistachio ice cream – eaten on a terrace overlooking a courtyard. Breakfast at the Morshedi House was almost as delicious. And the scene in a nearby restaurant was mesmerising: three Tehrani girls, their skinny jeans tight, their fingernails green, their headscarves scarcely on, sat scornfully beneath a large banner that proclaimed, ‘Veil for woman is not a lowliness but her protection and immunity... The Great Leader.’ Kashan also has a lovely, untouristy bazaar, with a tea shop by the carpet section, where the roof is open to the sky. Linger there, and linger in Kashan: it’s got a great, slightly Moroccan vibe. On Kashan’s outskirts, large mansions are being built by wealthy Tehranis as weekend retreats or by engineers at the nearby Natanz nuclear facility, hidden somewhere in the mountains and guarded by sporadic arrays of anti-aircraft guns. There’s also one last magical garden, the Fin Garden, with the usual cypresses and far-reaching pool. It was there in 1852 that the progressive prime minister, Amir Kabir, was murdered by minions despatched on the orders of the Persian king, Naser al-Din Shah Qajar; there are those who say Naser al-Din was drunk when he signed

PHOTOGRAPHS: EMMA SOAMES, LUIS FILIPPO, REX FEATURES, ALAMY, GETTY IMAGES

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LEFT, KEEPING FIT AT A ZOORKHANEH, OR ‘HOUSE OF STRENGTH’. RIGHT, AN IMAGE OF AYATOLLAH KHOMEINI ON A WALL AT THE JAMEH MOSQUE IN ISFAHAN

Amir’s death warrant. No wonder the mullahs are against the grape. Part of Khomeini’s legacy are the one million killed in the Iran-Iraq War of 1980–1988, in which the West backed and armed Saddam Hussein, who started the conflict. As you leave any largish town, there’s a huge line of photographs displayed on posts in the middle of the road – pictures of local men slain in the war, a reminder of the geopolitics in which Iran is so pivotal. They’re also a good reason to visit the Martyrs Museum in central Tehran. The exhibits are evocative and poignant: photos of young men in uniform, broken spectacles, letters from home. There are, too, the bloodstained robes of a cleric murdered by the Savak. It’s a chaste, well-organised and little-visited place, unlike the blingfest that is the Golestan Palace (masses of mirrors, masses of gold) and the National Jewellery Museum (so many, so various and so opulent it’s almost too rich a dish to swallow). More fun is Muslim, a restaurant on the fringes of Tehran’s colossal bazaar. It’s the most frenetic, efficient and delicious mass catering I’ve ever experienced. Coffee afterwards? Try the Lolagar café, by the French embassy. More food? Head for north Tehran and Kubaba, a Lebanese restaurant currently Tehran’s hippest – and just the place to see the city’s jeunesse dorée. Then pack your bags and drive to the airport, through the super-polluting jams and past the vast but still unfinished complex surrounding the Mausoleum of Ayatollah Khomeini. It’s one last chance to measure Iran’s hedonism in the balance against its piety. And whichever side you come down on, do visit this enchanting country. It’s a blast. ( Wild Frontiers (wildfrontierstravel.com) offers a 15-day Great Empires of Iran tour, visiting six historic cities, from £3,695 per person, including excursions and an English-speaking guide.

Statuary in Persepolis

LEFT, THE TOMB OF CYRUS THE GREAT, NEAR PASARGADAE. BELOW, A CARPET SELLER IN THE SHIRAZ BAZAAR

Fresh lemonade and mint: Emma’s favourite TATLER.COM

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Where to go... FOR AN EARLY-SPRING ESCAPE YES

NO

LIKE AN ELEMENT OF SURPRISE?

ALL ABOUT THE SPA?

YES

NO

PASHMINA LE REFUGE

TERMINAL NEIGE TOTEM

The quirky, colourful, off-kilter Pashmina is an Eton mess of a place, a smash-up of haute alpine design. The folks behind it – the owner, architect and interior designer – are all local to the valley, and have taken an experiential view of what a smart hotel should be. So waiters have swapped ties for pashminas. Tables are fur-covered sledges. Bucket chairs are gargantuan; you can get lost in one with your G&T. Rugs are jolly chequerboards. Wood cladding mixes up with stone in one of the highest spas in Europe, run by L’Occitane. A glass elevator shoots up alongside a driftwood ‘tree’ in the four-storey atrium; the Explorateurs gastro restaurant has a wall and ceiling of bright-green moss. Trippy. In a good way. And the guests? Sporty, not chichi. Best bit is you can ski in and out. Come for ace late-season snow and just go with it.

We won’t lie. Flaine is not pretty, unless drab concrete is your bag. But what IS pretty is the first three-star alpine opening from the always brilliant Sibuet group. It is the ultimate antithesis of the resort itself, a blast of sunlight on a grey afternoon, a madly Instagrammable feast of a place. There’s Native American art, bright woollen fabrics, semi-industrial walls, retro arcade games and neon signage. Cheerful is the word. And informal – staff in jeans ’n’ tees, a cool open-plan restaurant the size of a rugby pitch and a bar that would probably ban you if you were in heels. There’s a buzzy après terrace, an in-house ski workshop and an immense (read sociable) outdoor hot tub. Monochrome bedrooms are simple, comfortable: huge bouncy beds, cowhide wardrobes, roomy balconies with spectacular views of the Grand Massif. A thoroughly modern mountain refuge.

BOOK IT Oxford Ski (oxfordski.com) offers seven nights, half board, from £1,075 per person, incl. flights and transfers.

BOOK IT Inghams (inghams.co.uk) offers seven nights, half board, from £939 per person, incl. flights and transfers.

Val Thorens, France

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Flaine, France

YES

NO

DORMY HOUSE

THE PAINSWICK

Farncombe Estate, Worcestershire

Gloucestershire

There’s much to be said for wallpaper. It can bring a room together. It can brighten and comfort. It can give the eyes something to rest on during that snoozy feeling after a few cocktails. Take Rose Cottage, one of Dormy House’s converted outhouses, now a pretty tworoom suite. The floral wallpaper is delightful, and most apt in the rural idyll of the Farncombe Estate. Dormy gets it right. It is smart but low-key. Up to date but homely. Come for the location, the great food, the no-fuss service; stay for the spa, tacked onto the main 17thcentury farmhouse, with its impressive glass-walled sauna and steam room, Temple Spa treatments and on-the-button strong massages. The staff are local, proud of where they work and as sweet as the cocktails you can have in the lounge afterwards. It’s a cocktails-in-your-dressinggown sort of place. Then stagger back and stare at those flowers.

It’s another Cotswolds homefrom-home hotel, yes, but the Painswick is no ordinary boutique bolthole. This frisky number has cantered out of the Calcot/ Barnsley House stable, and standards are sky high. Bedrooms, 16 of them, are sophisticated Gloucestershire chic, all soothing grey, with freestanding baths you could do lengths in, groovy splodges of mustard and aubergine and a gorgeous terrace. But what we really love is the restaurant. None of that standard country roast-chicken-and-notmuch-else nonsense. The local salmon is home-cured and thick-cut. The chicken Kiev is so good you won’t believe it’s chicken Kiev. The ribeye is perfection. And the surrounding countryside is off-the-scale beautiful – arm yourself with a detailed map from the hotel and you can disappear for the best part of the day, stopping off at the Woolpack pub in Slad for a doorstop cheddarand-fig-chutney sandwich.

BOOK IT Double, from £240, incl. breakfast (dormyhouse.co.uk).

BOOK IT Double, from £129 (thepainswick.co.uk).

WORDS: FELIX MILNS, TEDDY WOLSTENHOLME, FRANCISCA KELLETT, SOPHIE GOODWIN

PINING FOR THE MOUNTAINS?


THE NEW

LANS Europe‘s leading health resort has received a new look: new suites with private roof terraces, a completely new spa area featuring an indoor and outdoor saltwater pool, a new sauna landscape with breathtaking views, a medical cold chamber with temperatures down to minus 110°C as well as other spectacular highlights come together to make the legendary Lanserhof near Innsbruck even more attractive. Seven nights‘ stay in a double room including our medicinal basic package from GBP 2,710 pp.

WWW.LANSERHOF.COM

INFO.LANS@LANSERHOF.COM

T +43 512 386660


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BYS TA N D E R Social editor TIBBS JENKINS

Photographer HUGO BURNAND

LADY TATIANA MOUNTBATTEN

*EXCEPT OLIVER CHESHIRE & PIXIE LOTT, WHO, SHORTLY AFTER TATLER’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK PARTY, GOT ENGAGED. SO HANDS OFF!

ALL THE PEOPLE ON THIS PAGE ARE AVAILABLE FOR DATES*

OLIVER CHESHIRE & PIXIE LOTT

ROBERT KONJIC & VIOLET VON WESTENHOLZ

DAISY KNATCHBULL & FREDDIE COLERIDGE LILY TRAVERS

JACOBI ANSTRUTHERGOUGH-CALTHORPE

LADY VIOLET MANNERS & SABRINA PERCY

JOE WOODWARD

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ROSE MACDONALD-BUCHANAN, IDINA MONCREIFFE & LADY ALICE MANNERS

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LADY KITTY SPENCER, HOLLY ANNA SCARSELLA & ROSIE FORTESCUE

BARBARA VAN STIGT & RUPERT NEWMAN

OLIVER PROUDLOCK & EMMA CONNOLLY

ALESSANDRA SCIFO & GENEVIEVE GAUNT

SNOG & DANCE Singles ‘mingle’ at our Little Black Book Party atler’s Little Black Book Party at Restaurant Ours was bursting with the most gorgeous and eligible humans in the land, humans like Nell Hudson, Sabrina Percy, Grace Pilkington and Prince Rostislav Romanov. The lavish event was hosted by Polo Ralph Lauren; there were abundant and potent cocktails provided by Beluga vodka and Gin Mare; and DJs Flo and Antoine manned the decks with panache and precision. The result? Snogging. Masses of it. Imperial-Roman-orgy levels of lewd fun. We shall be attending again next year.

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ELLA MAY SANGSTER & POSY WOOD

INDIA CLARKE & MORGAN MACKINTOSH ALEX DUNSTAN

FREYA WOOD & FRANCIS BOULLE

PRINCE ROSTISLAV ROMANOV

Perdita Weeks AILSA MILLER

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WINSTON CHESTERFIELD & BARIMA OWUSUNYANTEKYI

OLIVIA GRANT


SAMANTHA JUSTE

BIRDS IN PARADISE Sixties sirens teach punks how to party MAUREEN HARLEY & MORAG MCEWAN

ohn d Green’s seminal tome, Birds of Britain, has been republished – which is splendid news as it is rammed full of photographs of barely dressed Sixties sirens, like Julie Christie, Charlotte Rampling and Lady Mary-Gaye Curzon. To celebrate this important moment, a party was held at Snap Galleries in Piccadilly Arcade. Everything was going smoothly – until a raucous punk party a few shops away threatened to drown out the birds’ frolicking. Fat chance. Soon both parties had merged, with the Sixties scenesters gassing away to the leather-clad youth. Unsurprising, really, because, as Jacqueline Lambert said, ‘Darling, we were the ones who invented partying.’

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TONY HARLEY & JACQUELINE LAMBERT GUY & JANE WHITE

JULIE CHRISTIE

Photographed by LARA ARNOTT

John d Green and Jack Green

ADDITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHS: JOHN D GREEN

EDINA RONAY & PATTI BOYD

BL AN KET COVERAGE

JULIET HARMER AMANDA HUTSON & ANGIE TURNER

KATIE GREEN, CHRIS COLLMAN & MARIA VAUGHAN

SUSAN HAMPSHIRE

TONY EVANS & PAULA NOBLE TATLER.COM

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ALLEGRA & ISABELLA SNOWDEN

CASPAR & LILY AKHAVAN

ERIN MCCONNON

TRICKY CUSTOMERS Eyeballs eat all the candy

MILAN HADJITOUMA AIDAN & ZEYD NSOULI

here was no hiding the fact that Charles and Philip Begg-Smith were having a good time at Wishes and Witches, the annual Halloween bash in aid of paediatric-braincancer research. Their pupils were huge and their eyes bloodshot... too much sugar at the candy bar? Possibly, but actually we’re talking about their outfits: the siblings had come dressed as a pair of googly eyeballs, meaning they didn’t miss a single trick (or treat).

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SOFIE PRISTON & OLIVIA DESBIEZ

Photographed by ALEX WILSON CHARLES & PHILIP BEGG-SMITH

ISABELLE PERRET

JUDE SALTY

Aquilo Karam

TERMS OF UNENDEARMENT You don’t hate them – you’re just a bit annoyed with them. There are words for that... Hi, I’m here

YOU NINNY

YOU WALLY

YOU T W ERP

YOU WAZZO CK

For those moments they’ve been kind of klutzy: you know, like when Araminta forgot to add the baking soda to the cake mix, or Neville accidentally put his wellies on the wrong feet. Said with love.

Essentially a gently shambling buffoon. This is actually a compliment, because, despite all their ineptitude, you still like them.

OK, so you are a bit irritated now, but it is a feeling that will pass. The emotions are not dissimilar to the ones you had when that wasp wouldn’t leave you and your glass of rosé alone.

Fact is, this guy is a bit of a chump – he’s the one doing handstands/ playing the bongos on the dancefloor at your wedding. But his idiocy does make you laugh, which is why you invited him in the first place.

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LADY HELEN & TIM TAYLOR JONATHAN YEO

SEX ON A PLATE

FATIMA BHUTTO

MANFREDI SAN GERMANO & IDINA MONCREIFFE

Mariella Frostrup’s raunchiest party ever!

THEO & LOUISE FENNELL

ex is all about the imagination, we’ve heard. So imagine this scenario: Mariella Frostrup reading a (really very) raunchy passage from her new anthology, Desire: 100 of Literature’s Sexiest Stories (so big you have to hold it with two hands, sadly), Jemima Goldsmith to your right, Martha Ward to your left, and a plate of pert and springy panna-cotta ‘breasts’ before you as you nestle into one of Albert’s snug booths... This, now-ever-so-slightly breathless reader, was what happened when Tatler threw a party to celebrate Mariella’s sexy new book.

PHOTOGRAPH: REX FEATURES

CHARLOTTE TILBURY & TABITHA WILLETT

PANDORA & CHARLES DELEVINGNE & JULIA SAMUEL

MARTHA WARD & JAKE PARKINSON-SMITH

JEMIMA GOLDSMITH & JEREMY CLARKSON

Ali May

KATE REARDON, TANIA BRYER & MARIELLA FROSTRUP CHRISTINA ROBERT & BARNABY THOMPSON

MELINDA STEVENS & CYRIL DE COMMARQUE

CHARLOTTE DE BOTTON & TIM SAMUELS TATLER.COM

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ALEXIA & MARINA BEIRAO DA VEIGA

PEREGRINE MONCREIFFE & COUNTESS CAWDOR ELIZABETH LOUIS

AIMEE SALMI & PIA MILLER GETTY

Princess Allegra zu HohenloheLangenburg y del Prado

MARINA BYE & IMOGEN WATERHOUSE KAREN GROOS, COUNTESS MURIEL BRANDOLINI & FERDINAND GROOS

VICTORIA DREESMANN & FILIPPA BRANDOLINI

CARLOS BEIRAO DA VEIGA

ANDREAS SHAW, ISABEL GETTY & ELLIOTT NICHOLLS

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JULIAN HISLOP & EDOUARD GAUSSEN ANTHONY LOS & SOFIA MARSAGLIA


PRINCESS TALITA VON FURSTENBERG, ROBERT WARREN MILLER, ISABEL GETTY & PRINCESS OLYMPIA OF GREECE

ROBERT WARREN MILLER, CATE HOARE & CROWN PRINCE PAVLOS OF GREECE ALEXANDRA DE SUAREZ D’AULAN & PRINCESS CECILIA ZU HOHENLOHELANGENBURG Y DEL PRADO

CAROLINE BELL & PRINCESS TALITA VON FURSTENBERG

RARE VISIONS

LADY & LORD ST JOHN OF BLETSO

Can’t a girl get a cupcake at her own party? he problem with throwing a party is that everyone wants to talk to you. This can make snaffling a canapé tricky, as Isabel Getty discovered at her Midsummer Night’s Dreamthemed graduation party at One Marylebone. Not that she’s complaining; she loved having a proper hang with her grandfather and dancing with her younger cousins. It’s just that she would have liked to try the tiramisu and cupcakes, or anything for that matter – she heard the catering was rather good. But far more memorable than the puddings was the impromptu concert the talented Isabel gave at the end of the night – all soft, raspy and soulful. Pity that by then there were only 10 men left on the dancefloor, because it was really quite a belter.

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MARINA DE OCAMPO & LADY ELEANOR CAMPBELL

Photographed by LARA ARNOTT COUNTESS DEBONNAIRE VON BISMARCK, ERIC BUTERBAUGH & PRINCESS CHANTAL OF HANOVER

ALEXANDRA & DAX MILLER

ista Countess Madeleine Emo Capodil

FILIPPA BRANDOLINI, ANGELICA HIKES & FABIEN FRANKEL

CLIO MARDEN


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JOHN GOSDEN, PETER STANLEY, RACHEL HOOD, CHRIS GARIBALDI, PRINCESS HAYA OF JORDAN & FRANCES STANLEY

ANTOINETTE OPPENHEIMER & HENRY D’ABO

FEELING HOARSE A shouty equine event he racing crew are a noisy lot – always whooping and cheering as their horses jostle over the finishing line. And they’re just as rowdy away from the track. At the Palace House party, put on by Frances Stanley to raise money for the National Heritage Centre for Horseracing and Sporting Art, there was an awful racket as those assembled bid against one another for a day’s grouse shooting, a week’s skiing and a champagne tour on a private jet.

T ROBERT COWELL, SHEIKH FAHAD AL-THANI & MATTHEW HANCOCK

Photographed by PIERS ALLARDYCE

ll Fraser Rory Bremner and Tessa Campbe

JULIAN RICHMONDWATSON & KIRSTEN RAUSING

SERENA WILLIAMSELLIS & CAMILLA & ANTHONY STROUD

THE MARCHIONESS OF STAFFORD, TATJANA D’ABO & HILARY RUSSELL

W H AT YO U R H O U S E G I F T S AY S A B O U T YO U Laid by your own hens, selected by your own fair hand and garnished with a downy feather. We sometimes wonder if you are lonely living in that little cottage, with just your Primus stove and your complete collection of TE Lawrence. We have tried to set you up with our fabulous single female friends, but you are not interested. We understand that you love your whippet Antinous, but it makes us sad to think of you being single forever.

A candle You have never left London before and this is all a little intimidating, and you thought you were doing the right thing and did actually buy this in a shop, sniffed it and everything, but now you’re worried that they think it’s regifted and your new sister-in-law is so grand and glamorous and, shit, there are bloody scented candles on literally every surface,

even in the utility room, because obviously the tumble-dryer likes tuberose and you just know that is where your candle is going to end up and you think, ‘Can I just go back to Camden, please, because everything is so much simpler there?’

A box of macarons You only eat sugar once a month, but never in conjunction with starch or anything acidic, obviously, so your host is kind of blessed that you’re choosing this moment to break your sugar fast, which means that if she doesn’t serve the macarons that you brought and have been staring at all evening, and won’t let you have the salted-caramel-andbitter-chocolate one that you’ve been actively fantasising about for the past 29 days, then the karmic weirdness you will unleash on this previously perfectly normal little party is

something she doesn’t even want to think about. Which is another reason why people should never invite their yoga-flow teacher to their house for the weekend.

A book Clever one, aren’t you? A leg of IbĂŠrico ham, sent beforehand ‘Hello, to-do list, hello synched online calendar, hello terrified cleaner/nanny/PA, it’s just little old me ORGANISING LIFE UNTIL IT BACKS THE FUCK DOWN and does precisely what I tell it to. I’ll bring the jamĂłn stand with me, shall I? And my recently sharpened jamĂłn knife, so we can enjoy some before dinner. Everyone happy? Splendid.’

Nothing You’re careless/overwhelmed by life and now deeply embarrassed and dying a little bit inside, flapping those empty hands, saying, Ο6RUU\)HOLFLW\VRUU\œΟ&RXOGQœWJLYHDIO\LQJI〲〲 Nœ

PHOTOGRAPH: SHUTTERSTOCK

E ggs


BEN ELLIOT

PAUL O’REGAN

QUIZ EGO... SIMON CALLOW & SEBASTIAN FOX

...deflated by mediocre performance SEBASTIAN LEE & JONATHAN WEISFELD

MICHAEL GOVE

t the Quintessentially Foundation’s World’s Greatest Quiz Night at St Thomas’ Hospital, which raised £52,000 for Dimbleby Cancer Care, Lord Alexander Hope was a little confused. His team – himself, Peregrine Hood, Sebastian Lee and Julian Lee – hadn’t covered themselves with glory, resulting in a distinctly average score that landed them comfortably in the middle of the scoreboard, for which they were awarded a wooden spoon. Now, as any fool knows, a spoon is usually given to those who come last in a competition – a tradition originating at Cambridge University. It didn’t make sense, but then again, nor had half of his team’s answers... Photographed by LARA ARNOTT

A

JO BRAND

CLAUDIA WINKLEMAN & IMOGEN EDWARDSJONES

DAVID DIMBLEBY

dsmith Mary-Clare Elliot and Alice Gol

PHOTOGRAPH: ISTOCK

ZAC GOLDSMITH

TOM PARKER BOWLES

Lies to tell lefties Everybody is doing Uber As drivers, though. It’s a craze. Order one and you might well get Cara Delevingne in her Prius or Suki Waterhouse in her Ford Galaxy. Some of the TOWIE lot do Uber LUX, but most people reckon that’s a bit tacky.

By Hugo Rifkind, who writes for The Times

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ILLUSTRATION: THE ESTATE OF AA GILL/CONDE NAST ARCHIVE

THIS IS TH E PAGE YOU ’RE LOOKING FOR CONTIN U E D FROM PAG E 97

quite early. After about a week the worst of the withdrawals had abated. I grew to enjoy the boarding-school life of chores and walks, groups and tutorials with a counsellor – a nice old gent who had been sober as long as I’d been alive. I had a small covey of friends: Cathy, a sometime stylist; Larry, an illiterate Maltese pimp; Sabrina, a manqué actress, and Dickie, a City banker with a bright red face to match his bright red braces and an endless, excruciating fund of cricketing metaphors. The moment I saw that the promises of a new life might just perhaps apply to me was late one night in the dorm after lights out. We were talking quietly. I felt pleasantly sleepy and the voices coming out of the dark made me feel safe. The chap who now slept in the bed by the door was a young tramp from the Midlands. He spoke with a slow Brummie accent. He was in a terrible state, very close to death. He started telling us his story. Until two years previously he had lived with his widowed mother, drinking whatever he could get his hands on. He ran out of money and his mother refused to give him another penny. One Monday morning, Mother took her widow’s mite to the cash-and-carry, leaving her son desperate and thirsty. He called a local junk shop and told them his mother had just died and could they please take away her belongings for cash. With £200 in his pocket he left a home containing nothing except a brief note saying sorry. The money was soon exhausted. He ended up living in a public lavatory in the centre of Birmingham, begging and stealing. Finally, he arrived in treatment via a casualty ward. Why, I asked, if he had no commitments, had he decided to live in a public loo in Birmingham? ‘Oh. I did manage to get away at the weekends,’ he said. ‘I had a little place in the country – a telephone box outside Milton Keynes.’ I laughed until the tears ran down my face and my sides ached. In the darkness the others choked and sobbed with laughter, bedsteads squeaking, mattresses groaning – every time we stopped to catch our breath someone would wheeze ‘Milton Keynes’ or ‘telephone box’ and we’d be off again, shrieking like schoolboys. It wasn’t as if it was that funny. I had smiled wanly at far better jokes in bars any day of the week. This was different. It was the companionship, the camaraderie. We were all in it together; sad and frightened, we had all recognised a small piece of ourselves in the story. The chain of events, the feelings, all had a ghastly familiarity. It was the laughter of relief. We had stepped out of the chamber of horrors and if we stayed away from the first drink, we wouldn’t have to go back. The next morning I felt lighter. The pall of nameless doom that alcoholics wake up to had lifted, as had the desire to sink a can of Special Brew. That wasn’t the end, of course. I wasn’t cured – there isn’t a cure, just a remission. Neither was it all plain sailing from then on, but I had seen the point and I did have hope. Treatment continued. I learnt to listen to other drunks and identify with them. Alcoholics aren’t all tramps. In fact very few of them are. They come from every conceivable walk of life and their stories are all as unique as snowflakes, but within them there are patterns that are common to all. The identification of these patterns forms a special bond. I left treatment six weeks later. In a practical sense, that is when my recovery began. It is one thing to stay sober in a protective, closed environment where no one drinks, and quite another to try it in the real world, where everyone does. I had learnt, however, that by talking to other drunks and junkies I could survive; more than just survive, I could live with gusto. As Dickie had put it, ‘If life’s still bowling you bouncers, then what’s the point?’ Dickie himself never got the point. He never stopped drinking. Six months later he died in a hotel room in Spain, out of a family and out of his head. Sarah didn’t make it either. She spent the next three years in and out of treatment centres, never managing more than a few clean months each time. Finally an overdose ended it. Cathy and Larry did make it. So did Sabrina. No one really knows in percentage terms how successful treatment centres are. Of the handful of patients that I was with, maybe half of them are still happily living sober. Fifty per cent may not seem like terribly good odds, but they are a damn sight better than you can find elsewhere. Anyone who has had a couple of drinks thinks they understand what it is like to be an alcoholic. We have all been drunk, we have all had a hangover, we have all done something a bit silly, all had one too many. But the difference is not just one of degree – it’s like comparing having a bath to swimming the Channel. The Channel is longer, lonelier, far more dangerous and a whole lot wetter. This, AA Gill’s first piece of published journalism, appeared in Tatler under the pseudonym Blair Baillie in September 1991.

In praise of eggs A most versatile, delicious and cultured of foodstuffs There was this magician, you know the sort of thing, all teeth, tuxedo and toupee. I saw him chucking his stuff on the television, assisted by the ubiquitous bimbette who was a good foot taller than he was (why are all magicians vertically challenged?). She looked like a puce chicken that had been plucked by a sex maniac, which was appropriate because this little magician’s act consisted entirely of doing unlikely things with eggs. The chick assistant would hand him an egg as if it were radioactive and he would balance it on his nose or something equally pointless. He finished up by breaking dozens of eggs one-handed with a flourish of his wrist into a jug, just in case we thought he might have been cheating and using Fabergé ones. Then Miss Hennie Pennie smashed the last one on his head, as a joke, you see. She enjoyed that bit. Eggs are magic. They are arguably the most magical things in the world, and just about the least magical thing you can possibly do with an egg is to balance it on your nose. This one small ingredient contains in its brilliantly designed disposable carrying-case the raw material for thousands of dishes. It has the peerless ability to sit down at the table dressed either savoury or sweet without tasting like a culinary transvestite. In Larousse Gastronomique (the Yellow Pages of French cuisine) there are 22 pages devoted to eggs – more than 400 recipes – and that’s just French cooking. An egg can become mayonnaise, meringue, baked custard or an omelette; dishes that are utterly different from one another in looks, taste and texture. Nothing else in the kitchen comes close. And if that weren’t enough, eggs are also artistic and philosophical. The Renaissance would have just been conceptual walls without broody hens. The Sistine Chapel would be plain eggshell if it wasn’t for egg tempera. Christians give eggs at Easter as a sign of resurrection and Jews eat them in saltwater to symbolise tears. Even our language has clutches of eggy phrases and sayings: a bad egg, sucking eggs, eggs in one basket, counting unhatched eggs, walking on eggshells and, as sure as eggs is eggs, that’s an oeuf. Because they are designed to sustain chicks, eggs are almost complete foods. They contain easily assimilable protein, fat and all the vitamins (except C), as well as a junior chemistry set of minerals. Is there no end to the miracle of eggs? Apparently not. Extract from an article published in Tatler, June 1993. AA Gill regularly wrote about food for us from 1992 to 1998. (

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he world is a funny place, isn’t it? Completely flat, and if you walk far enough – like, for a really long time – you will get to the edge of it and fall off. There are four of us (Pecks is camerashy), but someone told someone who told someone that once there were five, and that this flamingo was an adventurous type who had decided that there was more to life than eating larvae, stretching out for a splash in the stream, sunbathing in the English Woodland Garden and entertaining our guests with improbable balancing poses,

which is weird, but there you go. Anyway, the story goes that she just kept walking and walking all the way, off the edge... We talk about her sometimes, when we are in our heated hut of an evening. Apparently there is a place called Necker, the friendly man with the bouncy hair told us – it is like our world, but warmer and sandier. We like to think she has gone there. As told to Gavanndra Hodge While the flamingos ordered cocktails on the Kensington Roof Gardens terrace, Sir Richard wondered if eating the flamingo feed would turn him pink too.

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‘ W H AT TO W E A R’

CONTENTS

7 2 4 L I E S TO T E L L B R I D E S Why spoil her big day?

Page

78

‘HERE COME THE BRIDES’

9 SHOPPING The smartest clothes and the perfect wedding presents

24 ALL YOUR WEDDING JEWELLERY... Sorted

30 S AY W H AT ? ‘Pray silence for the best man...’ Ah, yes, it’s speeches time

41 I T L I ST Must. Have. These.

48 YO U M AY N O W KISS THE BRIDE...

Page

But don’t even think about sex on your wedding day – it’s not going to happen, says Stuart Heritage

52

‘ T H O U S H A LT N O T. . .’

52 T H O U S H A LT N OT. . . The rules – for the bride, the groom, the mother of the bride and the maid of honour

58 LISTEN UP, BRIDEZILLAS! Jade Beer, editor of Brides magazine, dispenses advice...

66 H A P P I LY N E V E R A F T E R

Page

101 B E AU TY You will be photographed. A lot. So you’ll need to look flawless

The worst marriages in history and literature. By Clare Bennett

107 TR AVEL

68 T H E P R I N C E S S B R I D E

114 W E D D I N G D I R E C TO RY

68

‘THE PRINCESS BRIDE’

Let the honeymoon fun begin

An Italian palace, a huge dress, The flowers, the caterers, the beautiful people... Alex Edwards’ venues – everyone you need wedding. By Sophia Money-Coutts to know for the perfect day

78 H ER E COME T H E BR IDES 121 A D D R E S S B O O K Not a meringue in sight...

88 W E D D I N G B E L L E S ...and the guests looked fab too

124 A I S L E B E DA M N E D All getting too much? Elopement is an option

Copyright 2017 TATLER PUBLISHING COMPANY LTD, Vogue House, 1 Hanover Square, London W1S 1JU (tel: 020 7499 9080). Printed in the UK by Wyndeham Roche Ltd. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is strictly prohibited. Not to be sold separately from the March 2017 issue of Tatler. Tatler has tried to ensure that all information is correct at the time of going to press, but the publishers cannot accept responsibility for any errors and omissions.


Weddi ng A dv ice

24 lies to tell brides She’s getting married. Don’t spoil things with the truth. By Sophia Money-Coutts

Darling, you’ve never looked lovelier, the absolute spit of Grace Kelly

Of course you can still get away with strapless...

I’m sure he never slept with Sophie. A traditional wedding cake, how delicious!

...and with wearing white.  I wouldn’t say the speeches were too long. What spot? So brave of you not to sign a prenup. We all love a fishtail. Your father’s not drunk. He’s just excited. PHOTOGRAPHS: ALAMY, GETTY IMAGES, ALLSTAR

His mother clearly adores you. I’m so happy for you!

None of the guests are taking drugs. They’re just excited.

So clever of you to pick a man you can mould.

No one has guessed you’re pregnant.

You are worryingly thin, thinner than all the bridesmaids. Even the six-year-old.

Such original canapés!

Your mother’s hilarious! It’s good luck if it rains. Mormons never really take multiple wives.

This is absolutely the best wedding I have ever been to. Way better than his first. The flowers!          Your uncle!

What a great ba

nd!

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


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Dear Wedding Guest. Hello. We would like to offer you a strategy. Patrician gone wonky. Grey Gardens on acid. Princess Grace slightly twisted. In other words, hyper-ladylike but vaguely off-centre. Why is the pearl in that fly brooch so strangely big? Is it me or is that blazer a little... oversized? That pink-satin Gucci hat is so perfect and princessy. Or is it synchronised swimming-y and rather camp? As always, it’s a delicate line, but one that only requires a subtle overhaul of your bits and pieces. It entrances, it confuses, it wins. AR

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Shoppi ng W H AT TO W E A R

BRIDAL ACCESSORIES Sabine Getty, 2015

GOLD & PEARL NECKLACE, £22,300 BY CASSANDRA GOAD

FAUX-FUR & SATIN SHRUG, £95, BY CORNELIA JAMES

METAL & SWAROVSKICRYSTAL HAIR SLIDES, £170, BY JENNIFER BEHR, AT NET-APORTER

WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & PEARL EARRINGS, £14,500, BY MIKIMOTO

GOLD & DIAMOND BANGLE, £2,100, BY KIKI MCDONOUGH SILK-CREPE FLATS, £760, BY MANOLO BLAHNIK

BEADED TULLE CAPE, £225, BY NEEDLE & THREAD, AT NET-APORTER

METAL, PEARL, CRYSTAL & GLASS BELT, £4,300 BY CHANEL

BRASS & SWAROVSKI-CRYSTAL SLIDE, £245, BY ERICKSON BEAMON

LACE BRA, £405; PANTS, £205, BOTH BY LA PERLA

PEARL & SATIN HEELS, £525, BY NICHOLAS KIRKWOOD

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

Let’s tell it like it is. There is a lot of rubbish out there. Tempting rubbish. Bridal rubbish. Of course, one bride’s trash is another bride’s treasure and there is plenty to go round. So maybe don’t wear it all at big fat once? Just a thought. You’re the bride/boss/maniac. Said in a loving way. Why do I feel as though I’m digging myself in deeper here? I’ll get my coat. But just before I go: shoes you can stand up in for 12 hours, jewellery that you would wear ‘in real life’, underwear that doesn’t dig in (bulges and bad temper) and a tiara OR a necklace. I get it, I’m out of here. AR

GOLD-PLATED SWAROVSKICRYSTAL HEADBAND, £700, BYJENNIFER BEHR, AT NET-APORTER

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: ROBERT FAIRER

COTTON- & SILK-JACQUARD & SWAROVSKI-CRYSTAL HEELS, £595, BY DOLCE & GABBANA


Shoppi ng W H AT TO W E A R

MOTHER WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & TOPAZ EARRINGS, £1,990, BY KIKI MCDONOUGH

SILK-TWILL DRESS, £1,295 BY ROKSANDA, AT NET-APORTER VELVET JACKET, £498, BY BEATRICE VON TRESCKOW

LEATHER HEELS, £1,095, BY MANOLO BLAHNIK

John and Lady Carolyn Warren at the wedding of their son Jake, 2013

WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND BROOCH, £9,850, BY HANCOCKS

BRASS & BEAD NECKLACE, £295, BY ESCADA

SILKJACQUARD COAT, £895, BY AMANDA WAKELEY

SINAMAY & RIBBON HAT, POA, BY PHILIP TREACY

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

SATIN HEELS, £149, BY HOBBS

The mother is minor royalty. This means proper tailoring. And what does proper tailoring do? It makes you look thinner. By the way, you’re the gal with the Mega Hat. It’s your divine right. And diamonds in the daytime? Knock yourself out, lady. Obviously don’t wear white but, beyond that, today is yours for the taking. You are officially second in line to the spotlight throne. Help yourself. But don’t get too drunk. AR

TWEED DRESS, £550, BY BEULAH LONDON

SATIN CLUTCH, £2,500, BY ASPREY

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: MAX MUMBY/INDIGO

SEQUIN & FEATHER HAT, £390, BY NERIDA FRAIMAN


Shoppi ng W H AT TO W E A R

BRIDESMAIDS LACE DRESS, £1,620, BY SOPHIA KAH

PATENT SHOES, £495, BY RUSSELL & BROMLEY

TULLE DRESS, £1,750, BY SIMONE ROCHA

Beatrice Borromeo, centre, as bridesmaid for Cleopatra von Adelsheim, 2016

SILK DRESS, £1,420, BY PHILOSPHY

LEATHER & SWAROVSKICRYSTAL HEADBAND, £480, BY PIERS ATKINSON

TULLE SKIRT, £120, BY NEEDLE & THREAD, AT NET-APORTER

SILKCHIFFON TOP, £800, BY FENDI

GOLD-PLATED STERLING-SILVER & WHITE-TOPAZ EARRINGS, £85, BY THEODORA WARRE

SKIRT, £1,190, BY EMILIA WICKSTEAD, AT NET-APORTER

LEATHER SHOES, £375, BY CHLOE

There is nothing worse than a sexed-up bridesmaid. All that Pippa Middleton arse stuff was a construct – properly thin people don’t have arses. But just because you’re being all pure, doesn’t mean you can’t be clever: a corsage, a block heel (no platform courts, EVER) or a flirty flared Fifties prom skirt. And no frocks above the knee. It just won’t work. AR TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

SILK POUCH, £203, BY ATTICO

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: GETTY IMAGES

ROSE-GOLD, DIAMOND & SAPPHIRE PENDANT, £4,900, BY ANNOUSHKA


Shoppi ng W H AT TO W E A R

CHILDREN COTTON SHIRT, £22, BY AMELIA BRENNAN

SILK CUMMERBUND, £18.99, BY AMELIA BRENNAN

COTTON DRESS, £219, BY BONPOINT

Tom and Alice Naylor-Leyland with their bridesmaids and pageboys, 2011 LEATHER SHOES, £340, BY DIOR

SATIN CLIP, £6, BY VERITY JONES

LINEN SHIRT, £38, BY OLIVIER BABY AND KIDS FRESH-FLOWERS HEADBAND, £60, BY BY APPOINTMENT ONLY DESIGN WOOL SUSPENDER SHORTS, £79, BY MARIE CHANTAL

SILK TROUSERS, £96; CUMMERBUND, £38, BOTH BY LITTLE BEVAN

NEEDLECORDCOTTON TROUSERS, £26.50, BY AMELIA BRENNAN

LEATHER SHOES, £36, BY ALEX AND ALEXA

SILK & ORGANZA DRESS, £280; SASH, £30, BOTH BY LITTLE BEVAN

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

Unless you are doing full-on novelty (Disney/animals etc, of which we wholeheartedly approve), there’s very little wriggle room with what small people should wear at a wedding. Modern-day flower fairies, basically. You can do taffeta, pastel sashes/ cummerbunds and all that jazz, or, if you’re being a bit less twinkie, go for a Liberty print. The jury is out on knickerbockers. Please discuss. AR

COTTON DRESS, £245, BY BONPOINT

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES

SATIN SHOES, £28, BY LITTLE BEVAN


Shoppi ng W H AT TO W E A R

MEN

MERINO SOCKS, £15, BY PANTHERELLA

GOLD & SAPPHIRE CUFFLINKS, £3,220, BY WILLIAM & SON

The Duke of Cambridge, 2013

COTTON SHIRT, £185, BY TURNBULL & ASSER

WOOL WAISTCOAT, £155, BY OLIVER BROWN

WOOL TROUSERS, £230, BY FAVOURBROOK £1,250, BY

COTTON BOXER SHORTS, £32, BY DEREK ROSE

SHAVING BRUSH, £33, BY GEO F TRUMPER

GOLD & PEARL STICKPIN, £150, FROM HUMPHREY BUTLER

HARDWOOD UMBRELLA, £145, BY FAVOURBROOK

SILK TIE, £130, BY HERMES

WOOL MORNING COAT, £600, BY GIEVES & HAWKES

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

Men. Know your place. Yes, we want you witty. Just not with your clothes or your shoes or – God forbid – your waistcoat. You need to know that we know that only the most personality-challenged gents wear the waistcoats with the shagging bunnies on the back or the crazy-arsed ties or the nudey lady cufflinks. The interesting ones keep it classic. Morning suit is not easy in this day and age. The only way to avoid looking wildly waiterly and camp is to play this super-straight. Only then can it be hot. Sorry to be a vibe-killer. Seriously, though. AR

WOOL & SILK POCKET SQUARE, £30, BY ANDERSON SHEPPARD

GOLD & LEATHER WATCH, £9,200, BY BREGUET

STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES PHOTOGRAPH: REX FEATURES

LEATHER SHOES, £435, BY CHURCH’S


Photography by Sarah Cresswell

w w w.carolinecharles.co.uk


Shoppi ng W H AT TO G I V E PICNIC BASKET, £9,200, BY DIOR MAISON

PRESENTS

BONE-CHINA FIVE-PIECE DINING SET, £145, BY KATE SPADE, AT SELFRIDGES

BRASS BAR CART, £1,450, BY JONATHAN ADLER

SCRABBLE SET, £995, BY ASPINAL OF LONDON

MIRROR TRAY, £35, BY MARKS & SPENCER

CHAMPAGNE & CHOCOLATE BOX, £65, BY FORTNUM & MASON

SILVER FISH & CHIPS SET, £2,995 BY THEO FENNELL

COATED STAINLESSSTEEL CANDLE HOLDER, £120, BY GEORG JENSEN

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

GOLD & SILVER LOVE BIRD PENS, POA, BY CARTIER

So you want to go all personal and off-list and freefall into ‘what would really mean something to them’ – you noble fool. Or the bride and groom have done a ‘we don’t want any presents’ number but, with some ennui, you know that they lie. They LIE. You can thank us later for this embarrassment of desirability; this compendium of treasures that all except the most spoilt couple will adore. Prices start at £35. Question: why do people give rich people expensive stuff and poorer people cheap stuff when it should, CLEARLY, be the other way round? AR

COOK’S BOOKS SET, £175, BY JUNIPER BOOKS, AT BOUTIQUE 1

SILVER ICE BUCKET, £7,500; SILVER CHAMPAGNE COOLER, £9,000, BOTH BY ASPREY

PHOTOGRAPH: GETTY IMAGES

BRASS-PLATED BOTTLE OPENER & CORKSCREW, £240, BY AERIN

CANDLE, £99, BY FORNASETTI, AT LIBERTY OF LONDON


TATLER • PROMOTION

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, OKKATO BLUE MID HEELS, £795. BB WHITE LACE PUMPS, £610. HANGISI WHITE BUCKLE PUMPS, £745. LALA WHITE PUMPS WITH CRYSTALS, £930. HANGISI WHITE BUCKLE PUMPS, £745. SENECA CUT-OUT PUMPS, £715. OKKATO WHITE MID HEELS, £795. LALA BLUE PUMPS WITH CRYSTALS, £930

MARRIED IN MANOLOS

AVAILABLE EXCLUSIVELY AT BURLINGTON ARCADE AND ONLINE AT MANOLOBLAHNIK.COM

Photographed by Omer Knaz. Art direction by Gavin Shaw Shot on location at Fulham Palace, fulhampalaceweddings.co.uk


Shoppi ng W H AT TO G I V E

PRESENTS ELSA PERETTI SILVER FRAME £1,350, BY TIFFANY & CO ‘JUST-MARRIED’ LUGGAGE TAGS, £20 (FOR 10), BY SMYTHSON

WOODEN SERVING BOARD, £75, BY HAMPSON WOODS

GLASS VASE, £165, BY WATERFORD CRYSTAL

VELVET CUSHION, £165, BY HOUSE OF HACKNEY

ARBRE DE VIE CHANGE TRAY, £445, BY HERMES LAMP, £115, BY OKA

SUITCASE, £250, BY RADEN, AT SELFRIDGES

BRASS & GLASS STELLAR GLOBE, £3,200, BY MINT SHOP

CRYSTAL DECANTER, £650, BY CONNOLLY

MONOGRAM COASTER, £6 EACH, BY ANTHROPOLOGIE

PRESSED BOTANICALS IN ACRYLIC BOX FRAME, £150 EACH, BY MATILDA GOAD

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. STILL-LIFES: PIXELEYES. PHOTOGRAPH: GETTY IMAGES

CHAMPAGNE GLASS, £36.80 (SET OF FOUR), BY LSA INTERNATIONAL AT JOHN LEWIS


A LL YO UR WE D D ING J E WE L L E RY

TOP ROW, FR , WHITE-GOLD & SAPPHIRE RING, £9,145, BY FABERGE. GOLD & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY HATTIE RICKARDS. PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY GARRARD. WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & EMERALD RING, £4,000, BY MAPPIN & WEBB. OW, FR , WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, £2,700, BY NOOR FARES. PLATINUM, GOLD, DIAMOND & YELLOW-DIAMOND RING, POA, BY GRAFF. BOTT OW, FR , WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY DAVID MORRIS (TOP). WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, £38,600, BY VAN CLEEF & ARPELS (BOTTOM). WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & FANCY BROWN- & YELLOW-DIAMOND RING, £75,000, BY ASPREY

Styled by PHILIPPA DURELL

Photographed by MATTHEW SHAVE

PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

In one place. Handy!


Je w e l l e ry

TOP ROW, FR , PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, £22,500, BY NIRAV MODI. PLATINUM, DIAMOND & EMERALD RING, £3,200, FROM HUMPHREY BUTLER. PLATINUM, DIAMOND & AQUAMARINE RING, £11,200, BY TIFFANY. PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY HARRY WINSTON. SECOND ROW, FR , PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY BULGARI. PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY DE BEERS. WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY BOUCHERON. WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND , GOLD, BLACKENED WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, £30,000, BY JESSICA MCCORMACK. & YELLOW-DIAMOND RING, POA, BY ADLER. THIRD ROW, FR OW, FR , PLATINUM, DIAMOND & SAPPHIRE RING, £49,500, BY BOODLES. WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND RING, POA BY BOGHOSSIAN. BOTT PLATINUM & DIAMOND RING, POA, BY WILLIAM & SON. GOLD, DIAMOND & YELLOW-DIAMOND RING, POA, BY MOUSSAIEFF

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

25


Je w e l l e ry FR OP, PLATINUM & DIAMOND TIARA, POA, BY CHAUMET. WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND TIARA, POA, BY MESSIKA. WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND TIARA, POA, BY CHATILA

26 T A T L E R W E D D I N G G U I D E 2 0 1 7


STORES IN LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM

WWW.THEWEDDING-CLUB.CO.UK INFO@THEWEDDING-CLUB.CO.UK LONDON - 020 7581 9540

BIRMINGHAM - 0121 440 8276


Watch e s

FR , WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND, MOTHEROF-PEARL & LEATHER LADIES’ WATCH, £51,030; PLATINUM & LEATHER MEN’S WATCH, £46,510, BOTH BY PATEK PHILIPPE. GOLD & DIAMOND LADIES’ WATCH, £19,900; GOLD MEN’S WATCH, £9,350, BOTH BY ROLEX. GOLD, SAPPHIRE & LEATHER LADIES’ WATCH, £7,000; GOLD, SAPPHIRE & LEATHER MEN’S WATCH. £7,900, BOTH BY CARTIER FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK

28 T A T L E R W E D D I N G G U I D E 2 0 1 7


18 Picadilly Arcade London SW1Y 6NH www.favourbrook.com For enquiries please call 020 7493 5060 or email menswear@favourbrook.com


SAY WHAT?

Ah, the speeches – hopefully the most fun bit of a wedding. Just spare a thought for the poor buggers who are delivering them. By Quentin Letts

W

HACK! goes the toastmaster’s gavel, before the dread words: ‘Laydees and gennlmen, puh-ray silence for the best man...’ Eyes swivel to a gulping, whey-faced wretch on the top table who, trembling like a tractor’s mudguard, gives the assembled wedding guests the smile of

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

a nauseous goat and taps his hand on the microphone to make sure it is working. Whoaa! The microphone topples off its stand and lands on a pudding bowl, which catapults leftover trifle down the cleavage of the bride. She flings her arms wide, knocking a bottle of red over her new mother-in-law’s dress and causing such a commotion that the wedding cake is upended and the vicar utters a decidedly unbiblical word. Inept wedding speeches can, in their way, be enjoyable. Poor old best man Sproggins!

The only reason the groom asked him to ‘do the honours’ was that he knew Sproggins was so useless he’d make his own speech immediately afterwards sound half-decent. You think I’m joking? A friend who was deputy editor of one of London’s leading weekly magazines did exactly this. His best man was an art historian from Germany so cripplingly shy that even with the microphone we could not hear his whisper (or rather ‘visper’, for that was how he


Th e Spe ech e s pronounced his w’s). First the room fell silent. Then a few people started to hogvhimper. A tipsy uncle asked, not so sotto voce, ‘Vy is he vispering?’ and my girlfriend (now wife) did the nose trick – jolly painful with champagne, as Tatler readers will know. When Fritz or Volfgang or vatever his name was finally sat down, the whole room cheered and volf-vhistled. The dear fellow beamed sweetly, not comprehending that his speech had been a disaster. Kate Moss at her wedding reportedly buried her head in her hands, so toe-curling was the ‘best man’ address given by rocker Alison Mosshart. Prince Harry is said to deliver brilliant wedding speeches. At the v. smart Edinburgh nuptials of Jupiter Artland duo Robert and Nicky Wilson, gorgeous Nicky gave an ace performance in which she passed hilarious fashion comment on the wedding hats worn by all her girlfriends. The late Lord Birkett, laywer and parliamentarian, said he never minded if people consulted their watches while he was making a speech, but he did think it a bit off ‘when they start shaking them to make sure they are still going’. Keep your speeches short. More than four minutes is pushing your luck. Nor should they be read. By all means have

frightful mess of a charity-ball speech in Cirencester in front of various Bathursts, Vesteys and other Glos-toffs. Once you have made the speech, by all means, open those sluice gates. At an early Nineties wedding on the Kent-Sussex border, I saw the best man, quite late on, struggle to fight his way back into the marquee after he had nipped outside for a pee. He somehow ended up in the gap between the tent’s outer canvas and its fancy inner lining. We all watched this man-sized shape fumble its way to the distant corner of the marquee. The chap’s name was Fraser and that was the last I saw of him. Perhaps he never got out. The days of best-man speeches being a catalogue of crude bachelor japes (‘and then Mungo dropped his boxers and did the most appalling silent-but-deadly and we all blamed it on the housemaster’s wife!’) are gone. NEVER mention the groom’s ex-girlfriend – that cracker who left him to marry a viscount. Tales of past drug-taking will win a similarly frosty reception from the parents, who, after all, are the ones paying for this bash. Just give them some droll observations about their beloved offspring as they face holy deadlock. Oops. Wedlock. Holy wedlock. What the audience wants is confidence, volume (Great Aunt Jemima is deaf as a tree) and, at the end of it all, a certain, grudging expression of love. My nephew Hugo Rawlinson, a former head of Pop at Eton, made a beautiful speech last summer at his brother Anthony’s wedding. Their mum, my sister Penny, had been ill. Hugo gave us some jolly anecdotes from their boyhood but then, with English lack of melodrama, said how fantastic Ant had been looking after Penny during her cancer woes. By the time he finished, my eyes were brimming. (

ADDITIONAL WORDS BY TIBBS JENKINS. PHOTOGRAPH: REX FEATURES

NEVER mention the groom’s ex-girlfriend – that cracker who left him to marry a viscount a few scribbled bullet points but please, no detailed paragraphs. As author and former political speechwriter Simon Carr puts it: ‘The most depressing word in the English language is “ninethly”.’ Quoting poetry is a bad idea, particularly if you choose those William James lines ‘Hogamus-higamous / Man is polygamous / Higamus-hogamous / Woman monogamous’. You don’t want to make the bride cry. Ogden Nash wrote, ‘To keep your marriage brimming / With love in the loving cup / Whenever you’re wrong, admit it / Whenever you’re right, shut up,’ but as a general rule, cut the verse. Only Americans can get away with citing sentimental poetry, and even they are likely to be subjected to honking raspberries by a well-oiled British wedding crowd. Drink is a danger. If asked to speak, limit yourself to two flutes of fizz beforehand. Over-refreshed to the point of slurring, I once made a

ON THE MIC From best to worst...

The Duke of Cambridge was best man to James Meade for the latter’s Norfolk wedding in 2013. ‘James is the poshest man I know,’ said William, kicking off his speech. Cue raucous laughter all round. At Earl Spencer’s Althorp wedding to Victoria Lockwood, in 1989, Darius Guppy, far left, was best man. His speech has become legendary – because it never happened, Guppy being rip-roaringly pissed. At his Notting Hill wedding to Bridget Heathcoat Amory in 1984, journalist Michael Cockerell began by saying, ‘This is the happiest day of my life: I’ve just heard that at lunch the West Indies are 78 for four.’ He got a mixed reception. Later, in her own speech, Bridget said: ‘Michael thinks I’m pretty perfect apart from the fact I don’t have a sense of humour.’ She paused, and added forcefully, ‘and I don’t think that’s funny.’ (Bread rolls were then thrown at the groom.) Blond and charming man-about-town Joe Chamberlin, right, has been best man several times and always likes to have a bag of props for the speech. At his brother Tom’s wedding last summer, held in Provence, he produced a pair of goggles to describe how Tom liked, erm, ‘phantomising’ in his bedroom when younger. All very innocent, it turns out – Tom simply liked pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera while listening to the soundtrack. ‘Ridicule them sensibly,’ Joe advises. ‘No one wants to hear about how the groom toyed with having a happy ending during the stag in Amsterdam.’ Will Barnett, at his 2007 wedding to Gussy Peto in Suffolk, was in competition with his brother and best man, Bobby, to see who could make the bride’s mother, Selina, laugh the most with their oration – her narcolepsy being brought on by laughter.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


It must be love... When you’re a pair, you haven’t a care, except to know, your lover is there Photographed by David Parfitt Styled by Samantha Brownstein & Gavin Shaw

TIFFANY & CO. RING IN PLATINUM WITH A 6.75-CARAT LUCIDA® DIAMOND, £513,500 25 OLD BOND STREET, LONDON TIFFANY.CO.UK


TATLER • PROMOTION

GRAFF RING WITH A 38.13-CARAT FANCY-INTENSE YELLOW INTERNALLY FLAWLESS EMERALD-CUT DIAMOND CENTRE STONE AND SIDE DIAMONDS, 42.45 TOTAL CARAT WEIGHT. POA 6-7 NEW BOND STREET, LONDON GRAFFDIAMONDS.COM


DE BEERS INFINITY HEART RING IN PLATINUM WITH A 3.51-CARAT ROUND BRILLIANT DIAMOND AND WHITE DIAMOND PAVÉ, POA 50 OLD BOND STREET, LONDON DEBEERS.CO.UK


TATLER • PROMOTION

ASPREY FR OP, RING IN 18-CARAT WHITE GOLD WITH A 2.34-CARAT CUSHION-CUT FANCY-YELLOW DIAMOND, WHITE-DIAMOND SURROUND AND WHITE-DIAMOND-SET BAND £60,000. RING IN PLATINUM WITH A 1.61-CARAT ASPREY-CUT WHITE DIAMOND AND DIAMOND PAVÉ, £31,500 167 NEW BOND STREET, LONDON ASPREY.COM


HOUSE OF GARRARD FR OP, RING IN PLATINUM WITH 1.50-CARAT F VS2 GIA ROUND DIAMOND AND DIAMOND SURROUND, TIMELESS EVERMORE COLLECTION. RING IN PLATINUM WITH 5.01-CARAT E VVS1 GIA ROUND DIAMOND AND DIAMOND SURROUND, GARRARD CHERISH COLLECTION. RING IN PLATINUM WITH 5.21-CARAT CUSHION-CUT BLUE SAPPHIRE AND ROUND WHITE DIAMOND SURROUND, MARGUERITE 1735 COLLECTION. ALL POA 24 ALBEMARLE STREET, LONDON GARRARD.COM


TATLER • PROMOTION

MOUSSAIEFF CLOCKWISE FR OP, RING WITH 24-CARAT HVS2 ROUND BRILLIANT DIAMOND. RING WITH 6-CARAT DIF HEART DIAMOND. RING WITH 4-CARAT DVVS2 CUSHION DIAMOND. RING WITH 9-CARAT IVS1 OVAL DIAMOND. RING WITH 3-CARAT HVS1 PEAR DIAMOND. RING WITH 5-CARAT DVS1 MARQUISE DIAMOND. ALL POA 172 NEW BOND STREET, LONDON MOUSSAIEFF.CO.UK


FR OP, RING WITH 2.07-CARAT INTERNALLY FLAWLESS BLUE OVAL DIAMOND AND FANCY-COLOURED DIAMOND SURROUND. RING WITH 2.31-CARAT FANCY-PINK HEART-SHAPED DIAMOND. BOTH POA 22 OLD BOND STREET, LONDON CHATILA.COM

SHOES BY JIMMY CHOO

CHATILA


TATLER • PROMOTION

ADLER FR OP, 'TOI ET MOI' RING IN 18-KARAT WHITE GOLD WITH TWO MARQUISE-CUT 1.51-CARAT DIAMONDS AND 1.15-CARAT DIAMOND SURROUND. SOLITAIRE RING FEATURING REMOVABLE EXTERIOR IN 18-KARAT WHITE GOLD WITH CENTRAL 1.09-CARAT DIAMOND AND 0.87-CARAT DIAMOND SURROUND. BOTH POA ADLERUKQUERIES@ADLER.CH ADLER.CH


THE I T LIST

Mariella Tandy knows how to make a wedding winning. So listen up

FANCY DRESS

CLASS SLIPPER

‘S

omething old, something new, something borrowed, something blue like these Manolo Blahnik pumps, which would work divinely with your dress, particularly because no one will be expecting it,’ is actually how the saying goes, but most people don’t know that. manoloblahnik.com

You know you’re in safe hands when it comes to Amanda Wakeley. Take this Alberta design, £4,395, for example – inspired by vintage gowns, it’s the reason you need to get married as soon as possible. You could be wearing that dress or something similar. EXCITING. amandawakeley.com

£795, BY MANOLO BLAHNIK

K

eep your bridal jewellery quota up with these rose-cut diamond and tassel-pearl earrings by David Morris. They’re designed to swish about ecstatically as you take your vows and start counting the minutes until you can have a drink. davidmorris.com

B

£29, BY LAURA MERCIER

ring a flush of love to your cheeks (you can use it on your eyes as well, actually) with Laura Mercier’s coral windflush colour powder. Perfect for blushing brides. harrods.com

POA, BY DAVID MORRIS

PRIMED TO PAMPER

G

et your teeth into any of the Landmark Hotel’s bridal packages, of which there are many, all including access to the spa, and that’s practically the best bit. Ideal for calming bridal nerves before the big day. landmarklondon.co.uk

DREAMY

P

£595, BY CAROLINE CHARLES

retty, isn’t it? This Oberon dress from Caroline Charles is made from shantung – that’s silk, to you and me. It’s perfect wedding-guest material too: slightly slinky but not too showy, and with that aura of faerie royalty so useful at a summer wedding. caroline charles.co.uk

FROM £150, BY FAVOURBROOK

W

ho doesn’t love a man in a morning suit? Head to Favourbrook for something splendidly classic from its enormous range. He’ll look smart enough for you to think, ‘Ooh, I’d rather like to marry him.’ favourbrook.com

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


HIGH LIFE

POA, BY GLENN SPIRO

A 350-person-capacity ballroom and a complimentary six-week membership package to the health club = reasons to have your wedding at the Jumeirah Carlton Tower. jumeirah.com POA, BY NIRAV MODI

STONE ME!

L

et Glenn Spiro design you a one-off engagement ring like this beaut – or plunder its marvellous stones collection. glennspiro.com

HEAPS OF FUN

E

r, hello – why have one wedding band when you could have two, or three, or more? Nirav Modi has a huge range of stackable rings to choose from – like this gorgeously sparkly gold and diamond number. Go mad! niravmodi.com

THREE CHEERS Reasons to raise a glass

1

£88, BY MOET & CHANDON

MOET SAYS: ‘POURING FROM A MAGNUM IS THE BEST WAY TO DRINK CHAMPAGNE, AS IT MATURES SLOWER, WHICH RESULTS IN A MORE COMPLEX AND HARMONIOUS TASTE.’ MOET.CO.UK

Fortnum & Mason is the smartest shop in London. Smart enough to make you want to drag your bed in and live there. That’s not possible, sadly, but you can actually – deep breath – GET MARRIED there. Yes. In the shop. The actual Fortnum & Mason. Is this not the best news you have ever had? fortnumandmason.com

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lorious spaces. Stellar service. Incredible food. A licence for ceremonies. A dedicated events team. These are just some of the reasons to get married at the May Fair Hotel. They know what they’re doing and they’re fantastic at it. themayfairhotel.co.uk

2

GIVE THE BRIDE AND GROOM THIS ASPREY CHAMPAGNE COOLER AND BECOME THEIR FAVOURITE FRIEND. ASPREY.COM

3 £125 FOR A PAIR, BY WATERFORD CRYSTAL

All hail the relaunched Wedding Shop on Selfridges’ 4th floor. The Giftlist service is second to none, mainly because this is Selfridges, where you can find everything you want as well as things you didn’t even know you wanted. 020 7384 8400. selfridges.com

WILD WEST END

£13,500 BY ASPREY

WATERFORD’S DEEPLY GLAMOROUS GLASSES ARE WEDDINGPRESENT WINNERS. WATERFORD. COM

42 T A T L E R W E D D I N G G U I D E 2 0 1 7

£22, BY JENNY PACKHAM

T

hese alphabet pins by Jenny Packham are splendid. Pin a few to your dress to help you remember your husband’s name. jennypackham.com

POA, BY CHANEL

JUST BRILLIANT

B

e warned. Chanel’s Panache earrings in white gold and diamonds do come with a very real risk attached. You may find that you love them more than the person you are supposed to be marrying, and that could be awkward. chanel.com

YOU GOTTA HAVE FAITH

A

ventus, the newest men’s fragrance from Creed, was designed as an homage to master perfumer Olivier Creed’s hero Alexander the Great, conqueror of Asia. It’s based around a pineapple note with added notes of birch and juniper. How exotic. creedfragrances.co.uk

£185 FOR 75ML, BY CREED


TATLER • PROMOTION

8,)6-+,8 '3140)<-32

(YVMRKXLIFYMPHYTXS]SYVFMKHE]XLIVI´WSRITIVWSR]SYRIIHXS WTIRHWSQIUYEPMX]XMQI[MXL2SX]SYVKVSSQ¯]SYVWOMRXLIVETMWX You’ve found your dream dress, bagged your perfect venue and commissioned the exact cake you wanted. There’s just one thing left to take care of – your skin. Fact: pre-wedding jitters can disrupt even the calmest of complexions, leaving a bride-to-be not so much blushing as covered in red patches, spots and blackheads. Don’t despair. Help is at hand in the reassuring form of renowned and respected holistic facialist and Chinese medicine practitioner, Nataliya Robinson. This guru knows that complexion issues can be more than skin-deep. Which is why she takes a full-body approach to treating complaints such as acne, rosacea and blocked pores. Step into her clinic and you won’t just have your superficial skin issues addressed but also their underlying causes, including diet, lifestyle and stress levels. Using a face-mapping technique, she follows up with considered questions. Suitably enlightened, Nataliya is able to specifically tailor treatments and advice, ensuring even the most afflicted skin sees real improvement in just a few sessions, ideal when you’ve only got a few months until your wedding. Nataliya is especially good at blitzing blemishes – her Clear Complexion Therapy facial is designed to combat acne and restore skin to its former glory, without medication or harsh chemicals. Pimples not your problem? Nataliya’s legendary Face Sculpting technique, a massage method that delivers an energising, stress-busting and anti-ageing boost to the complexion, will leave you with glowing skin your groom will want to kiss repeatedly.

Our skin is as pure and unblemished as our love. Swoon.

BETWEEN THE EYEBROWS Spots on this area can indicate problems with the liver, so save the fizz for the reception. Hard lumps can indicate physiological problems that come from constant worrying and holding emotions inside. Vent to your maid of honour, delegate what you can, then book in with Nataliya for some deep cleansing followed by a Face Sculpting massage to release your internal tension and increase endorphins.

NOSE FOREHEAD & CHIN Congestion and red patches on the forehead indicate intestinal heat and the same applies if spots are on or under the chin. It’s a red flag that your intestine is irritated, perhaps from eating and drinking the wrong things (spicy food, alcohol), although the cause is often emotional hyperactivity, especially anger. Swerve curries and booze on the run-up to your big day and stop seething about your mother-in-law’s choice of outfit – all eyes will be on you.

‘My knowledge goes beyond skin to encompass overall health; after all, good skin starts from the inside out’ Nataliya Robinson

When you’re saying your vows, snuggling up for your photos and dancing cheek-to-cheek, the last thing you want to be conscious of are blackheads on your nose. ‘Sebaceous glands on the nose are more active than on any other part of the face, which is why blackheads are more common here,’ explains Nataliya. Ignore them at your peril. ‘If you don’t extract blackheads, the sebum becomes more densely packed, stretching and enlarging the pore walls.’ To thoroughly remove old oil from the pores and get skin squeaky clean, Nataliya recommends a deep cleanse, ideally once a month.

The Nataliya Robinson Skin Therapy private practice is based in Chelsea, London. Visit nataliyarobinson.co.uk or call 07774 544455


THE ORIGINAL GARRARD STORE ON ALBERMARLE STREET

FROM £12,000, BY GARRARD

ROYAL OUI

Prince Albert gave a brooch to Queen Victoria. William gave a ring to Kate. The sapphire and diamond cluster, as in this Garrard 1735 ring, has become a signature for the House of Garrard. garrard.com

If you’re after a smart suit for your wedding, go straight to Paul Smith, who’ll make you something so spectacular you’ll probably end up wanting to marry yourself. paulsmith.com

IN THE RING For the prettiest fingers around

1

SCORE SOME MEGA-POINTS BY DESIGNING YOUR OWN ENGAGEMENT RING USING MAPPIN & WEBB’S SEVEN SIGNATURE RING SETTINGS AND STONES IN ITS BY APPOINTMENT SERVICE. YOUR BRIDE-TO-BE WILL LOSE IT. IN A GOOD WAY. MAPPINANDWEBB.COM

POA, BY MAPPIN & WEBB

2

POA, BY HARRY WINSTON

THE LAUNCH OF HARRY WINSTON’S ULTIMATE BRIDAL COLLECTION SERVICE FOR STONES OVER THREE CARATS AT ITS BOND STREET SALON, WHERE YOU CAN DESIGN YOUR OWN RING: BELIEVE! HARRYWINSTON.COM

3

POA, BY CHAUMET

3

MAISON CHAUMET ON THE PLACE VENDOME IS WEDDING HEAVEN. YOU COULD ACTUALLY PROPOSE THERE THEN GO STRAIGHT TO PICK OUT AN ENGAGEMENT RING AND WEDDING BAND FROM THE VAST COLLECTION, LIKE THIS YELLOW- AND WHITE-DIAMOND ONE. SHE CAN EVEN TRY ON WEDDING DRESSES. CHAUMET.COM


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elcome to the Weddingmoon courtesy of Sandals. Combine your wedding and honeymoon at any of its resorts, staying in one of the Love Nest suites. There’s a whole host of lovely things to do wherever you choose, and all included in the price. Nice. sandals.com

SANDALS ROYAL CARIBBEAN

Wedding lists are the point of getting married. Make yours a delightfully hassle-free experience with weddingpresentsdirect.com and its whopping great haul of loot, online registry and lovely customer care. FROM £8,100, BY DE BEERS

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his is our idea of a good time. Create your own virtual engagement ring on the De Beers in-store For You, Forever app. You can see how it would look, and their experts will help you perfect it. debeers.com

Phillipa Lepley has been making brides’ dreams come true for 25 years. The Chelsea-based designer’s corsetry is unparalleled and her dresses are quite literally works of art. Buy a frock from her and you’ll never want to take it off. phillipalepley.com

WWW.JAYROWDEN.COM

DRESS UP

1 S T & 2 N D F L O O R S , 11 B E AU C H A M P P L AC E , K N I G H T S B R I D G E

020 7584 8322 w w w. e m m av i c t o r i a p ay n e . c o m


MARRIAGE OF DISTINCTION Fortnum & Mason has been hosting wedding receptions since the 1920s. This year, let the famous establishment plan your perfect day

I

magine, for a moment, your dream wedding. It would, of course, be held somewhere spectacular. A place steeped in British history, somewhere supremely tasteful and utterly charming. We know just the place – Fortnum & Mason, purveyor of the finest provisions and a veritable institution. An exquisite emporium that offers the very best of everything the discerning bride and groom could possibly need for their happy day, from flowers to fine jewellery, bespoke millinery to personalised bottles of champagne to event planners. The whole day is completely tailored to you. Happily, as well as offering all these lavish elements, Fortnum’s can provide the ultimate venue to host both your reception and the ceremony itself. That’s because two of its private dining rooms – The Boardroom and The Drawing Room – are licensed to hold wedding ceremonies. Which means you won’t have to leave the glory of these hallowed halls – you can pick out your wedding favours, order your personalised stationery, choose your cake, say ‘I do’ then celebrate your marriage, all in one iconic venue. Picture yourself gliding through the eau-de-nil-painted frontage as the famous Fortnum’s clock chimes. As you step into the grand foyer, a selection of bespoke celebration cakes catches your eye. Moving past scrumptious delicacies, you pause by some

handmade chocolates, selecting the ones you’d like to have boxed as favours. Next, you plan your bridal bouquet with the in-house florist located on the lower ground floor, who suggests blooms beyond your wildest imagination. Then taste a selection of wines hand-picked from the world’s best wineries. Onwards you go, up four glorious floors, each one resplendent with a curated range of beautiful, hand-picked products, many of which are exclusive to Fortnum’s. Pause on the first floor to order your invitations as well as your first set of personalised stationery as a married lady, taking a moment to admire the elegant teaware your wedding breakfast will be served on, including dainty pieces in the store’s signature eau de nil. Make your way to the newly refurbished Fragrance and Beauty Halls, where eclectic scents from heritage brands such as Caron are waiting to be discovered, as well as the latest make-up ranges from leading brands. The finishing touches to your perfect wedding outfit can all be found here, including antique jewellery, gorgeous evening bags and an extensive millinery range. There is even an in-house milliner! Meanwhile, on the third floor, your groom is being kitted out in a Christys’ top hat, Alice Made This cufflinks and Turnball & Asser accessories following a hot-towel head massage and haircut at The Barber.


TATLER • PROMOTION

THE WEDDING OF SONIA AND HAIMIN PHOTOGRAPH BY INVERVE. (INVERVE.CO.UK)

Fortnum & Mason undoubtedly boasts an illustrious history. The flagship store in London has been delivering the finest food, drink and service since 1707. And Fortnum’s has been hosting wedding receptions in its long-standing home in the heart of Piccadilly since the 1920s. Choose from one of the sumptuous private rooms or opt for exclusive hire of one of Fortnum’s restaurants including the Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon, a sophisticated and light-filled space. In every room, superlative food and wines will be served by attentive staff. Now, wedding guests can witness and celebrate the marriage in equally lavish style, all in one fabulous location.

Take your vows in The Boardroom, an impressive place filled with meticulously restored antique furniture and an exceptional art collection that’s ideal for intimate nuptials. Or say ‘I do’ in The Drawing Room, a handsome space lined with hand-painted silk wallpaper and studded with refined furnishings which can hold up to 80 of your nearest and dearest. Whatever you choose, Fortnum’s event planners will make certain your special day is perfect in every way. After all, they have over 300 years of experience to draw on, ensuring your Fortnum & Mason wedding will be unforgettable. 602


Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even think about it

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


Weddi ng Se x

YOU MAY NOW KISS THE BRIDE... …but that’s all, says Stuart Heritage. Actual sex is the last thing you should be thinking about on your wedding day

F

irst off, if you’re currently engaged to be married, I only have one real piece of advice for you: do not attempt a sexy wedding. By all means, make your wedding as fun or romantic or glamorous as you see fit. But the second you set your sights on sexy, you’re screwing everything up for everyone involved. Weddings, by design, are the exact scientific opposite of sexy. They tend to be long, and tradition dictates that everything must seize up two thirds of the way through so that you can listen to a self-satisfied, sloped-foreheaded berk grunt his way through a dismal series of nearly-jokes. Plus, look at who you’re inviting. You’re related to most of your guests, for crying out loud, and the overwhelmingly majority of them are elderly. Kids are going to be there. You’ve already decided that your first dance is going to be I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith, which is about as sexy as a 12-part, BBC Four documentary on genital lesions. People will end the evening drunk and uncomfortable and hungry, exhausted from making two hours of mindless small talk with an incompatible stranger they’ve been lumped with thanks to your half-arsed seating arrangement. None of this is sexy. Weddings are the enemy of sexy. You should avoid sexiness like your life depends on it. This won’t stop other people from trying to shoehorn sexiness into your wedding, but that’ll be their fault and not yours. There will always be the uncomfortably predatory uni chum, who’ll drink himself stupid and then embark on an increasingly zero-sum round of lunges that culminate in an incoherent lashing out, a solo taxi ride and a lonely draining out into a sock on a lumpy mattress in a ground-floor Travelodge room. And, to reiterate, most of your guests are related. Here’s a story. About 15 years ago, my uncle got married. He invited all his relatives – his five brothers and sisters, their children, his aunts and uncles and their children, along with every other disparate twig he could possibly track down from his family tree. At about half past eleven, he entered the cloakroom to find two shitfaced strangers spread out across the outerwear, going at it hammer and tongs. The task then fell to him to calmly explain to the couple exactly how they were related to one another (cousins, as it turns out), before leaving them to piece together their newly shattered lives. And I hate to break it to you like this, but this blanket ban on sexiness also applies to you, all the way through to the following morning. I know only two types of married people; those who didn’t have sex on their wedding night, and those who forced themselves into

some of the worst sex of their lives on their wedding night. I am staunchly in the former category. When a wedding is just a social obligation to attend, they can be tiring. But when it’s your wedding, and all these people are here to see you, and you feel a responsibility to make sure they’re having fun and don’t feel ignored, you’ll end the thing dead on your feet, punchdrunk and slumped in the shoes that started hurting on the way to the church. My wedding reception wasn’t big by any stretch, but the stresses of the evening quickly started to eat away at me. My family was there, but so was my boss, and my childhood friends, and a Canadian I hadn’t seen in a decade, who had flown out specifically to see me get married. Pinging between everyone to thank them for coming and make sure their drinks were topped up was starting to take it out of me. The evening ended with my forlorn attempts to talk my aggressively drunk brother out of screaming unintelligible greetings into the belly of my five-months pregnant bride, with all my guests long gone, knowing that I had to take a 30-minute cab ride to a hotel that had been booked for us, even though our reception venue was specifically chosen because it was a 45-second walk away from our flat. I don’t think I could have had sex that night if I’d wanted to. My mouth was parched from talking to so many people. My feet were blistered and swollen. My wife was halfway to having a baby and trussed up so comprehensively in a series of constrictive supportwear that it took her about 20 minutes to get undressed. All the Viagra in the world – even if it formed together, gained sentience and performed a full rendition of Barry White’s greatest hits – wouldn’t have roused either of our loins that night. And that’s exactly how it should be. Rather that than force ourselves through a brief round of achy missionary that neither of us were really all that into. Plus, clearly, judging by the mango-sized foetus growing in my new wife’s womb, this wasn’t exactly going to be a consummation of anything anyway. We weren’t like those newly married couples of the Fifties, nervously On Chesil Beaching over each other because God wanted us to steer clear of each others’ genitals until he’d formally given us his blessing. No, we’d been there and we’d done that and the only new sensation either of us were going to feel that night was sweating half to death in an unfamiliar hotel room because the air-con was knackered and the windows were jammed. It’s fine. If you don’t manage to have sex on your wedding day, it’s not really that big a deal. Nobody in the entire history of the known universe has ever had the best sex of their life at the end of the day. Plus, you know, you’re married now. What are you having sex for? You have dining rooms to renovate and children to raise and endless prestige American-drama series to watch at opposite ends of the sofa while you absent-mindedly thumb through Instagram in silence. Sex is the last thing you should be doing. (

PHOTOGRAPH: ALAMY STOCK PHOTO

All the Viagra in the world wouldn’t have roused either of our loins

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


FOREVER AND ALWAYS Your love is unique and worthy of an utterly unique engagement ring. Let fine jewellery house Mappin & Webb create something truly special, just for you


TATLER • PROMOTION

ENA HARKNESS

A classic piece featuring a beautifully cut diamond set in platinum.

ALBA

An elegant ring featuring a central diamond surrounded by a halo of diamonds, set in platinum.

AMELIA

This halo diamond is named after the beautiful English Amelia rose.

ENA HARKNESS, 3 STONE

A striking central diamond flanked by two diamonds, set in platinum. HERMIONE

A quietly confident ring featuring an understated diamond in a platinum setting.

BOSCOBEL

Mappin & Webb has been a royal warrant holder since 1897. An illustrious heritage has seen this fine jewellery house create incredibly beautiful pieces over the decades. And these glittering, sparkling testaments to Mappin & Webb’s craftsmanship make up an impressive archive. This is the inspiration for a new service, ‘By Appointment’, which offers you the chance to bring a one-of-a-kind engagement ring to life. Under the guidance of the in-house bridal experts, you will be presented with seven Mappin & Webb engagement ring settings, each drawing on designs from the jeweller’s extensive history. But this is just a starting point. Mappin & Webb’s experts will encourage you to experiment. Change the colour of the metal. Rose gold? Yellow, perhaps? Add or remove precious stones. Play with the cut of your central diamond. You’ll leave with something truly stunning. How many brides can say their ring was made especially for them?

This showstopping piece makes for the ultimate jewellery investment. BELVEDERE

Named after the Belvedere rose, a classic beauty.

FOR MORE INFORMATION Please visit mappinandwebb.com/bespoke


ether you’re h w – s g in d d e w ere are rules for th , fe li Money-Coutts in ia g h p in o th S y ry e B v e r. u h o it n As w ded maid of ho ja a r o e d ri b l a c a hysteri

TOP, THE QUEEN ON THE WAY TO HER WEDDING AT WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1947. LEFT, ALEXANDER & SCARLETT SPENCERCHURCHILL, 2016. RIGHT, JAMES & NICKY ROTHSCHILD, 2015

PHOTOGRAPHS: ALAN DAVIDSON/SILVER HUB MEDIA, GETTY IMAGES, CAMERA PRESS, REDBURN EVENTS,

. . . t o n t l a h s u Tho


RULES FOR THE

BRIDE

You get one day. Not a week. Not a month. Definitely not a year. One day. Be kind to your mother. Do not be more than 20 minutes late for church. Any longer risks making your wedding feel like an episode of Eastenders.  

CLOCKWISE, FR ABOVE, VISCOUNT & VISCOUNTESS WEYMOUTH, 2013; POPPY DELEVINGNE, 2014; THE PRINCE & PRINCESS OF WALES, 1981; THE DUCHESS OF KENT, 1961; THE EARL OF DALKEITH & LADY DALKEITH, 1953

If you are insisting that the bridesmaids all wear the same dress/shoes/hairpiece, you have to pay for them. No one cares about receiving lines any more. They just want a drink. If you want to make a speech, then make a speech. It is 2017, not 1817. Social-media policy. If you don’t want pictures posted online seconds after you leave the church, it is perfectly acceptable to say ‘please don’t post any photographs on social media’ in your invitation. On the other hand, although it may horrify your future mother-in-law, a hashtag is actually quite useful if you want to see your friends’ photos from the day. Print it subtly somewhere on a supplementary piece of paper in the invitation. 

LET IT GO... Are you one of those women clinging to your dress so your daughter can wear it? She won’t want it. Instead, why not sell it for charity via Brides do Good? It sells second-hand wedding dresses by designers like Oscar de la Renta, Valentino and Marchesa. The bride takes a third, the site takes a third and a third goes to Plan International, a children’s charity, and Too Young to Wed, which campaigns against child marriage. Everyone’s happy. Especially your daughter. bridesdogood.com

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


HOT GROOMS RULES FOR THE

GROOM

THE EARL OF LICHFIELD

There has been a recent fad for grooms to write ‘HE’ on the sole of one shoe and ‘LP’ on the other, for when they kneel at the front of the church. This ‘joke’ is quite literally on you. Avoid.   Buttonholes. ‘I hate massive buttonholes. They are really naff and very navy-suit-with-brown-squareended-shoes,’ says one groom we know who got married last summer in the South of France. ‘I just had some lavender and left it at that.’ The same groom also has strong views on what ushers should wear. ‘For ushers, the point is that the buttonhole serves to designate who people can turn to when they need directions to the loo, so it needs to be there, but needn’t be too loud.’

CROWN PRINCE PAVLOS OF GREECE

DAN SNOW

Don’t feel like you have to point out in your speech which bridesmaids are single. You are not tendering them for market. You have to dance at least once with your mother-in-law. Twice if you’re feeling generous. Three times is creepy.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

WILL VESTEY

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, REX FEATURES, MATT PRICE/OIC, ALEX LLOYD, CAMERA PRESS/MARK STEWART, MIRROR PIX

CLOCKWISE FR LEFT, ALEJANDRO & CHARLOTTE SANTO DOMINGO, 2016; PRINCESS ANNE & CAPTAIN MARK PHILLIPS, 1973; PRINCE & PRINCESS MICHAEL OF KENT, 1978


RULES FOR THE

MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

The clue is in the name. You are the bride’s mother and this is her day. On the upside, you get to wear a jolly hat. If your daughter tells you on the morning of her wedding that she cannot go through with it, do not put her under pressure by replying, ‘But darling, the women in the village have been doing the flowers for three days,’ as happened to a bride we know. Do not use up all the hot water on the morning of the nuptials.  Times have changed and your daughter’s wedding isn’t a drinks party to which you can invite all your friends. Neither the bride nor the groom should be introduced to anyone new on their wedding day. Be aware that it’s quite hard to slut-drop in Catherine Walker.

ABOVE, CAROLE MIDDLETON AT THE DUKE & DUCHESS OF CAMBRIDGE’S WEDDING, 2011. RIGHT, STEPHANIE SIMPSON AT THE WEDDING OF ANNABEL SIMPSON, 2016

LEFT, LADY BRABOURNE AT THE WEDDING OF ALEXANDRA KNATCHBULL, 2016. ABOVE, THE QUEEN MOTHER AT THE WEDDING OF PRINCESS MARGARET, 1960. RIGHT, THE DUCHESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND AT THE WEDDING OF LADY MELISSA PERCY, 2013


LEFT, GRACE VAN CUTSEM, PIPPA MIDDLETON & ELIZA LOPES, 2011. RIGHT, SIDNEY BACON & BRIDESMAIDS, 1956. BELOW, PRINCESS MARGARET AS A BRIDESMAID FOR MARGARET ELPHINSTONE, 1950

MAIDS & BRIDESMAIDS Your best friend is getting married but you are still single, and are worried that your body will be discovered, years from now, and offered to the Natural History Museum as an interesting fossil from a bygone age. Suck it up. It’s just one day. No grumbling about the bridesmaid dress. See above – it’s only for one day.

LEFT, PRINCE PHILIP & THE QUEEN WITH BRIDESMAIDS, 1947. RIGHT, ALICE FERGUSON AT THE WEDDING OF THE DUKE & DUCHESS OF YORK, 1986

You are essentially a galley slave on the morning of the wedding itself and must be available at all times for duties such as dress steaming, making the bride tea, fanning the bride’s face, fetching the bride water and so on. Check if the best man is single. Proceed accordingly. You are on loo duty with the bride all night. She needs help to avoid getting that blue Portaloo dye all over her expensive silk. Keep a packet of cigarettes on you at all times. For the bride. For the mother of the bride. For you to lure the best man outside. However irritating, small bridesmaids/pageboys are your responsibility until you have matched them up with a parent after the ceremony. Sorry. Try and remember the gossip to relay to the bride afterwards, either the next day if you’re seeing her or during the honeymoon. She will have missed it all.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

PHOTOGRAPHS: REX FEATURES, GETTY IMAGES, TETIANA VITSENKO/ALAMY STOCK PHOTO, ALAMY STOCK PHOTO, SHUTTERSTOCK

RULES FOR THE


ABOVE, PRINCE CARL PHILIP & PRINCESS SOFIA OF SWEDEN, 2015. BELOW, JF & JACQUELINE KENNEDY, 1953

G O O D F I R ST- DA N C E S O N G S XO John Mayer version. The sweet option. Fever Peggy Lee version. The sexy option. These Arms of Mine Otis Redding. The classic option. Modern Love David Bowie. The Bowie option. This Must Be The Place Talking Heads. Sweet lyrics; the kind of track that encourages everyone to join in after 20 seconds.

ABOVE, CROWN PRINCE FREDERIK & PRINCESS MARY OF DENMARK, 2004. BELOW, PRINCESS DESIREE OF SWEDEN & BARON NICOLAS SILFVERSCHIOLD, 1964

L E S S - G O O D F I R ST- DA N C E S O N G S Great Balls of Fire Jerry Lee Lewis I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For U2 Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick Ian Dury Area Codes (I Got Hoes) Ludacris PS: worried about looking like Ed Balls during your big first-dance moment? Claridge’s has appointed a choreographer-in-residence for anybody marrying there. A professional ballroom and Latin dancer called Marius Caluser will whisk you through some moves depending on what you fancy – foxtrot, tango, Gangnam – or come up with an entirely choreographed dance. Dirty Dancing lift, anyone? The final rehearsal happens in the hotel’s art-deco ballroom, and you can fortify yourself with champagne in the Fumoir afterwards.

W H A T Y O U R W E D D I N G - L I S T C H O I C E S A Y S A B O U T Y O U… PETE R JONES You worry that you may be more excited about your Egyptian cotton sheets than you are about your new husband. THE WEDDING SH O P You feel a little spike of adrenalin whenever you get an email about one of your guests buying something.

*Scream*– the decorative ceramic artichoke has just gone! W ED D I N G PR ESENTS D I R ECT Nobody can go off-list. And you mean Nobody. NOBODY. H AR RODS You’re hoping that someone shells out for the surround-sound Bose TV system. It doesn’t really matter what anyone else buys – let’s

be honest, you’ll convert it all into Harrods vouchers anyway. N O LI ST You’ve asked for cash, haven’t you? To go towards a honeymoon? Perhaps to put down as a deposit on a house? Well done. Your future mother-in-law certainly won’t approve, but we salute such brave modernity in today’s straitened times.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


Th e Br i de

Listen up, bridezillas! From a 12-tier cake to a homemade Victoria sponge, the editor of Brides magazine has seen it all. So pay attention to Jade Beer’s wise advice...

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

PHOTOGRAPH: NORMAN PARKINSON LTD/COURTESY NORMAN PARKINSON ARCHIVE

H

owever deep your pockets may be, someone is always spending more than you. In my first week as editor of Brides in 2011, images landed on my desk from a wedding where the bride had spent £80,000 on her flowers. I learned the lesson of relativity very quickly. You will too. If you want that 12-tier cake that costs £7,000, and the budget is there, have it. Equally, if your great aunt knows one end of a mixing bowl from the other and fancies whipping you up a buttercream wonder, let her. If it looks a bit crap, cover it in berries. You can spend what you’ve saved on his-andhers bespoke cocktails and your guests will love you for it. I could write a book on what there is to know about buying a wedding dress but for brevity let’s condense it down to a few golden nuggets of advice. Choose your shopping pals wisely. The worst kind of companion is the jealous friend who determines to hate everything you try on because she is eaten up with a rage that only her own wedding will extinguish. Until that day comes or your wedding day passes, put some distance between the two of you. Also, listen to the nice woman in the boutique. She has dressed a million bodies before yours. And do a bit of research before you get there. Know the difference between made-tomeasure and ready-to-wear. And understand that there is a difference between a fitting and an alterations appointment. Generally, the former is included in the cost of the dress, while the latter rarely is. Give yourself a fighting chance in the fitting room. If you tip up make-up free, with hairy legs, pasty skin and unwashed hair, chances are not much is going to look fabulous under those bright lights. Dress trends: do not fall victim to them. Last season, the bridal catwalks were awash with very sheer garments, cutaway panels, thigh-high splits, extreme plunging necklines and tighter-than-tight silhouettes. Learn the difference between something designed for the catwalk to create drama, and what will look good on you. And as for surviving it all, I have two other tips: Mobilise your army. Yes, you’re a control freak and you think you know better than anyone else, but it’s a crazy bride who tries to stage-manage the entire thing herself, especially if you’re going for a full-weekend event (let alone the increasingly popular five-day wedding). Brief your team tightly. Be specific. Send hundreds of emails if you must, but don’t assume that people will understand your obsessive need for powder-blue chair liners. Family politics. Everyone’s a grown-up; you can’t talk them out of every tiff and filthy look. You’re not going to be nanny on the day – you’ve got better things to do.


TATLER â&#x20AC;˘ PROMOTION

Shot at the Clarence suite at London Hilton on Park Lane London-parklane.hilton.com Instagram and Twitter: londonhiltonpl Executive Chef Anthony Marshall and Chef Patissier Emmanuel Bonneau Instagram and Twitter: chefmarshall13 Designer Flowers UK in partnership with London Hilton on Park Lane designerflowersuk.com Wedding cake by Jennie Louise Bishop at Little Boutique Bakery littleboutiquebakery.co.uk Prop stylist, Kasha Harmer Hair by Jack Merrick-Thirlway at ELSL Management. Make-up by Terry Barber and nails by Chisato Yamamoto, both at David Artists

THE ULTIMATE WEDDING Tie the knot in style

Photographed by Matthew Shave

Art Direction by Samantha Brownstein & Gavin Shaw


MOËT & CHANDON

moet.com

From left to right, floral dress by Malene Oddershede Bach, necklace by Joomi Lim, earrings, model's own. Wedding dress by Phillipa Lepley, tiara by House of Garrard, earrings and necklace by Asprey. Groom's tailcoat, waistcoat, tie and pocket square all by Gieves & Hawkes, shirt by Ede & Ravenscroft. Best man's tailcoat and waistcoat by Gieves & Hawkes, shirt, tie and pocket square all by Ede & Ravenscroft. Ice bucket by India Jane

Raise a glass to the bride and groom! Your special day calls for a truly special bottle. Moët & Chandon's delectable rosé champagne makes for a wonderful celebratory drink. A glass to quell pre-wedding jitters. A toast for the beautiful couple. And fuel for a night of dancing. Hear, hear.


TATLER â&#x20AC;˘ PROMOTION

RO L E X Time to cut the cake! Your wedding day, the magical culmination of your relationship thus far is only a 24-hour celebration. That's 1,440 minutes. Or 86,400 seconds. Cherish every moment with this magnificent 18-carat gold Rolex Lady-Datejust. Classic and sophisticated, this watch, much like true love, will last forever. Imbued with memories and romantic associations, the Rolex becomes an heirloom for the next generation.

Bride wears wedding dress and bolero by Phillipa Lepley, rings by Asprey, watch by Rolex at Asprey. Groom wears tailcoat and waistcoat by Gieves & Hawkes, shirt and trousers by Ede & Ravenscroft. Wedding cake available from littleboutiquebakery.co.uk Cake slicer by Asprey

Available at Asprey asprey.com


waterford.co.uk

Men's clothes, as before. Blue dress by Self Portrait, earrings from Gillian Horsup. Floral dress by Malene Oddershede Bach, necklace by Joomi Lim, ring, model's own

WAT E R F O R D The celebratory clink of champagne flutes is all the more joyous when the crystal is Waterford, synonymous with crystal craft for over 200 years. These stunning Lismore Essence flutes provide the perfect finishing touch. After all, the wedding table ought to be as exquisitely dressed as you are.


Tiara, earrings and pendant by House of Garrard. Wedding dress by Phillipa Lepley

TATLER â&#x20AC;˘ PROMOTION

HOUSE OF GARRARD Feel every inch the princess on your wedding day with something suitably sparkly from House of Garrard. The eminent jeweller has been creating the most magnificent pieces since its establishment in 1735 â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and boasts an enduring regal legacy. This diamondencrusted tiara, with matching pendant and earrings, makes the ultimate fairy tale set. Say 'I do' to a little glamour. garrard.com


martinmillersgin.com

Dress by Razan Alazzouni, earrings by Apples & Figs. Men's clothes, as before

M A RT I N M I L L E R ' S G I N There's nothing quite like a deliciously refreshing gin and tonic to get the party started. And there's no gin quite like the global award-winning Martin Miller's Gin. Botanicals blended with the purest Icelandic water make for unparalleled taste. Give your guests something exceptional.


G E O RG J E N S E N You can't cut your cake with just any old knife. And come speech time, you can't chime your glass with just any old cutlery. No, you need some truly special silverware. Esteemed silver house Georg Jensen has been creating magnificent pieces since 1904. For beautifully understated tableware worthy of your special occasion, look no further.

Cutlery, Mitra 24-piece set, Cafu Vase, Bernadotte Candleholder 2- piece, Acorn Champagne Sabre, all Georg Jensen. Candle by Jo Malone. All clothes, as before

georgjensen.com

TATLER â&#x20AC;˘ PROMOTION


HAPPILY NEVER AFTER

Miss Havisham, Augusta of Saxe-Gotha and Emperor Caligula, the old rogue – Clare Bennett revisits some of the worst weddings history and literature have to offer

AUGUSTA OF SAXEGOTHA AND FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES, 1736 Not speaking the same language as your prospective husband is never an ideal way to start married life. Such was the raw deal for the German Princess Augusta, sent to England aged 16 to marry a total stranger, Frederick, Prince of Wales. Shoved into a wedding dress as soon as she arrived, Augusta was promptly marched up the aisle and took part in a ceremony she didn’t understand a word of. Most brides will tell you getting married is a pretty nerve-racking business and Augusta was no exception, doing nothing to ingratiate herself to her new family by vomiting all over her own wedding dress and her mother-in-law’s too. No one seemed put off, though, and the wedding continued, with Queen Caroline translating the vows into the ear of the barfing bride.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

JANE EYRE BY C H A R LOT T E BRO N TE

Poor Jane. She didn’t want much out of life. She didn’t even want a Vera Wang dress or a Peter Jones wedding list – she just wanted to get married and get on with it. And that’s exactly what would have happened, had her wedding not been interrupted by the bombshell that her almosthusband Mr Rochester was in fact still married to the insane, dangerous and terrifyingbeyond-your-wildestnightmares Bertha Mason. The same person who once set Mr Rochester’s bed on fire with him in it, stabbed her own brother with a pair of scissors and broke into Jane’s room, ripping up her wedding veil in her face and scaring her so badly she actually passed out. Jane became a tramp instead of a newlywed, leaving Thornfield to sleep rough instead of setting off for two blissful weeks in the Maldives.

JASON AND GLAUCE

M ED EA BY EURIPIDES

Some people are just so ungrateful. Not only would Jason never have got anywhere near the golden fleece without Medea’s help, she fled with him, cutting up her own brother and scattering the bits to stop her father and his army pursuing them. They had two sons and became refugees, drifting from country to country – and then, what do you know, he decides to marry the Princess of Corinth ‘for political reasons’. To say this did not go down well is an understatement. Medea feigned being the bigger person and sent Jason’s new wife, Glauce, a wedding present – a lovely dress and gold diadem – that turned out to be poisonous, melting the bride like acid poured on a prawn cracker. In an unexpected two-for-one wedding special, the evil dress even took Glauce’s father down when he tried to help her. But it didn’t end there. Medea’s second wedding present to Jason was the corpses of their sons, whom she had stabbed to death to punish Jason for humiliating her. Whatever happened to getting someone 12 champagne flutes?


H i stor ic Weddi ngs A D 37 The Emperor Caligula’s seduction methods could definitely have done with some work – one of his habits being to kiss the neck of a wife or mistress, saying, ‘off comes this beautiful head whenever I give the word’. He also threatened one of his wives with torture, saying this was the only way he would be able to get to the bottom of why he loved her so much. Bearing all this in mind, you might have been a little anxious to have him at your wedding, like Roman senator Gaius Piso and his wife Livia Orestilla were when they got married. All was running smoothly, until Caligula suddenly lost it with Piso, shouting, ‘Don’t take liberties with my wife!’, before promptly forcing Livia Orestilla to leave with him and marrying her himself. He then changed his mind and divorced her shortly afterwards, eventually banishing her and Piso for alleged adultery. He was, indeed, madder than a wet cat.

CALIGULA AND LIVIA ORESTILLA,

PHOTOGRAPHS: BRIDGEMANIMAGES.COM, REX FEATURES, ALLSTAR

MARGUERITE DE VALOIS AND HENRI DE NAVARRE , 1572 Marguerite de Valois would definitely not have been found excitedly flicking through a copy of Brides in the run-up to her wedding. Her Catholic mother Catherine de’ Medici forced her into a strategic marriage with Henri de Navarre, a Huguenot, whom Catherine hated only slightly less than she hated his mother, Jeanne d’Albret. Some mothers-in-law clash, yes, but most don’t end up killing the other one just before the big day (bye then, Jeanne). The groom spent his own wedding standing outside the church because he wasn’t a Catholic and therefore not allowed in – and six days later, Paris celebrated the joining of these two houses with the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre, which saw thousands of the visiting Huguenots slaughtered in the streets by the angry Parisian Catholics. So awkward when the guests don’t get on.

LYCIUS AND LAMIA L A M I A BY JO HN KE ATS

MISS HAVISHAM GR E AT E XP E CTAT I O N S BY C H ARLES D I CK E N S

Most brides only get to wear their wedding dress for a few hours – unless they are Miss Havisham, who wore hers for 25 years. Inheriting waaaay more than her half-brother because he was only the son of the cook, and also being kind of a Veruca Salt type, was where the trouble began. The man she fell in love with turned out to be in cahoots with her bitter brother, fleecing her financially and then being a no-show on their wedding day. Broke and humiliated, Miss Havisham decided not to take the therapy-before-gently-dating-again route, instead leaving her entire wedding feast and decorated house untouched and turning into a man-hating lunatic who ended up being burnt alive when her wedding dress of rejection caught fire.

Sometimes a girl can’t catch a break. Like the Libyan queen Lamia, who was one of Zeus’s many girlfriends. His wife Hera made her feelings abundantly clear on the subject by killing all of Lamia’s children and turning her into a demon snake-thing, who was compelled to eat other people’s children to make herself feel better. In the Keats poem, Hermes lifts the curse, turning her back into a normal human, which is how she meets a cute Corinthian called Lycius. Everything is fine until their wedding day, when Lamia is busted for once having been a child-eating demon snake-thing by a gatecrasher called Apollonius, which causes her to vanish and Lycius to die. They do say honesty is the foundation of a successful marriage for a reason.(

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


PHOTOGRAPHS: TKTKTKTKTK

ALEX WEARS EMBROIDERED COTTON-VOILE DRESS, £1,188; SATIN SHORTS, £297; SILK-JACQUARD TOP, £794, ALL BY ALBERTA FERRETTI. METAL & DIAMANTÉ EARRINGS, £45, FROM GILLIAN HORSUP, AT GRAYS ANTIQUES

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


The Princess

BRIDE

HAIR BY LIAM JAMES MOORE AT CAROL HAYES MANAGEMENT, USING KIEHL’S. MAKE-UP BY MEGUMI MATSUNO AT CAROL HAYES MANAGEMENT, USING REN. STYLED BY AILSA MILLER

She will be wearing a huge dress. He looks a bit like a prince. They are getting married in a grand old palazzo. No wonder the wedding of Alex Edwards and Carlo Carello looks set to be the event of the year (apols, Pippa). By Sophia Money-Coutts Photographed by ROBERT HARPER

W

here will you be on 1 July this year? If it’s not at the Castello di Racconigi, a palace just south of Turin, then you might as well give up. Because that is where this year’s smartest and jolliest wedding is happening. Sorry, Pippa Middleton, but it’s true. It’s the marriage of Carlo Carello, 30, and Alex Edwards, 27, a pair who have been on-off sweethearts since they were teenagers. ‘He was one of my first boyfriends, when I was 15 and he was 17,’ says Alex. ‘I was at Francis Holland and he was at Harrow.’ But as with many teenage romances, this one was short-lived. Just three months. ‘And we never spoke,’ she says. ‘I just went up to Harrow a couple of times. My parents thought it was really inappropriate, so I used to go round the house stealing pound coins so I could take the Tube there.’ Luckily, a decade later, they got back together for good, the parents approve and preparations for a three-day wedding in Italy are now well under way. There will be 200 guests (a combination of fancy Italians and glamorous Sloanes), more flowers than the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, candlesticks strewn down one big table along which everyone will sit, bowls and bowls of every pasta you’ve ever heard of, cheeses and prosciuttos. And as for the dress, well, we have to keep fairly schtum about that in case Carlo is reading this. But it’s major. ‘Princessy,’ says Alex. ‘I just thought it’s the one time you can go all out.’ If we were being all Jane Austen about this, we would say it’s the union of two great families. The Carellos are a big, well-connected Italian famiglia with houses in Turin and on Lipari, one of the Aeolian islands off Sicily, where friends, including the Blairs, holiday. Carlo is the oldest of Massimo and Sara Carello’s three sons. He used to run

Boujis and is now in charge of Albert’s, the private members’ club in South Kensington (see main magazine). Everyone wants to be pals with him, just as they did when we were teenagers and his mobile number was furtively exchanged in dormitories at my school. Honestly. Alex, meanwhile, is a born-and-bred Londoner, the daughter of financier Robin and his wife Cristina Edwards. Charming, petite and self-deprecating, she works for Jimmy Choo and is always dressed accordingly: Jimmy clutch, Jimmy heels, unbelievable Botticelli hair. An engagement ring with a diamond the size of a broad bean sits on her finger. ‘The one in the middle was from a necklace that belonged to his mother,’ she says, pointing at the broad bean. ‘One of three. One diamond for each son.’ Carlo proposed in 2015 after the couple had been dating seriously for a year and a half. He did it in Barbados, where the pair were on holiday with Carlo’s best friend and eventually best man, Sam Sangster. ‘He made me take hand luggage for a 10-day trip,’ says Alex, ‘because he wanted to propose before sunset on our first night there and we didn’t have time to wait for luggage. He rushed us down the diplomatic lane in the airport, blagged his way through that, swept us into the car and insisted that we go for a swim right away.’ Did you not think that was weird, I ask.‘Well, he’s pretty weird anyway,’ she says. He proposed on the beach, but Alex left him hanging for a few moments. ‘Have you asked my dad?’ she said. He had, so she accepted. It hasn’t been totally plain sailing since. They were initially due to get married at the scuderia – ‘basically the old stables’ – of the Italian palace, but an admin cock-up meant it was given to another couple for the same weekend. ‘It was just so... Italian,’ says Alex. But it’s all worked out perfectly because, to make amends, they gave Carlo and Alex the palace, which was originally built as the home of 16th-century Savoy princes and is now a museum. Better to get married in a palace anyway. Definitely more princessy. (

If we were being all Jane Austen about this, we’d say it’s the union of two great families

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


The EXPERTS For the perfect day, you need the perfect team

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the longest time youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve ever spent on one dress? 0RQWKVDQGPRQWKV

Who (dead or alive) would you most like to dress? *UDFH.HOO\

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your strategy for dealing with bridezillas?

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phillipalepley.com

Photographed by Stuart McClymont Art direction by Gavin Shaw & Samantha Brownstein

HAIR AND MAKE-UP BY STEFANIA Dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;AGOSTINO

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TATLER • PROMOTION

G I E V E S & H AW K E S , TA I LO R S Between 1870 and 1913, no.1 Savile Row was home to the Royal Geographical Society. Explorers and adventurers of the highest calibre would flock here to pore over maps and globes and chart their journeys around the world. It was an eminent address that saw a steady stream of gentlemen pass through its doors. How fitting that Gieves & Hawkes was later established in this historic building. After all, these are tailors that can effortlessly map your entire wardrobe, plotting a course from office to occasion and everywhere in-between. There is British hauteur and sophistication in every elegantly finished stitch, every delicately tapered lapel. Gieves & Hawkes’ private tailoring service is second to none. If you want your groom looking as dashing and swoon-inducing as Mr Darcy, this is where you need to send him. Think morning suits in charcoal (perhaps with a romantic quote etched in the lining), pleated formal shirts made from the most exquisite Italian yarn and, for the bold, bright-crimson dinner jackets. Private tailoring is inspired by the craftsmanship of Gieves & Hawkes’ bespoke tailoring but it’s quicker – and more affordable. So buy for the wedding, buy for the honeymoon and buy for a continued dapper life. gievesandhawkes.com

What is the most unusual request you’ve ever received? A gentleman brought me a cloth he had specifically woven for himself to be made into a Tuxedo. It was plain black but embellished with diamantés! I really didn’t know how it would turn out but he really owned the look and made it work for him. That’s what it’s all about...

With your private tailoring service, how long does it take to complete a suit? From beginning to end, and this is obviously dependent on the availability of our clients, the process takes six to eight weeks. An initial consultation discusses fabric and measurements. We produce a suit in time for a fitting. Nips, tucks and finishing details are completed and then you’re ready to walk down the aisle!

Does the bride tend to have the final say on how things look? Maybe not the final say but they usually assume the Creative Director role!


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C A RO L I N E YO U N G , A RT I ST RY D I R E C TO R F O R L A U R A M E RC I E R +RZLVWKHEOXVKLQJEULGHORRNEHVWDFKLHYHG")LUVWWKLQJV¿UVW\RXVKRXOGVWLOOORRNOLNH\RX7KLVLVQRWWKHWLPHIRU H[SHULPHQWDWLRQ LI\RX¶YHQHYHUZRUQEULJKWUHGOLSVWLFNGRQ¶WVWDUWQRZ :KLOH\RXZDQW\RXUPDNHXSWREH QRWLFHDEOHLQSKRWRJUDSKV\RXFHUWDLQO\GRQ¶WZDQWWRDSSHDUFDNHG6XEWOHFRQWRXULQJLVWKHRUGHURIWKHGD\ 6RPHRQHZKRXQGHUVWDQGVDOOWKHP\ULDGLQWULFDFLHVRIEULGDOEHDXW\LV&DUROLQH<RXQJ6KHKDVRYHU\HDUV¶ H[SHULHQFHZRUNLQJZLWKWRSIDVKLRQPDJD]LQHVGHVLJQHUVDQGEHDXW\EUDQGV1HHGOHVVWRVD\VKHNQRZVKHU VWXII$VKHDGPDNHXSDUWLVWIRUZRUOGUHQRZQHG/DXUD0HUFLHU&DUROLQHKDVKHOSHGPDQ\DMLWWHU\EULGH SXWKHUEHVWIDFHIRUZDUGRQWKHELJGD\$QGKDSSLO\&DUROLQHFDQWUDYHODOORYHUWKHFRXQWU\ZLWKKHU WUXQNRI/DXUD0HUFLHUSURGXFWV lauramercier.com


TATLER • PROMOTION

What do you look for in a stone? The best stones ignite something in you that you can’t put your finger on, you just know you need to own them.

How do you help someone choose the right piece of jewellery? Of course we guide people to what we think suits them. However, in most cases, when people see something they love, the whole process is very natural.

Your favourite creation ever? There have been too many pieces I’ve not wanted to part with, but one thing I know, it’s not always the ones you’d expect.

G L E N N S P I RO, JEWELLER Men, take note: a stonking great sparkler of an engagement ring is important – crucial, in fact – but it is not the end of your jewellery duties. Far from it. If you want a harmonious marriage, you’ll need to give your bride something glittering and beautiful on the eve of the big day. Not to mention a twinkling show-stopper every anniversary and birthday thereafter. So you need an exceptional jeweller. Someone that will really help you rack up those brownie points. Our advice? Put Glenn Spiro on speed dial now. The celebrated jeweller has gained renown for his exceptional pieces. Everything Glenn makes boasts exquisite colour, clarity, cut, FDUDWZHLJKW±DQGFUHDWLYLW\+HVFRXUVWKHJOREHIRUWKHPRVWÀDZOHVVVWRQHVWR build into his jewellery. Think intricately laced diamond and sapphire bracelets, QHFNODFHVGULSSLQJZLWKUXELHVDQGULQJVWKDWFDWFKWKHOLJKWPDJQL¿FHQWO\ These are treasures as unique as your true love. glennspiro.com


What would you give as a wedding gift? Ideally something from a wedding list, for a start! But I personally love beautiful glass. Something from the William Yeoward Crystal range or Riedel.

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your strategy for dealing with bridezillas? We are very lucky in that we tend to deal with couples at one of the most exciting parts of the wedding process -â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a massive free shopping trip. Our whole service is geared towards making this part of the wedding as fun and stress-free as possible to avoid any potential bridezilla moments. But ultimately we work on the basis that the customer is always right.

How has the wedding market changed from 1994 to now? Many couples today live together before getting married and donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want the traditional dinner service, sheets and towels. Our range has therefore had to change and adapt to offer everything from Sonos music systems to sofas, as well as the more classic presents that will help them set up home together.

J A M E S D U N DA S , W E D D I N G P R E S E N T S D I R E C T The days of receiving hideous ornaments from your well-meaning aunt or unwanted paintings from your clueless uncle are coming to an end â&#x20AC;&#x201C; largely thanks to Wedding Presents Direct. 7KLVJLIWPHFFDHVWDEOLVKHGLQZDVRQHRIWKHÂżUVWSODFHVWRRIIHUDFRPSUHKHQVLYHZHGGLQJOLVWVHUYLFH A concept that has now fully caught on and entered the wedding-planning vernacular. Of course, many shops do wedding lists, but there is only one Wedding Presents Direct. The original and best, it has become the go-to destination for savvy couples and thoughtful guests alike. Founding partner James Dundas believes the warm, personal service is what sets Wedding Presents Direct apart. Not to mention the gifts. Oh, the gifts! Peruse the online store or visit the DPSOHVKRZURRPRQ.LQJÂśV5RDGWRÂżQGDVHOHFWLRQRIWKHÂżQHVWLQWHULRUV7KLQN)UHQFKVW\OHDUPFKDLUVDQGZDOQXW ÂżQLVKHGJOREHVDOSDFDWKURZVDQGJDUGHQJDPHV(YHU\WKLQJLVDUUDQJHGE\URRPPDNLQJLWHYHQHDVLHUWRÂżQGZKDW youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re looking for. Wedding Presents Direct can guide you through the whole process, from choosing your gifts and setting up your online list to later arranging delivery. Best of all, this service is completely free! No more duplicates, no more awful presents. Get what you really want. Well, for your wedding at least. Birthdays, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re on your own... weddingpresentsdirect.co.uk


TATLER â&#x20AC;˘ PROMOTION

What is your mantra? Some of the most beautiful women in the world look like theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve had nothing done. They simply look stunning.

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your strategy for dealing with bridezillas? I love treating brides-to-be. The secret is preparation: I always â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;test outâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; a treatment months in advance of the big day so we know exactly what looks the very best. I leave nothing to chance.

What are your most popular pre-wedding treatments? Dermal fillers â&#x20AC;&#x201C; light treatment across the cheekbones and under the eyes to diminish tired eyes and enhance natural beauty. And a touch of muscle relaxant to airbrush the face while still retaining natural movement and looks.

T R AC Y M O U N T F O R D, CO S M E T I C D O C TO R The last thing any bride wants her groom whispering at the altar is â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;sorry, who are you?â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s normal to want a transformative makeover for the big day â&#x20AC;&#x201C; but you still need to look like you. Tracy Mountford is a champion of subtle, nuanced aesthetic improvements. She is an incredibly skilled, safe pair of hands. The key, Mountford explains, is to reveal a fresher version of the patient â&#x20AC;&#x201C; nothing over-stuffed or over-done. She knows that beautiful long-lasting results donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come from sudden, drastic changes. Her approach is artistic and visionary: treatments are layered gradually. Her goal? The kind of youthful, revitalised complexion that makes people wonder â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;has she or hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t she?â&#x20AC;&#x2122; Tracy Mountford has been practising for over 25 years and during that time has racked up an impressive number of awards for her Cosmetic Skin Clinic. Her holistic approach to treatments means everything is customised to meet individual needs. 6RPHFRQWRXULQJKHUHDOLWWOHÂżOOHUWKHUH7UDF\0RXQWIRUGDQGKHUWHDPZLOOFRD[RXW\RXULQQHUEOXVKLQJEULGH And, of course, she can help your groom too... cosmeticskinclinic.com


P H I L I P PA C R A D D O C K , F LO R I ST Always dreamed of a bouquet with pink and white peonies? Getting married in September? For many Ă&#x20AC;RULVWVWKDWZRXOGSRVHDELWRID problem. But not Philippa Craddock. She has a way of tracking down even the rarest of blooms. And, when a brideâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s vision proves to be a seasonal impossibility, she can suggest PDJQLÂżFHQWDOWHUQDWLYHV,WLVWKLV creativity and attention to detail which has seen Craddock hailed DVRQHRI/RQGRQÂśVÂżQHVWĂ&#x20AC;RULVWV In seven short years, Craddockâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s XQSDUDOOHOHGVNLOOKDVĂ&#x20AC;RXULVKHG into a successful and muchrespected business. An impressive client list includes Christian Dior, Alexander McQueen and Jo Malone â&#x20AC;&#x201C; but every bride gets the same star treatment. Craddock is keen to make the whole process HQMR\DEOHIURPVWDUWWRÂżQLVK6KH ZRUNVZLWK\RXWRWHDVHRXWDĂ&#x20AC;RUDO plan for the day, making sure it works well with the setting â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and the dress! Whether itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wisteria cascading from the ceiling or a profusion of camellia on the tables, Craddockâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s artistry is present in HYHU\SHUIHFWO\VHOHFWHGĂ&#x20AC;RZHU philippacraddock.com

Do you prefer when a bride has a very specific idea of what she wants? Most brides come to us with a really strong vision of what they would like and we offer creative interpretations of their brief. But it is always exciting when a bride has no idea what she wants. The dress, venue and season all provide the initial inspiration â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and then the options are literally endless.

Most flowers ever used in one service? Thousands and thousands! For one clientâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wedding this summer, we have just reserved an entire field, ready to grow a mass of one specific bloom just for them.

Do you have a favourite bloom? Happily, I really donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have a favourite. It completely depends on the season, the setting and the client. One day, it could be a delicate, intricate phlox or an old fashioned English garden rose and the next, a massive mop head of a hydrangea.


TATLER • PROMOTION

J O H N N Y ROX B U RG H , PA RT Y A RC H I T E C T What makes a rollicking good party? Booze, of course. Good music, naturally. But the best bashes also have that added extra something. A tangible vibe, a palpable ambience, a seamless pulled-togetherness. And the maestro of that magic? None other than Johnny Roxburgh. The key, really, is in his title. Roxburgh doesn’t just plan parties. Anyone can do that. He architects them – weaving fantasy into reality with meticulous attention to detail. He has been at WKHKHOPRIHUDGH¿QLQJSDUWLHVIRUZHOORYHU years. From Cairo to Colorado and Los Angeles to Lisbon, Johnny Roxburgh has delivered unforgettable, unbridled celebrations. He is the Yes Man every bride dreams of. Nothing is impossible. Nothing is considered ‘too much’. :DQWOLJKWVKRZV")LUHZRUNV"$ÀRFNRIGRYHV" Easy. The best pool party? A hard-to-track-down DJ? No problem. Johnny Roxburgh’s creativity knows no bounds. Your event is his blank canvas. For inspiration (and good luck) he strokes the head of his glittery bear at the beginning of every new gig. And then the fun can really start. After all, what is a wedding if not an excuse for a riotous party?

What’s your signature dance move? Something I do with a mirror and the Reel of the 51st Highland Division.

What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever seen at a party? 600 people sitting at long mirrored tables surrounded by scented lakes of water and fountains under a cloud of 5,000 orchids and 5,000 candles.

Who (dead or alive) would you most like to work with? johnnyroxburgh.com

Tzar Alexander II.


HERE COME THE BRIDES And not a meringue in sight...

Photographed by LALO GONZALEZ & EVA DE GOLS Styled by SOPHIE GOODWIN

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COTTON DRESS, £2,690, BY EMILIA WICKSTEAD

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THIS PAGE, SILKMIKADO DRESS, £6,745, BY STEWART PARVIN OPPOSITE PAGE, EMBROIDERED TULLE DRESS, £2,795, BY JENNY PACKHAM

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SILK-JACQUARD DRESS; TULLE & SILK-ORGANZA TOP, BOTH POA, BY PHILLIPA LEPLEY


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THIS PAGE, FR , SILK-CREPE DRESS, £2,950, BY EMMA VICTORIA PAYNE. SILK-CHIFFON DRESS, £2,799, BY JENNY PACKHAM OPPOSITE PAGE, LACE & SILK-ORGANZA DRESS, £3,499, BY CAROLINE CASTIGLIANO

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THIS PAGE, SILK DRESS, £2,540, BY CHARLIE BREAR OPPOSITE PAGE, CRYSTALEMBELLISHED TULLE DRESS, £5,395, BY TEMPERLEY LONDON FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR BY STEPHEN LOW AT ELSL MANAGEMENT FOR NEVILLE SALON. MAKE-UP BY NATALIE PIACUN AT UNTITLED ARTISTS, USING MAC COSMETICS. NAILS BY ZARRA CELIK AT LMC WORLDWIDE, USING CHANEL LE VERNIS IN BALLERINA & CHANEL BODY EXCELLENCE HAND CREAM. MODELS, AVEEN LANE AT MILK MANAGEMENT, ANNA ROSE AT SELECT MODEL MANAGEMENT. PRODUCTION, AYSHA SURSOCK. FASHION ASSISTANT, GRACE QUINN

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WEDDING B E L L E S Guests should never upstage the bride. Whoops

Photographed by LALO GONZALEZ & EVA DE GOLS Styled by SOPHIE GOODWIN

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TWEED JACKET, £6,256, BY CHANEL. FAUX-LEATHER & COTTON HEADPIECE, £450, BY RACHEL BLACK MILLINERY. GOLD, SILVER & DIAMOND EARRINGS, £6,175, BY WILLIAM & SON

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THIS PAGE, SWAROVSKIEMBELLISHED CREPE DRESS, £6,350, BY EMILIA WICKSTEAD. SATIN SHOES, £1,140, BY ROCHAS OPPOSITE PAGE, JACQUARD JACKET; JACQUARD SKIRT, BOTH POA, BY ERDEM. SUEDE LEATHER & COTTON SHOES (JUST SEEN), POA, BY PETER PILOTTO. PANAMA HAT, £320, BY LAURA APSIT LIVENS. WHITEGOLD, DIAMOND & BLACK-RHODIUM EARRINGS, £3,900, BY VENYX

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THIS PAGE, EMBROIDERED LACE DRESS, £2,252, BY MIU MIU. SATIN SHOES, £120, BY KURT GEIGER. LAMBSKIN BAG, POA, BY DIOR OPPOSITE PAGE, SATIN-SILK CHIFFON DRESS, £2,685, BY OSCAR DE LA RENTA. EMBROIDERED COTTON-JACQUARD HEADBAND, POA, BY DOLCE & GABBANA. WHITE-GOLD, EMERALD & RUBY NECKLACE, POA, BY MOUSSAIEFF. GOLD, SILVER & DIAMOND EARRINGS, £6,175, BY WILLIAM & SON

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COTTON-JACQUARD & SEQUIN DRESS, £7,030, BY MICHAEL KORS. OSTRICHFEATHER HEADPIECE, £195, BY WILLIAM CHAMBERS MILLINERY. GOLD, DIAMOND, PEARL & MOONSTONE EARRINGS, £9,580, BY WILLIAM & SON


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THIS PAGE, COTTON DRESS, £1,535, BY SALVATORE FERRAGAMO. FAUX-LEATHER & COTTON HEADBAND, £285, BY RACHEL BLACK MILLINERY. WHITE-GOLD, DIAMOND & EMERALD RING, POA, BY ADLER OPPOSITE PAGE, SILK-ORGANZA DRESS, POA, BY DOLCE & GABBANA. WIRED FEATHER HEADBAND, £150, BY RACHEL BLACK MILLINERY. GOLD, DIAMOND & CORAL EARRINGS, £7,500, BY WILLIAM & SON. GOLD & DIAMOND RING, £4,625, BY WILLIAM & SON

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THIS PAGE, LUREX & SILK TOP, £145, BY ALCOOLIQUE. TAFFETA SKIRT, £995, BY PETER PILOTTO. SINAMAY & LACE HEADBAND, £475, BY SARAH CANT. GOLD, DIAMOND, SAPPHIRE & AKOYA PEARL EARRINGS, £3,100, BY VENYX. WHITEGOLD, DIAMOND & PEARL BANGLE, POA, BY BOGHOSSIAN OPPOSITE PAGE, COTTON TOP, £595, BY RAZAN ALAZZOUNI. WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND NECKLACE; WHITE-GOLD & DIAMOND EARRINGS, BOTH POA, BY ADLER. COTTON HEADPIECE, £670, BY LAURA APSIT LIVENS

FOR STOCKISTS, SEE ADDRESS BOOK. HAIR BY STEPHEN LOW AT ELSL MANAGEMENT FOR NEVILLE SALON. MAKE-UP BY MICHELLE DACILLO AT CAREN, USING CHANEL COCO CODES & CHANEL BLUE SERUM. NAILS BY AMI STREETS AT LMC WORLDWIDE, USING CHANEL LE VERNIS IN ROUGE NOIR & CHANEL BODY EXCELLENCE HAND CREAM. MODELS, ROXY JUST AT STORM MODELS & MONICA AINLEY (MONICAAINLEY.COM; MONICA’S PODCAST FASHION: NO FILTER IS AVAILABLE ON ITUNES). PRODUCTION, AYSHA SURSOCK. FASHION ASSISTANT, GRACE QUINN

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B EHIND T H E V E IL Meet London’s smartest wedding-dress designers at Tatler.com – David Emanuel, Alice Temperley, Phillipa Lepley, Jenny Packham, Amanda Wakeley and Stewart Parvin talk about the most beautiful dresses they’ve ever made and let us snoop around their studios.

AL ICE TEM PERL EY

ST E WA RT PA RV I N

AM ANDA WAKELEY

J ENNY PACKHAM

There will be white chiffon! Only on Tatler. co m

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, EYEVINE, REX FEATURES

PH ILLIPA LE PL EY

DAV I D EMA NUEL


B E AUT Y Edited by FR ANCESCA WHITE

PHOTOGRAPH: KENNETH WILLARDT/TRUNK ARCHIVE

TIME FOR YOUR ENGAGEMENT CLOSE-UP! Most likely, you’re in a state of shock. Probably slightly drunk. However, there’s definitely a ring on your finger, where previously there was not. This moment must be Instagrammed immediately (possibly even before calling your own mother). But WAIT – this picture will be seen by everyone who follows you on social media, flashed in front of those who don’t, scrolled back to when you’re having a nervous breakdown over napkins six months later/feeling wistful and nostalgic in years to come – so it needs to be good. It needs to be natural. Evidently, there is some work to be done. So start with Shiseido Ibuki Smart Filtering Smoother, £20, which makes skin all soft-focus and velvety, then fix problem areas with Bobbi Brown Instant Confidence Stick, £26, which rubs out fine lines and covers pores. Benefit They’re Real! Double the Lip, £15.50, is so fabulously plumping that you’ll want to kiss yourself, and even the most pathetically neglected nails will scrub up with a coat of Guerlain Colour Lacquer in Lingerie, £19. And if this sounds like an awful lot of hard work, wait until you start your wedding prep... FW

TATLER.COM

TAT L E R JAN UARY 2017


Be au t y

T WO WEEKS BEFORE Practise with sedatives: do trial runs with various sleep aids. You want to make sure you sleep the night before, but you don’t want to be so knocked out that you have a sedation hangover (red eyes, dry mouth, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquiliser dart) and slur your vows. Aim to be relaxed but mentally present. Yoga or meditation might help you breathe your way to bridal calm. O What’s your camera face? There will be a lot of photos – so know thy good side. O Start popping Imedeen skincare capsules (to prevent you burning as soon as you hit the Maldives) – and up your intake of vitamin B12 to prevent bites. O

THE WEEK BEFORE

Start early – you won’t regret it. By Francesca White

O N C E E N G AG E D Wax your fingers. Immediately. There will be Instagramming (see previous page), and you don’t want to be scaring people. O

SIX MONTHS BEFORE Start a personal-training programme with Louise Parker, who will make Train really hard and you could you look ballerina lean, not look like me bulky. Otherwise, repeatedly lift heavy things to tone upper arms. Small children are ideal with their considerate ‘pick me up/put me down’ regimes. louiseparker.uk. com; 0800 084 2828 O Book a course of facials – you should be aiming for one every six weeks – with Caroline Farr at 23MD, so your skin doesn’t freak out as the big day draws near. 23md.co.uk; 020 7078 0302 O

THREE MONTHS BEFORE All that frowning over invitation fonts and napkins needs to be dealt with. See Tracy Mountford, who will tell you if Botox can help – and do a thrillingly natural job if it can. cosmeticskinclinic.com; 01753 646660 O

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O Get your teeth whitened. You’re aiming for pearly not nuclear. Dr Rhona Eskander at Chelsea Dental Clinic is your girl. drrhonaeskander.co.uk; 020 7349 8889 O Book a make-up trial. This is very important. You don’t want to discover you’ve been transformed into a Svetlana vamp or under-made-up like a dewy wood sprite without prior permission. O Have a hair trial. Also crucial. No unplanned Princess Royal, please.

ONE MONTH BEFORE Spend a day in your bridal underwear. Are the knickers riding up? Is the underwiring digging into your armpits and giving you trashy-bride cleavage? O Start wearing your wedding shoes, even if you’re just wandering around the house in your PJs or heading out to the shops – you’ve got to break in those bad boys before the big day. And practise walking so you don’t look like you’ve got a stick up your arse. O To combat excessive sweating, get Botox in your armpits – Dr Jean-Louis Sebagh is the man to see. drsebagh.com; 020 7637 0548 O

T H E DAY B E F O R E Steroid shot with Dr Susan Mayou – it will kill bacteria and take down inflammation in any emergency spots. If a whopper is going to erupt, this is probably the day it will happen. cadoganclinic.com; 0808 278 4160 O Lash extensions at Blink Brow Bar – so your mascara won’t run if you get overemotional. Result. blinkbrowbar.com; 020 7486 2835 O Shellac mani/pedi (so you’re still chip-free on your honeymoon). Book Maria Shirashi at Daniel Hersheson in Conduit Street. hershesons.com; 020 7434 1747 O Have a spray tan – Amanda Harrington, at In Parlour, contours arms, décolleté and shoulders to make you look magically toned. inparlour.co.uk; 020 3713 9365 O

THE MORNING OF Have a massage. Tomoko Burgess comes to your house. It might help you feel less hysterical. 07951 032343 O A few drops of Bach Rescue Remedy. Or a hip flask of brandy. May also help you feel less hysterical. O Pack your bridal bag: floss, lipstick, deodorant, emergency Tampax. O Don’t down a bottle of champagne at breakfast. You won’t have eaten for about six months, so it will go straight to your brain like a bullet train. O Equally, don’t drink too much water. You don’t want to need a wee seconds before you walk down the aisle. O

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, SHUTTERSTOCK, REX FEATURES, ALAMY

YOU R BIG -DAY BE AU T Y R EGIM E

Book a ‘bacial’ (a facial for your back) with Nataliya Robinson – and banish bridal bacne. nataliyarobinson.co.uk; 020 7349 0038 O


WEDDING DRESS BY PHILLIPA LEPLEY. FLOWERS BY PHILIPPA CRADDOCK. MODEL: OLIVIA BENNETT

TATLER • PROMOTION

SCENT WITH LOVE

The sense of smell is one of the most powerful evokers of memory. With that in mind, your wedding perfume suddenly takes on a whole new significance. It is not just a simple scent to enjoy but a time traveller that can easily transport you back to your special day. Love in White by Creed is the perfect bridal scent. A beautiful bouquet of white flowers – magnolia, narcissus and white hyacinth – combined with fresh grass, white iris from Florence and finished with rice husk and vanilla for longevity. This fragrance will remind you of that walk down the aisle, your groom’s loving gaze, the first dance cheek-to-cheek. A romantic perfume with which to weave romantic memories. The Creed Boutique at 99 Mount Street, Mayfair offers a private and restful environment where you can experience a bespoke fragrance consultation to uncover your perfect wedding day scent. The boutique’s team of highly trained experts can accommodate any fragrance need, guiding you through an impressive journey of scent discovery. So whether it’s an exquisite gift or a luxurious treat for your special day, you’re bound to feel inspired. Best of all, you can customise your chosen wedding day fragrance with a special message, date or initials, ensuring it will become a beautiful keepsake forever more.

Creed Boutique, 99 Mount Street, Mayfair, London W1 For more information, please visit creedfragrances.co.uk Photographed by David Parfitt. Styled by Gavin Shaw & Samantha Brownstein


Be au t y

T HE CU R SE OF T HE

SLOANE GRANNY You are a modern young woman, so why have you chosen to look like your favourite ancestor on your wedding day? Step away from the curlers and lacquer, counsels Annabel Rivkin

S TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

never have it that way. If you’re putting a tiara on top, however, absolutely get that hair up. Hair down will transform a beautiful headpiece into a hideous Alice band. It doesn’t need to be Miss World up, all smooth and perfect and high street. It just needs texture, a little muscle, so get busy with the Kérastase Spray à Porter, £21, because that subtle coarseness is what will elevate you towards film-star glamour. Why be provincial, unless that is your active aim? But why be anything but who you are? Too much of any of the above will make any bride, whatever her age, look older (particularly those stupid lashes). And each shade of tan, each slash of unexpected lipstick, will take you further away from the person who was proposed to. Or, indeed, who did the proposing. Just remember this: weddings are not all about the photographs. Unfashionable. But crucial. (

PHOTOGRAPH: GETTY IMAGES

omething odd happens to Sloanes when they get married. Sometimes, to even quite forward-thinking Sloanes. And that thing is, they decide to dress like their grandmother for the big day. Stiff, starched updo à la Raine, Countess Spencer, on which the family tiara is perched. And a heavily powdered face and worrying plum-coloured lipstick, because they think that it’s got to last all through church and the reception, until at least the first dance. (What happens after that matters less at Sloaney weddings, because everyone will be so roaringly drunk and all the chaps will have taken their ties off and knotted them round their heads like Gloucestershire’s answer to Rambo.) But there’s good news, brides – it’s 2017, and you can loosen up a bit. Presumably you are getting married because someone likes... actual you. Which is reason enough to want to look like actual you as you walk down the aisle. It’s obvious once you get with the programme. Just do what you do. But better. So, if you don’t wear red lipstick, then don’t wear red lipstick. If you do, you’ll look and feel uncomfortable – and good luck with ‘you may now kiss the bride’. It’ll be like Armageddon up at the altar. Stick to a soft modern, like Laura Mercier’s Crème Smooth Lip Colour in Dulce De Leche, £22. It’s polish rather than pow. That wall-to-wall vogue for great big black fake lashes that last for months but take your own lashes with them? Non. No. Do not. They are so homogenising and so obviously stuck on and deeply naff and troublesome, leaving all wearers blinking like camels in the sun. If you want an augmented-lash situation, then get someone skilful to attach some individual lashes to your upper, outer lid only. They will help your eyes to ‘wing’ outwards for dramarama. Otherwise it’s probably a Dior Diorshow mascara, £25, moment, isn’t it? And seeing as we are being bossy – and by we I mean me – no French manicures. And certainly no French pedicures. It is just not OK. Too TV awards. Essie’s pale-pinky-nudey Mademoiselle, £10.95, is your friend here. But I would counsel one coat only. Or, if you really want granny to approve, just buff. Those who are really old and/or really grand secretly think all nail polish is common. Which brings me to tans. These feel good and, often, in real life, look good. But violent tans don’t photograph well. They can look livid and ageing in pictures, so it’s best to go a shade or two lighter than you might for a party where you want to look foxy. Having it done a couple of days before the wedding will give it a chance to settle in – better to dial it up with Chanel’s brilliant Les Beiges Healthy Glow Powder, £39, than look like Ray Winstone in Sexy Beast, much as we fancy him. And if you want anyone to fancy you (it would be helpful if your about-to-be-husband didn’t fancy you less than usual), then watch the barnet. Do not assume that you have to wear your hair up if you


TATLER • PROMOTION

‘We have every treatment to help a bride look her very best for the big day’ Dr Rita Rakus

W

ith all the stress and strain of organising a wedding, it can often be difficult to find some time for you. Guestlists, dress fittings and gruelling fitness regimes seem to trump beauty TLC. But as renowned cosmetic doctor and skin therapist Dr Rita Rakus will tell you, this is a mistake. Looking effortless on your wedding day necessitates a bit of effort in the run-up. This is your big moment after all, and it’s only right you should look as special as you feel. Always wanted slightly fuller lips? Dying to nip those wrinkles in the bud? Or simply want a relaxing, revitalising facial? Turn to Dr Rakus. An international award winner with a huge celebrity following and 25 years’ experience in clinical practice, Dr Rakus is fully equipped to tackle all your pre-wedding beauty concerns. Ding dong, here comes the bride.

ONLY EYES FOR YOU Your eyes will be very expressive on your big day. All that bashful gazing and fluttering of eyelashes will really draw attention to your peepers and the skin that surrounds them. Feel up to the scrutiny? Dr Rakus offers a range of treatments that can help. Take Thermage, for example. This unique deep-heat technology is designed to boost collagen production and contour the delicate under-eye area. Then there’s TotalFX, the skin-tightening resurfacing laser that reduces brown spots and wrinkles in a flash. Couple these therapies with a hint of Botox to ensure your eyes are crow’s-feet free and ready to sparkle.

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD Maybe you’re not someone who naturally loses weight in the run-up to the wedding. Maybe, instead, you find yourself worrying about the zipper on your dress and struggling to shed every pound. Don’t panic. Dr Rita Rakus can tailor a selection of treatments specifically to you, ensuring a svelte, toned, hourglass silhouette. CoolSculpting is the game-changing fat-freezing treatment that can zap bulges away from all your niggly, problem areas. Meanwhile, Cellulaze can help make orange-peel skin a thing of the past. It uses a laser to target bumpy, fatty deposits deep down in the dermis. So when you’re being held close during that first dance, you’ll feel like a supermodel.

BELLE OF THE BALL

Want to look happy-ever-after beautiful on your wedding day? Let cosmetic fairy godmother Dr Rita Rakus weave some magic

SEALED WITH A LOVING KISS You’ll be pecking family and friends on the cheek and planting romantic kisses on your handsome beau. You want your lips to be soft, smooth, luscious and full. Dr Rita Rakus, aka the London Lip Queen, knows just what to do. A combination of Juvéderm (the injectable, volume-plumping gel) and collagen-booster Pellevé will create your dream pout.

The clinic is conveniently located in Knightsbridge, opposite Harrods. 34 Hans Road, London SW3. For more information, visit drritarakus.com or call 020 7460 7324.


condenastjohansens.com Domaine des Etangs, France


T R AV E L HELLO PARADISE!

PHOTOGRAPH: STEWART FEREBEE/TRUNKARCHIVE.COM

Honeymoons for every sort of couple, even the ones who want to bring their children (weirdos). By Francisca Kellett

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A HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE IN CAR-FREE ZERMATT

hy take your mates on honeymoon? Because you can prolong the celebration, that’s why – more time to make it all about YOU. Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux did it. Does that help? Best thing to do is cart along your best pals for a few fun days of ski touring, and then send them on their merry way so you can enjoy some alone time. Peligoni Ski, run by the rather smart Ben Shearer, can organise a seven-night ski safari, starting in Zermatt and heading off-piste to Cervinia. BOOK IT Peligoni Ski (peligoniski.com; 020 8740 3024) offers a seven-night ski safari from £1,950 per person, including accommodation, flights and transfers. Six days’ ski guiding costs from £1,250 (for up to six people) and a heli-drop from £750 (for two people). Alternatively, hit the Med in Narvalo, a new-tomarket explorer yacht. It has a whacking great deck to party on, four lower cabins and a big master suite up top, so you can sleep 12 people, plus groovy Italian interiors and all sorts of water toys (jetskis, jet boards, Seabobs). BOOK IT Y.CO (y.co; 020 7584 1801) offers seven nights from £ 97,125 (sleeps 12).

TRADITIONMOON

Y

ou’re knackered and just want to escape for some sun, sea and... alright, we get it. A tropical island is what you’re after. Top of the trad list is the Maldives, a no-brainer for the beaches and the fact that shoes are basically against the law. Lara Pilkington and Rory McIntyre chose Gili Lankanfushi, and quite right too when the Residence is the largest, prettiest overwater villa in the world. True fact. BOOK IT Elegant Resorts (elegantresorts.co.uk; 01244 897517) offers seven nights for the price of six, half board, from £7,655 per person, including flights and transfers. The Seychelles is another biggie. Kate and Wills chilled post-wedding on the ridiculously perfect North Island, or there is brand new Six Senses Zil Pasyon, with 30 pool villas and a spa built right into the granite hills. BOOK IT Turquoise Holidays (turquoiseholidays.co.uk; 01494 678400) offers seven nights for the price of six on Zil Pasyon from £4,295 per person, including breakfast, flights, transfers and couples massage. There’s more beachy loveliness (plus local culture, hiking and literary festivals – Richard E Grant is a fan) in Mauritius. Constance Le Prince Maurice is kind to honeymooners (40 per cent off villas, FYI), and adds perks such as private candlelit suppers. BOOK IT Susie Freeman Travel (susiefreemantravel.com; 01488 668821) offers seven nights, half board, from £1,900 per person, including flights, transfers and £100 resort credit per day. Finally, old fave the Caribbean, where we’re particularly fond of COMO Parrot Cay on Turks & Caicos. A good one for the camera-shy (boats patrol the waters to keep paparazzi away), with empty beaches and lush celebrity-owned villas (Donna Karan, Bruce Willis). Everyone from Miranda Hart to the Delevingnes loves it here. BOOK IT Carrier (carrier.co.uk; 0161 492 1354) offers seven nights for the price of five from £1,935 per person, including breakfast, flights and transfers.

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

ABOVE, LEFT & RIGHT, LARA & RORY MCINTYRE SNAP A SELFIE AND JUMP FOR JOY IN THE MALDIVES. LEFT, POPPY DELEVINGNE. BELOW LEFT, RICHARD E GRANT. RIGHT, SIX SENSES ZIL PASYON

PHOTOGRAPHS: REX FEATURES, XPOSUREPHOTOS.COM, ALAMY STOCK PHOTO, INSIGHT NEWS & FEATURES, THE PICTURE LIBRARY. GROOTBOS.COM

BUDDYMOON


BEFOREMOON

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es, this is a thing. It’s what you do before the wedding when all that organisational stress is getting too much and you need to escape and remember why the hell you’re getting married in the first place. Getting some space is just the ticket, and Swedish Lapland has lots of that. Let off some steam with husky-sledding and snowmobile-racing, and the chance of going ‘oooooh!’ at the Northern Lights. Sleep in Treehotel’s new futuristic seventh ‘room’, suspended between the trees 30 feet in the air, before heading to Loggers Lodge – your very own wilderness cabin with zero other tourists but lots of reindeer and moose. BOOK IT Simply Sweden (simplysweden.co.uk; 01427 700115) offers two nights in Treehotel and one in Logger’s Lodge, half board, from £2,070 per person, including flights and road and husky transfers. There are big views and bigger skies at Kasbah Tamadot, the Bransons’ place in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains. Some of the suites are in Berber tents and have their own hot tubs. Romance abounds – suppers in secluded locations, massages and champage on tap. BOOK IT Virgin Limited Edition (virginlimitededition.com; 0800 716919) offers three nights, half board, from £2,030 per couple, including a spa treatment each. Or clear your heads in Tuscany at the ever-elegant Il Pellicano, where Natasha Allsopp and Billy Morley honeymooned. There’s a blissful saltwater pool, Tuscan-red buildings swathed in bougainvillea, a graceful beach club and orange-scented breezes. BOOK IT Double, from £380 (pellicanohotels.com; 00 39 0564 858111). IL PELLICANO

ABOVE, PRINCESSES CAROLINE & ALEXANDRA OF HANOVER & A FRIEND IN GSTAAD. BELOW, GROOTBOS RESERVE

FAMILYMOON

Y

ou’ve had the brood before tying the knot? Bring ’em along. Dubai is the easy option (shortish flight time, surefire sun), and One&Only The Palm is the best hotel in the city, with villas big enough for cartwheels, a huge palm-fringed pool and a kids’ club for when you want to hit the spa/sheets. BOOK IT ITC Luxury Travel (itcluxurytravel.co.uk; 01244 355527) offers seven nights from £2,340 per person, including breakfast, flights and transfers. Or fly south for a 10-night African adventure. South Africa is easy as pie (no time difference, cheap as chips once you’re there), so start in a sweet cottage in Cape Town’s Belmond Mount Nelson Hotel, spend a few days in a private villa at Franschhoek’s La Clé des Montagnes, romp outdoors at Grootbos reserve and finish with a three-day (malaria-free) animal extravaganza at Amakhala Hlosi Game Lodge. BOOK IT Africa Travel (africatravel.co.uk; 020 7843 3500) offers a 10night tour from £11,360 for a family of four, including flights and car hire. Sri Lanka is hot right now, and Scott Dunn can organise riding, cycling through tea plantations, watching turtles hatch, kayaking and leopard-spotting, plus kid-friendly tours of cultural sites like Anuradhapura, Sigiriya Rock Fortress and the Dambulla cave temples. BOOK IT Scott Dunn (scottdunn.com; 020 8682 5060) offers seven nights from £2,300 per person, including flights, transfers and some activities. A snowy option is that pinnacle of perfection in Switzerland, Alpina Gstaad, a favourite with the Euro royals and Sir Elton John and David Furnish. The vast new Chalet Suite is plenty big enough for the sprogs too. BOOK IT Chalet Suite (sleeps six), from £49,180 a week, including breakfast and daily credit of £80 per person for the restaurants (thealpinagstaad.ch; 00 41 33 888 9888). Another good idea is Schloss Elmau in the Bavarian Alps, a pitchperfect castle hotel (which hosted the G7 in 2015, so if they can deal with that lot...). Four spas, a rollicking kids’ club, various restaurants and miles of Heidi hills to explore. BOOK IT Family suite (sleeps four), from £3,960 a week, half board (schloss-elmau.de; 00 49 8823 180).

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017


Tr av el

MINIMOON

Y

ou’ve only got a few days so Make. Every. Second. Count. You can’t go wrong with Le Bristol in Paris, the city’s most charmingly old-school (and most comfortable and most elegant) hotel, with the finest staff in the land. BOOK IT Double, from £835, including breakfast (lebristolparis.com; 00 33 1 53 43 43 00). A wee bit further afield is Le Sirenuse in Positano, with terribly romantic views of the sea, smart guests (Eddie Redmayne, Dame Natalie Massenet, John Simpson), beautiful food and endless terraces for Aperol afternoons. BOOK IT Double, from £455, including breakfast (sirenuse.it; 00 39 089 875066). Want exotic? Do the Mandarin Oriental Marrakesh, which has private riads you don’t need to leave but should, to mooch around 50 acres of rose gardens and olive groves, drink cocktails at Ling Ling by Hakkasan and get a thorough scrubbing in the spa. BOOK IT Double, from £550, including breakfast (mandarinoriental. com; 00 212 5 24 29 88 88). Even further? New York’s hottest new opening, the Whitby, in upper Midtown, was designed by the tirelessly stylish Kit Kemp. The Whitby Suite covers the entire top floor and has two terraces: one gazing at Downtown, the other ogling Uptown. BOOK IT Double, from £630 (firmdalehotels.com). Or keep it super-local (if not super-low-key) and follow the lead of Martha Beaumont and Arthur Vestey, who, after a few peaceful days in Jura, hit the Glastonbury Festival. FUN.

CULTURALMOON

Y

ou don’t want to laze on a beach. You want to ENGAGE. How about the best bits of South-East Asia, covering the key culture marvels in Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia (just a few short flights apart)? Cleveland Collection can do a grand tour that includes Luang Prabang in Laos, staying in the Belmond La Résidence Phou Vao, followed by Hanoi, Halong Bay (drifting about in a posh junk), Hoi An and Saigon. Then it’s on to Phnom Penh (staying in the beautiful, colonial Raffles Hotel Le Royal) and the temples of Angkor in Cambodia, finishing at the frankly blissful private island resort of Song Saa, to rest your overstretched brains for five days. Phew. BOOK IT Cleveland Collection (clevelandcollection.co.uk; 020 7843 3596) offers a 17-night tour from £5,900 per person, including accommodation, flights, transfers and tours. A pleasingly regal option is touring Rajasthan’s swankiest palaces. Start in Suján Rajmahal Palace, one of Jaipur’s oldest (the Queen has stayed, so you know it’s good), to see the best bits of the Pink City, followed by the art-deco Umaid Bhawan Palace in Jodhpur, still home to the Maharaja Gaj Singh II and his family (Olivia Palermo has stayed, so you know it’s good). Ask nicely and he’ll let you take a spin in his vintage 1946 Packard. Then it’s to the snazzed-up Raas Devigarh, an 18th-century palace near Udaipur, to explore the Aravalli Hills. BOOK IT Ampersand Travel (ampersandtravel.com; 020 7819 9770) offers a 14-night tour, with city stopovers at the Lodhi in Delhi, from £5,990 per person, including accommodation, flights and private car with driver.

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, SIMON BROWN, REX FEATURES, ROMEO BALANCOURT, NICOLAS DUMONT

LEFT, THE QUEEN AND THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH IN INDIA, 1961. BELOW, THE VIEW FROM RAAS DEVIGARH. RIGHT, OLIVIA PALERMO

LEFT, THE COURTYARD AT LE BRISTOL. ABOVE, A ROOM AT THE WHITBY. RIGHT, EDDIE REDMAYNE


TATLER • PROMOTION

HERE COMES THE TIDE Start marital bliss in style with a sojourn at a luxurious Sandals resort in the Caribbean

Y

our wedding is one of the most important milestones in your life. It’s fun, it’s romantic – but it also happens to be exceptionally stressful. There’s choosing the dress, tracking down out-of-season flowers, arranging a seating plan. All this planning and organising culminates in the big day, which can pass by in a whirlwind of meeting and greeting relatives. Needless to say, by the end, you’re completely exhausted. Wouldn’t it be fabulous to take off to one of Sandals’ resorts in the Caribbean for your honeymoon and some much-needed downtime? Or, even better, why not bypass the bulk of the fuss by opting for a beach wedding? For the past 21 years, Sandals Resorts has been named the ‘World’s Leading All-Inclusive Resorts’ at the World Travel Awards. It’s an honour that reflects the unparalleled service in these paradise properties across Jamaica, Saint Lucia, Bahamas, Antigua, Grenada and Barbados. The Luxury Included® package is designed with couples in mind. And it really is heaven. For a start, you’ll be spoilt for choice when it comes to dining. There are up to 16 restaurants per resort rustling up everything from sushi and French cuisine to authentic Caribbean jerk. Then there are the spas. Every destination boasts a tip-top retreat guaranteed to knead, coax and pamper you back to your most relaxed self. For those seeking a little more activity than turning over on the sunlounger, there are unlimited sports – including scuba diving for certified divers and championship golf courses. That is, if you can bear to leave the comfort and seclusion of your Love Nest Suite! In the Caribbean, you’ll find year-round sunshine and breathtaking views as standard. Not to mention friendly and hospitable locals. But the Sandals difference? This is a resort that truly goes the extra mile and prioritises making your dream holiday come true. Whether it’s creating a candlelit supper overlooking azure waters or arranging the ultimate boat trip, everything is carried out with meticulous attention to detail. All couples are assigned their very own wedding planner, making the ceremony completely customisable and unique. Kick off your shoes, feel the sand beneath your toes and say ‘I do’ to a more chilled out wedding.

For more information, visit sandals.co.uk or call 0800 742 742. Pop in to see the Sandals team at 135 Fulham Road, London SW3

TATLER OFFER Want £100 off your booking? Simply quote the code ‘TATLER100’ on the website or over the phone. Offer ends 31 March, 2017. For full terms and conditions, talk to a Sandals representative.


Tr av el

ADVENTUREMOON

T

he big kahuna, the once-in-a-lifetime wonder. You might want to call it a maximoon. For the ultimate kick-off, do what Genevieve and Sam Kershaw did and start with Burning Man. Fly to San Francisco, and first take a road trip south along Big Sur (stay at the Post Ranch Inn), then loop back up through Sonoma (the Farmhouse Inn is the place to sleep) before heading into the Nevada desert to party your rocks off. Then it’s down to LA and a flight over to French Polynesia’s eco-haven the Brando, Marlon Brando’s old private island, where slick villas sit on a ravishing tropical atoll. Recover from the mother of all hangovers, then take a direct flight from Tahiti to Chile, for a squizz at Santiago and a mooch around Patagonia. BOOK IT Original Travel (originaltravel.co.uk; 020 7978 7333) offers a 25-night tour from £60,000 (for two), including accommodation, flights, transfers and activities. Keeping to the schlep-round-the-world theme, we’re also keen on Red Savannah’s 20-day extravaganza to New Zealand. There are heavenly hotels including Kauri Cliffs, Cape Kidnappers, Hapuku Lodge and Matakauri Lodge, with braggable bolt-ons like rainforest yomps, whale-watching and helicopter zips up volcanoes. BOOK IT Red Savannah (redsavannah.com; 01242 787800) offers a 19-night tour from £15,320 per person, including accommodation, flights, car rental, transfers and activities. Another boombastic idea is copying Nicky Hilton and James Rothschild’s honeymoon to Botswana and the Seychelles. It’s the Big Five (and some) in Botswana, with everything from walking with elephants to paddling through the Okavango Delta in a canoe for a crocodile’s-eye view of the wildlife. Then shoot over for some R&R at Maia resort in the Seychelles. BOOK IT Abercrombie & Kent (abercrombiekent.co.uk; 01242 547702) offers a 13-night tour from £15,365 per person, full board, including flights and activities. Or get down and dirty with our closest relatives on a gorilla safari, staying in Uganda’s Mount Gahinga Lodge and Rwanda’s Virunga Lodge to track the great beasts. Then head to Zanzibar, where Annabelle and Thomas Greenall ended their African honeymoon, for a laze on the bone-white sands of Mnemba Island Lodge and diving in the Bombay Sapphire waters. BOOK IT Steppes Travel (steppestravel.co.uk; 0843 778 9926) offers a 12-day tour from £9,995 per person, full board, including flights, transfers, gorillatracking permits, activities and two dives a day at Mnemba.

ABOVE, MNEMBA ISLAND. LEFT, MARLON BRANDO & TARITA TERIIPAIA, HIS THIRD WIFE, ON TETIAROA, 1961. BELOW, THOMAS & ANNABELLE GREENALL ON THEIR AFRICAN HONEYMOON

WIN A FREE HONEYMOON CLEVELAND COLLECTION (clevelandcollection. co.uk; 020 7843 3596) is offering one couple the chance to win a fabulous honeymoon in Vietnam worth £7,000. Seven nights at Fusion Maia Da Nang, with breakfast and unlimited spa treatments (yes, really), plus flights with Vietnam Airlines. We know! Visit tatler.com/honeymoon.

The Beaumont

The Franklin

Best for Art-deco loveliness and a sexy bar to hide

Best for A sultry Chelsea hideaway courtesy of

away in. Double, from £395 (thebeaumont.com; 020 7499 1001).

Anouska Hemple. Double, from £400 (thefranklinlondon.com; 020 7584 5533).

Ham Yard Hotel

Rosewood London

Best for Soho style, and decor as cheerful as a puppy

Best for Acrobatics. The Grand Manor House

eating a marshmallow. Double, from £385, including breakfast (firmdalehotels.com; 020 3642 2000).

Wing suite is so big it has its own postcode. Double, from £390 (rosewoodhotels.com; 020 7781 8888).

Claridge’s

The Savoy

Best for The most elegant first night on the planet,

Best for Eye-popping views in bed. Of outside.

and a dazzling breakfast the next morning. Double, from £540 (claridges.co.uk; 020 7629 8860).

Of the Thames. Double, from £450 (fairmont.com; 020 7836 4343).

TAT L ER W ED D I N G G U I D E 2017

HAM YARD HOTEL PHOTOGRAPHS:DOOK PHOTO, GETTY IMAGES, SIMON BROWN

LO N DO N W E D D I N G N I G H T S


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PHOTOGRAPH: GETTY IMAGES

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WED DI N G DIRECTORY From fairytale dresses to magnificent castles and the odd magician, Tatlerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s address book of the people who will create your perfect day

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Bridalwear

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, ALAMY, SHUTTERSTOCK

AMANDA WA KELEY This Brit designer’s slinky, elegant dresses are a favourite with brides getting married abroad. Her designs can take you from the English countryside to Greece, Rajasthan and beyond. amanda wakeley.com; 020 3384 6670 CAROLINA HE RRERA No one does timeless glamour quite like Carolina Herrera. Which is why celebrities such as Olivia Palermo, Renée Zellweger and Mad Men’s Christina Hendricks pick her for their wedding gowns. thewedding-club. co.uk; 020 7581 9540   OSCAR DE L A RENTA De la Renta dresses are always head-turners – ultra feminine and romantic. oscardelarenta.com; 020 7493 0422   PHILLIPA LEPLEY Lepley has been in the business for more than 25 years, dressing Lady Emily Compton, Alice Naylor-Leyland and Fawn James for their big days. She’s famous for her waist-defining corsets (the

designs for which are top secret). phillipalepley.com; 020 7590 9771   SAVANNA H MILLER FOR STO NE FOX BR IDE Miller’s dresses have a laidback, whimsical vibe. Think Queen Guinevere crossed with Sienna Miller at her boho finest – well, she is the designer’s sister. stonefox bride.com; 00 1 212 260 8600   VERA WANG Wang, the queen of bridalwear in the US for the past 26 years, has dressed everyone, from Victoria Beckham and Chelsea Clinton to Ivanka Trump and Lily Aldridge. verawang.com; 020 7409 2826   K ATE HALFPENNY Halfpenny is Kate Moss’s close pal and stylist, and her designs have that Brit-cool, rock-chick vibe – perfect for those after something retro-inspired but still totally modern. halfpennylondon. com; 020 3441 8894

TEMPE RLEY LONDO N Somerset-born Alice Temperley specialises in fairytale dresses that look perfect in English country gardens – as Jacquetta Wheeler

discovered when she got her to make the dress for her Chilham Castle nuptials. temperleylondon. com; 020 7229 7957   JENNY PAC KHAM Packham is famed for her exquisitely embellished dresses – she’s the absolute master of beading and sequins. jenny packham.com; 020 7493 6295   CHAR LIE BRE AR Modern brides love Charlie Brear’s clean, unfussy designs and they go really wild for her mix-and-match separates. charliebrear.com; 020 7637 4898   DELPOZO You probably didn’t even know that Delpozo do wedding dresses, but they do – and brilliant ones, with dramatic silhouettes, inventive appliqués and the softest silk tulle you’ve touched. delpozo.com; 020 7881 0950   EMMA VICTOR IA PAYNE Vintage-inspired bridalwear – so think nipped-in waists and stunningly intricate lace veils. emmavictoriapayne.co.uk; 020 7584 8322

London venues CHELSE A PHYSIC GA RDEN A beautiful garden in the middle of Chelsea? Er, yes please. But it’s more than that. It’s the second-oldest botanical garden in Britain (it was founded in 1673). And you can dance there, among the 5,000 types of plants. chelseaphysicgarden.co.uk; 020 7349 6460 THE CONNAUG HT There are seven different rooms for you to pick from – even better, the hotel is within a bouquet’s throw from Farm Street Church. the-connaught. co.uk; 020 7499 7070 PETERSHAM NUR SER IES The nurseries are decked out with antique tables and wild foliage, and lit by fairy lights and candles at night. It’s the sort of venue Miss Havisham

might have dreamed of. If only her groom had shown up. petershamnurseries.com; 020 8940 5230   SYO N PARK Yes, Syon Park is in Middlesex, but the Duke of Northumberland calls it his London home. It has all the grandness of a stately, with the benefit of being close to the city. Plus, there’s a big glass dome you can stare at the stars through. syonpark.co.uk; 020 8560 0882   THE ORANGERY, KENSINGTO N PAL ACE Soaring ceilings, classical 18thcentury architecture and still home to the Royal Family – how lovely. But also, so convenient for Uber. hrp.org.uk; 020 3166 6115   THE SAVILE CLU B It has a ballroom – a ballroom in the very heart of London! Imagine all the fun to be had skidding along the floor. savileclub.co.uk; 020 7491 5526   DART MOU TH HOUSE Do you know what’s a bad look? Smoking. Particularly out on the London streets when dressed in your wedding best. V. naff, that. But not here – because this townhouse has a lovely little courtyard. So that’s one thing sorted. dartmouthhouse.co.uk; 020 7529 1554   BANQUETING HOU SE If getting married isn’t already overwhelming enough, check out the ceilings here – just some casual masterpieces by Rubens. Nice. hrp.org.uk; 020 3166 6152   THE RITZ Socialite Sir Michael Duff said, of life in the Thirties, ‘to meet at the Ritz is the obvious choice’. He could have added ‘for your wedding’. A truly stunning venue. theritzlondon.com; 020 7493 8181   THE DO RC HESTER Sod sweeping hills and green as far as the eye can see. Instead, picture this: a roof terrace with views across London

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Di r ec tory

MANDAR IN OR IENTAL HYDE PA RK Don’t worry, we’re sure the Queen will say yes, but you’ve got to get permission from Her Maj to use the private Royal Entrance on the Hyde Park side. Worth it though, as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge would agree – they held a gala dinner before their wedding in the Mandarin’s ballroom. mandarinoriental.com; 020 7201 3772 CO RINTHIA HOTEL LO NDO N There’s a 1,001-crystal globe chandelier in the lobby lounge, which is v. swanks. Sadly, guests aren’t allowed to swing from it

– not even if you’re the bride. corinthia.com; 020 7321 3039   THE SAVOY Considered ‘fast’ in the Twenties – which, let’s be honest, translates to FUN – the Savoy has only got more impressive and more fancy over time. fairmont.com;  020 7420 2328   CL ARIDGE’S If you want Claridge’s but aren’t a ballroom bride, the French Salon and the Drawing Room next door are the answer. Art deco meets 18th-century grandeur: a marriage made in heaven. claridges.co.uk; 020 7409 6500

COMO ME TROP OLITAN LO NDON You are not having a wedding in the Cotswolds with a marquee in your parents’ garden. You are having a chic, London wedding with a chic, minimalist dress at a chic, minimalist hotel. Enjoy. comohotels.com; 020 7447 1000   THE BERKELEY A ballroom that can seat over 200 people, plus there’s the Blue Bar for when it all gets a bit much

and you want to sneak off for a quick snifter. the-berkeley.co.uk; 020 7107 8897   HOTEL CAFE ROYAL The Versailles effect but in London. Which is way more handy. hotelcaferoyal.com; 020 7406 3300   RESTAUR ANT OUR S What used to be the Collection is now a split-level restaurant with trees that reach towards the high ceilings. Handy for lunch after a trip to Chelsea Register Office. restaurant-ours.com; 020 7100 2200

Out of London BLENHEIM PAL ACE The Long Library, the Great Hall, the Saloon or on the South Lawn – so many possible locations to host your wedding. Not very surprising when you consider Blenheim trumps Buckingham Palace in size. blenheimpalace.com; 01993 810530   BELVOIR CASTLE Home to the Duke of Rutland – and, should you want,

there’s a castle cannon master who will fire off the duke’s cannons. Get that. But, tbh, the Capability Brown-designed grounds are plenty fancy enough. belvoircastle.com; 01476 871032

THE BADMINTON ESTATE Here’s a fact: the game of badminton was invented in this house (home to the Duke and Duchess of Beaufort) in 1863. This could come in handy when stuck for conversation during the reception, whether standing inside by a roaring fire or in a marquee in the deer park. badmintonestate.co.uk; 01454 218203 HEDSO R HOUSE This place has a half-mile-long drive through 100 acres of parkland, and DJ Mark Ronson said that the Georgian house is the ‘ideal setting to host an unforgettable party’. He should know. hedsor.com; 01628 819050 ELMORE COURT Beautiful views, sure. A lovely house, tick. A soundproofed, purpose-built party room (the Gillyflower) – now you’re talking. Or dancing, as the case may be. elmorecourt.com; 01452 720293   COWD RAY HOUSE Golf, clay-pigeon shooting, fly-fishing and polo... it all happens here. As do weddings, in front of the magnificent Tudor ruins if you like, for added dramatic effect. cowdray.co.uk; 01730 814522 AYNHOE PAR K Floating giraffes and unicorns: welcome to Aynhoe, a far cry from your ordinary country estate, packed with taxidermy and kitted out for the most imaginative parties. aynhoepark. co.uk; 01869 810636   SOR N CASTLE If it all gets a little too much – you know, the whole castle/ champagne thing – take a stroll through the 8,000 acres of parkland and along the river Ayr. sorncastle.com; 01290 551476

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PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES

(absolutely no filter needed). LIKE. dorchestercollection.com; 020 7629 8888   ROYAL HOSPI TAL CHELSE A And you thought this venue was just for those famous Chelsea pensioners? Wrong. You can hold your reception in the central courtyard, dine in the Great Hall and even walk down the aisle here. You can’t wear the uniform, though, soz. chelsea-pensioners. co.uk; 020 7881 5200


A B understands parties; and she got married recently, so she’s done the whole being-a-bride thing herself. What more do you need? lizlinkleter.com; 07736 288117   BRIDEBOOK All the benefits of a wedding planner without actually having to pay for one. This is a website that modestly bills itself as ‘the most useful wedding platform in the world’. Sign up for free to see for yourself. bridebook.com; hello@bridebook.co.uk

GOODWOOD HOU SE Whether you want to party in the house’s State Apartments – mind the Stubbs – or outside beside the cricket pavilion, this 12,000-acre estate is about as English as it gets. Plus, there’s a hotel with 93 rooms nearby, so Great Uncle Hubert can push off early. goodwood.com; 01243 520195

Organisers FAIT ACCOMPLI By definition, fait accompli is something that has already happened/been decided and cannot be changed. Here, though, all that means is they’ll take the fuss out of your hands – which is nice, as getting Lionel Richie to play on your big day is no easy feat, but they will fix it. fait accompli.co.uk; 020 7352 2777

MARK NIEMIERKO Mark is so good at organising weddings he now runs an academy for future wedding planners too. But all you really need to know is that in his ‘essentials box’ you’ll find Alka-Seltzer and eye drops. niemierko.com; 020 7580 5010   BY BRUCE RUSSELL Bruce is a Canadian whose background is in education, meaning he understands the need for structure – and how to handle despotic mothers-in-law. bybrucerussell.com; 020 3078 9583   LIZ LIN KLE TER Three things you should know about Liz: she used to work for Alexander McQueen, so knows how to put on a show; she’s worked a summer in Ibiza, so she

KASIMIRA From your standard marquee in Hampshire to a week-long shindig in Tuscany, these guys are fluent when it comes to weddings, and speak French, Italian and Hooray – which is good, as someone needs to understand Uncle Henry. They are also jolly good when it comes to the following day’s recuperative brunch and bloody Marys. kasimira.co.uk; 020 7581 8313   JO HNNY ROXBURGH One of the founders of Admirable Crichton caterers, this ‘party architect’, who has had a Royal Warrant since 2002, is said to have a magic wand when it comes to events, and has thrown them from the Algarve to Agra, Mauritius to Moscow. johnny roxburgh.com; 07876 801004   BY WOR D O F MO UTH They did Tatler’s 300th anniversary bash – our biggest party ever. Need we say more? bywordofmouth.co.uk; 020 8871 9566 SHER LO CK PARTIES Mother-and-son-team Nicky and Hamish Sherlock are completely unflappable and totally reassuring – anything and everything really is possible. They have perfect taste and the poshest clients. sherlockparties.com; 01488 647695

Caterers PE ARD ROP In Rose Lloyd Owen’s previous incarnation as a film agent, her office held a game of Come Dine With Me – she didn’t win. Until she insisted on a recount, that is, and it transpired she was in fact the victor. How’s that for dedication and determination? Which she’ll apply to your whole menu. FYI, her cakes are another level altogether. peardroplondon. com; 020 8537 1188   RHU BAR B This outfit is as trusty as your old morning suit. The guys here have been on the wedding scene for 20 years and recently won the Goodwood catering contract – was it those delightful edible flower garnishes or trusty sausage rolls that closed the deal? rhubarb.co.uk; 020 8812 3200   THE ADMIR ABLE CRICH TON Terribly grand. They co-ordinated the Queen’s 80th birthday do at Kew Palace. They may even have done your parents’ big day. And should you want, their chefs will create edible works of art in front of your guests using food sprays and frozen ice. Fancy. admirablecrichton.co.uk; 020 7326 3800   SPOOK Certain bores still question going south of the river, where Spook is based. Well, pop one of its canapés – we suggest an outrageously good pea fritter – in their pie-hole and tell them to stop whining. spookcooking.com; 020 3397 9537   CELL AR SOCIET Y These guys are known for having waiters even more delicious than their dishes (they only use models), and are the caterers of choice for the fashion set. Dame Natalie Massenet will have no one else for her famous parties. cellarsociety. com; 020 8453 7141   PU BS ON WHEELS Pints, packets of crisps, dartboards and friendly barmen – it’s that simple,

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which is why both Guy Ritchie and Ali Spencer-Churchill had this portable pub at their weddings, offering a breather from all that champagne. pubsonwheels.com; 01256 398857   RUM RUNNER Despite the name, founder Sam Paget Steavenson doesn’t just do rum – he does every drink you can imagine. Sadly, he’s as yet to find a tonic for the inevitable hangovers, as the guests at Nicky Hilton and James Rothschild’s big day can vouch. therumrunner. co.uk; 07876 563172   CO CK & TAIL No, this is not a variation of the fun game ‘cock or ball’ that Sloaney boys so love to play after a few. It’s much better – it’s Freddie Campbell’s well-run portable bar, stocked with handsome barmen and all the booze. cockandtailbars.co.uk; 07810 384486

Florists

SIMO N J LYCET T Royal and celebrity florist, who did the Beckhams’ wedding and sports an extremely swanky moustache. He’s been known to create 10ft decorations that take six men to lift. simonlycett. co.uk; 020 7277 3322

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BY APP OINTMEN T ONLY DESIGN These Marylebone folk practically write fairytales with their romantic designs. Witness the giant swans they created out of roses for last year’s Chelsea in Bloom. byappointmentonlydesign. com; 020 7486 7870 PAUL THOMAS Paul is inspired and influenced by the Edwardian English garden (stocks, sweet peas, roses), and it’s rumoured that the Queen can spot a Paul Thomas design a mile off. Golly. paulthomasflowers.co.uk; 020 7499 6889   ROB VAN HELDEN Rob’s flowers look so good you’ll want to eat them – well maybe not, but he does like to incorporate fruit, vegetables and herbs into his work. Either way, he’s ‘the best flower guy I know’, according to Bond – or, to be more precise, Pierce Brosnan. rvhfloraldesign.com; 020 7720 6774   L AVENDE R GREEN The Lavender Green experience, from the moment of the initial brief, is all about ‘building lasting relationships and teamwork’ – which perfectly describes marriage. The team has even been

JO FLOWERS Jo uses her Norfolk garden as inspiration for her seasonal bouquets and showstopping headdresses. joflowers.co.uk   JAMJAR FLOWERS It’s unsurprising that JamJar’s designs are stylish, slick and beautiful – it was started by former Take 2 Models director, Melissa Richardson (along with a now-departed former magazine designer). Which is why you’ll find JamJar not just at weddings up and down the country, but at trendy places like Sketch and Chiltern Firehouse. jamjarflowers. co.uk; 020 7358 5414   PHILIPPA CR ADD OCK You can throw anything at Philippa, including – as has happened – a demand for 40,000 pink roses for a wedding with only a few days’ notice. #CatchThatBouquet philippacraddock.com; 020 7581 0759 WILLOW C ROSSLEY Want your wedding flowers to have that boho, Cider with Rosie, country-hedgerow kind of look? Then Willow Crossley is your woman. Think cabbage roses and cow parsley. So dreamy. willowcrossley.com; 07766 006894

Entertainers BEN BRIDGEWATER & DAN LYWOOD This duo, who go under the name Playlister, have had heads nodding and feet tapping at Victoria’s Secret shows and Bond premieres and are basically the go-to DJs for any debauched affair – your wedding included. playlister.fm; info@playlister.fm   HUGO HE ATHCOTE It’s actually impossible not to dance when Hugo gets on the decks. Also, he’s utterly charming, which helps things. hugo@decibel london.com; 07939 573198   ARCHIE MANNERS Looks like a mini Tory, turns out to be a magic maestro. Mind blown. archiemanners.com; magic@archiemanners.com DRU MMO ND MONEY-COU T TS Drummond Money-Coutts, aka DMC, dreamt about being a magician when he was a little boy. His dreams turned into a reality. Can make a melon appear from some quite extraordinary places. Has performed for the Queen. dmcmagic.com

Invitations CU T TUR E Whatever image you want laser-cut into card – say, the Mariners (where you first met) – these stationers can do it. cutture.com; 020 7751 8395 L ARA PILKINGTON Lara’s decorative invitations and venue maps, both of which she designed for Victoria von Westenholz’s wedding to Tom McCall, are so full of intricate detail you can’t help but imagine that bands of woodland creatures – maybe Cinderella’s merry gaggle of mice, birds and rabbits – illustrated them. larapilkington.com   SMY THSON You’ll be in safe hands with Smythson, who have been tissuelining envelopes and gold-gilting

PHOTOGRAPHS: GETTY IMAGES, ALAMY

known to design crowns and head garlands out of hydrangeas for dogs. lavendergreen.co.uk; 020 7127 5303   THE GARDEN GAT E FLOWER COMPANY Becca Stuart picks fresh flowers at her family farm in Cornwall and loves to tinker with roses. Expect meticulous attention to detail. thegardengateflower company.co.uk; 07427 686558   WILD WOOD LOND ON Charlotte Wood used to design fashion collections for Burberry and AllSaints. Now she does flowers. Properly posh flowers. THE place for chic, muted tones. Think lilac and faded blue hydrangeas. wildwoodlondon.co. uk; 020 3845 2349


A B edges for 125 years. Also experts in invitation* etiquette. (*ALWAYS ‘an invitation’, never ‘an invite’.) smythson.com; 0808 164 1801

PAUL ANTONIO Whether you want traditional (Paul is Smythson’s scribe of choice) or modern calligraphy (very now), or your names emblazoned in giant letters on a wall, this hunky Brazilian is your man. paulantonioscribe.com; 020 7620 4441 FIN FELLOWES When one of Fin’s creations drops on the doormat, you can guarantee that your guests will not forget to RSVP – they’re far too pretty to ignore, with their swirling letters and whimsical, floral designs. Handy, because it’s such a bore having to chase up RSVPs. finfellowes.com 

Photography HUGO B URNAND You know Kate and Wills, yeah? Well, Hugo photographed their

do – which is sort of a big deal. hugofoto.com; 020 7229 2297

MARCUS DAWES Charming Marcus Dawes – his presence automatically invites a smile. But he’s best at catching people looking natural. marcusdawes.com   L ARA A RNOT T Lara gets it: she gets fun, she gets people and she gets the perfect picture. And everyone gets her. laraarnott.com; 07771 883030 OLIVE R BL AC KWELL Looking at Oliver’s website, you could be mistaken for thinking you’re glancing at Bystander: Alice Keswick, Poppy Delevingne and all those shiny, happy people, getting up to all the usual fun. oliverblackwellphotography.com; 07901 684199

Videography JENKS & CO Daisy and Kitty Jenks, a pair of sparky sisters, can cajole the grumpiest of guests into shimmying and lip-syncing along to anything from Pharrell to The Proclaimers. jenksandco.tv   WILL WARR Will gets those behind-the-scenes bits you really want captured without a hint of cheesy soppiness. He’s easy on the eye too, which goes down well. willwarr.co.uk; 07817 980286   THE D RE AMCATCHERS Adrian Stone has been filming weddings for over 15 years. He does everything from splashy destination weddings to cosy civil ceremonies. thedreamcatchers.co. uk; 07815 831371   VOO P PRODU CTIONS Super-slick and glossy, Voop will make your wedding look like a Baz Luhrmann party scene. voop productions.com; 020 3637 1393

Bridesmaids dresses TEPHI If you want your bridesmaids to look hot without veering into slutty, go to Tephi. Designer Chessie Grievson will come up with bespoke looks for each one, and brides like Daisy Hambro and Alexandra Knatchbull agree she makes everyone look good. tephi.co.uk; 020 7584 1388   REWR IT TEN Not a hint of taffeta here – just gorgeous, floaty dresses done six ways, in pale grey, peach, bluebell and chianti, aka red-wine-proof. Clever! wearerewritten.com   RIXO If the thought of twee, matching dresses brings you out in hives, try Rixo’s pretty patterned designs instead. The Manners girls are big fans. rixo.co.uk; 07989 427418 GHOST Ghost’s slinky slipdresses are the go-to for fashion-savvy brides. Great for that sea-nymphwoodland-fairy look. ghost.co.uk; 020 7581 8607

Mother of the bride CH CA ROLINA HERRERA Herrera’s ready-to-wear label is gloriously chic and understated. We’d put money on Michelle Obama choosing it when her daughters get married – she’s a huge Herrera fan. carolinaherrera. com; 020 3441 0965   CATHERINE WALKER & CO This Chelsea stalwart is a firm favourite for grand weddings – which is why Carole Middleton chose it for the grandest wedding of all. catherinewalker.com; 020 7352 4626   KAT HERINE HOOKER There’s a great ready-to-wear range at this Chelsea atelier, but we love it for its custom-made designs in silks, linens, cashmere and tweed. katherinehooker.com; 020 7352 5091

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MANO LO BL A HNIK Kate Moss’s wedding shoe of choice. manoloblahnik.com; 020 7352 8622 JI MMY CHOO Choo’s bridal collection has something for everyone: feathers, tassels, metallics... There’s a made-to-order service for the personalised option – they can even put a plaque with the date of your wedding on the sole. jimmychoo.com; 020 7493 5858   CHARLOT TE OLYMPI A These higher-than-high platform heels (some with a hint of leopardprint) are not for the faint of heart. When your feet can’t take it anymore, slip into a pair of Charlotte’s famous cat slippers in white. charlotteolympia.com; 020 7499 0145   FRENCH SO LE For the widest range of bridal flats go to French Sole, who can hook you up with glitter-encrusted ballet shoes or grosgrainribboned sneakers. frenchsole.com; 020 7493 2678

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Hair

STEPHANIE POLL A RD Stephanie does marvellous things with natural-looking extensions from her private salon in Chelsea. Great for hair that needs some oomph. stephanie-pollard.com; 020 7751 5673   JACK ME RRICK-THIRLWAY AT NE VILLE Jack’s work is elegant but modern. His skills were on display among the guests at Emilia Wickstead’s Tuscan wedding, and his easygoing chatter calms nervous brides. nevillehairand beauty.net; 020 7235 3654   GARY RUSSELL AT THE CHAPEL Gary, based in Tunbridge Wells, is the go-to guy in the South: as au fait with tiaras and elaborate up-dos as he is with tricky mothersin-law. thechapel.co.uk; 01892 549900

Make-up HANNA H MARTIN The Bobbi Brown artist was on hand for the Duchess of Cambridge’s big day, so you know

Nails

MARINA SANDOVAL Colombian Marina not only does the most immaculate nude nail, but she looks after the Duchess of Cambridge and the Duchess of Cornwall. Her biggest gig? The Royal Wedding. marinasandoval. com; 07740 623120

Menswear MO RNING DRESS

KENT & HAST E Think it’s Savile Row or bust? Think again – just around the corner on Sackville Street you’ll find the Duke of Edinburgh’s favourite tailor, John Kent. If it’s good enough for him... kenthaste.co.uk; 020 7734 1433   GIEVES & HAWKES Gieves is the place to go for ready-to-wear – it’s the best around at producing morning suits that actually fit, straight off the rack. gievesandhawkes.com; 020 7432 6403

SUITS HENRY P OOLE & CO Poole’s is for true traditionalists – the family-run business has been making bespoke suits for over 200 years, so these guys know what’s what. henrypoole. com; 020 7734 5985 HUNTSMAN For something slick and structured, head to Huntsman, the tailors of choice for everyone from Paul Weller to Jack Guinness. huntsmansavilerow. com; 020 7734 7441   CHIT TLEBOROUG H & MORGAN Chittleborough & Morgan do that sharper-than-sharp Tom Ford look, but totally bespoke. Ask for Joe – he’s the best. chittleboroughandmorgan.co.uk; 020 7437 6850

SHIRTS EMMA WILLIS Jermyn Street’s finest is the only place for your wedding shirt – white for a suit, and cream with a contrasting white collar for morning suits. And some of the proceeds go to her charity, Style for Soldiers, so you get to look sharp and feel good about yourself at the same time. emmawillis.com; 020 7930 9980

SHO ES GEORGE CLEVERLEY Cleverley is an institution, having made shoes for Sir Winston Churchill, the Duke of Beaufort and the Duke of Bedford. Go for its loafers or brogue slip-ons – you’ll have more important things to think about than whether your shoelaces are tied as you are walking up the aisle. georgecleverley.co.uk; 020 7493 0443   GAZIANO & GIRLING They may sound Italian, but these Savile Row shoemakers are British and their shoes are made at their factory in Kettering. Excellent at making massive feet look as slim and tidy as a ballet dancer’s. gazianogirling.com; 020 7439 8717

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Shoes

she’s good – her make-up doesn’t budge all day. Charming and infectiously bubbly. hmartin@ bobbi-brown.co.uk   ISAK F REYR AT IN PARLOUR Isak is the calm in the eye of the storm: Poppy Delevingne, Jerry Hall and Princess Tatiana of Greece are all testament to his skill with a blusher brush. The result? Flawless skin and barelythere contouring. inparlour.co.uk; 020 3713 9365   NATASHA BULSTRO DE She’s done everyone from Joanna Lumley to Suki Waterhouse – they love her for her clean, glamorous-looking make-up. ‘I want everyone to look like they are at a dinner party at Ralph Lauren’s,’ she says. 07891 435384   NET IA WALKER Netia is properly posh, so she gets exactly what nice girls want. And she’s based in the Cotswolds, so is ideal for big occasions around there. 07768 078766


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PHOTOGRAPH: LALO GONZALEZ & EVA DE GOLS

DRESS (WORN OVER THE SHOULDERS) BY CHANEL. DRESS BY RAZAN ALAZZOUNI. SHOES BY GIANVITO ROSSI.

Adler adler.ch Aerin aerin.com Alberta Ferretti albertaferretti.com Alcoolique at Farfetch Alessandra Rich at Selfridges Alex and Alexa alexandalexa.com Amanda Wakeley amandawakeley.com Amelia Brennan ameliabrennan.co.uk Anderson & Sheppard anderson-sheppard. co.uk Annoushka annoushka.com Anthropologie anthropologie.com Aspinal of London aspinaloflondon.com Asprey asprey.com Attico at Matches Beatrice von Tresckow beatricevon tresckow.com Beulah London beulahlondon.com Blaze Milano at Matches Boghossian boghossianjewels.com

Bonpoint bonpoint.com Boodles boodles.com Boucheron uk.boucheron.com Boutique1 boutique1.com Breguet breguet.com Bulgari bulgari.com By Appointment Only Design byappointment onlydesign.com Caroline Castigliano carolinecastigliano.com Cartier cartier.co.uk Cassandra Goad cassandragoad.com Chanel chanel.com Charlie Brear charliebrear.com Chatila chatila.com Chaumet chaumet.com Chloé at Matches Churchs churchfootwear.com Connolly connollyengland.com Cornelia James corneliajames.com David Morris davidmorris.com De Beers debeers.co.uk

Derek Rose derek-rose.com Dior dior.com Dior Maison dior.com Dolce & Gabbana at Net-a-Porter Dolce & Gabbana dolcegabbana.com Emilia Wickstead at Net-a-Porter Emma Victioria Payne emmavictoria payne.com Erdem erdem.com Erickson Beamon ericksonbeamon shop.com Escada escada.com Fabergé faberge.com Farfetch farfetch.com Favourbrook favourbrook.com Fendi at Net-a-Porter Fenwick fenwick.co.uk Fornasetti at Liberty Fortnum & Mason fortnumanmason.com Garrard garrard.com Geo F Trumper trumpers.com Georg Jensen georgjensen.com Giambattista Valli at StyleBop

Gianvito Rossi gianvitorossi.com Gieves & Hawkes gievesandhawkes.com Gillian Horsup gillianhorsup.com Graff graffdiamonds.com Gucci gucci.com Hampson Woods hampsonwoods.com Hancocks hancocks-london.com Harrods Harrods.com Harry Winston harrywinston.com Hattie Rickards hattierickards.com Hermès hermes.com Hobbs hobbs.co.uk House of Hackney houseofhackney.com Humphrey Butler humphreybutler.com Jennifer Behr at Net-a-Porter Jenny Packham jennypackham.com Jessica McCormack jessicamccormack.com John Lewis johnlewis.com Jonathan Adler uk.jonathanadler.com

Juniper Books at Boutique1 Kate Spade at Selfridges Kiki McDonough kiki.co.uk Kurt Geiger kurtgeiger.com La Perla laperla.com Laura Apsit Livens lauraapsitlivens.co.uk Lelet NY at Fenwick Liberty libertylondon.com Little Bevan littlebevan.co.uk LSA International at John Lewis Maison Michel michel-paris.com Manolo Blahnik manoloblahnik.com Mappin & Webb mappinandwebb.com Marie Chantal mariechantal.com Marks & Spencer marksandspencer.com Matches mastchesfashion.com Matilda Goad matildagoad.com Messika messika.com Michael Kors michaelkors.co.uk Mikimoto mikimoto.co.uk Mint Shop mintshop.co.uk Miu Miu miumiu.com Mousseif moussaieff.co.uk Mr Porter mrporter.com Needle & Thread at Net-a-Porter Nerida Fraiman neridafraiman.com Net-a-Porter net-a-porter.com Nicholas Kirkwood nicholaskirkwood.com Nirav Modi uk.niravmodi.com Noor Fares noorfares.com Oka oka.com Oliver Brown oliverbrown.org.uk Olivier Baby and Kids olivierbaby.com Oscar de la Renta oscardelarenta.com Pantherella at Mr Porter Patek Philippe patek.com Peter Pilotto at Harrods Peter Pilotto peterpilotto.com

Philip Treacy philiptreacy.co.uk Phillipa Lepley phillipalepley.com Philosphy philosophyofficial.com Piers Atkinson piersatkinson.com Pomellato pomellato.com Rachel Black Millinery rachelblack millinery.com Raden at Selfridges Razan Alazzouni razanalazzouni.com Rochas at Selfidges and Harrods Roger Vivier rogervivier.com Roksanda at Net-a-Porter Rolex at Asprey Rupert Sanderson rupertsanderson.com Russell & Bromley russellandbromley. co.uk Salvatore Ferragamo ferragamo.com Sarah Cant sarahcant.co.uk Selfridges selfridges.com Simone Rocha at Net-a-Porter Smythson smythson.com Sophia Kah at Harrods Stewart Parvin stewartparvin.com Stylebop.com stylebop.com Temperley London temperleylondon.com Theo Fennell theofennell.com Theodora Warre theodorawarre.eu Tiffany & Co tiffany.co.uk Turnbull & Asser turnbullandasser. co.uk Van Cleef & Arpels vancleefarpels.com Venyx World at Net-a-Porter Venyx World venyxworld.com Verity Jones verityjoneslondon.com Waterford Crystal Waterford.co.uk William & Son williamandson.com William Chambers Millinery williamchambers millinery.com

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Ru n n i ng Away

AISLE BE DAMNED

You’re sick of looking at napkins, are losing sleep over the price of peonies and have just had a shirty email from your sister about your choice of bridesmaid dress... There is another way. Elopement! Just make sure it’s dramatic. Clare Bennett explains the rules

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Your escape. Shinning down a rope of knotted-together sheets in the dead of night would be a thrilling way to get your elopement off to a flying start. A rope ladder will also work. Yes, this might feel unnecessary if you already live with your future spouse in a groundfloor flat, but we’re trying to build a narrative here. Play along.    The getaway vehicle. Ideally, your husband-to-be would collect you on a horse, even though it’s hard to break into a speedy canter on the King’s Road or round that complicated one-way bit in Notting Hill, so tell him you’ll settle for a helicopter. That way you can press your face to the glass and whisper, ‘One day, I hope you’ll understand,’ as you fly over your parents’ house.   The venue. Gretna Green has historic appeal, obviously, as the wedding Mecca of defiant teenagers over the centuries. Like the penniless Earl of Westmoreland and banking heiress Sarah Anne Child, chased along the way by her furious father, who even managed to shoot one of the horses off their carriage. That’s more like it. So much more exciting than Farm Street Church and a Peter Jones wedding list.   It’s hard to resist the idea of Las Vegas for an Elvischapel extravaganza. You might go for the Hound Dog package, where ‘Elvis’ sings you three songs, walks the bride down the aisle and you get a copy of Elvis and Priscilla’s wedding certificate as well as your own. Then you can head straight to the slot machines instead of having to worry about not getting off your face before the speeches/making small talk with distant cousins you last met when you were four.   What to wear? Brides – preferably something slutty and short to celebrate not having to please your mother in a dress she basically chose or wear the skull-crushing family tiara. Grooms should wear what they’re told to wear. Get used to it. It’s called MARRIAGE.   Photographs. Post a selfie on Instagram with the caption ‘Knot tied’, preferably doing something roguish like smoking fags or spraying each other in the face with champagne.   Announcements. Put a notice in The Times to say you got married in a ‘private ceremony’. It stops you looking like you got drunk and did it by accident.   Throw a big party to celebrate. You will need to appease your cheated parents, furious goddaughters (who always assumed they’d be your bridesmaids), disappointed friends and outraged siblings. You’ll be amazed what a free dinner and a non-stop supply of Moët can do to build bridges. Mysteriously vanish before the end without telling anyone. It’s important to stay on brand. (

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