Gary Goldsmith, Kate Middleton's uncle, is a right royal party planner. Bottoms up!
Another Middleton family member is planning to write a book, hopefully with better sales than the last effort. Thank goodness our writer has had a sneak preview
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Your support makes all the difference.Rumours are flying that Kate Middleton’s ne’er-do-well uncle, Gary Goldsmith, is planning to write a book.
The tattooed, thrice-married property developer, who made millions out of IT recruitment before he was 30 and reportedly used to keep a box of cocaine at the end of his bed, is being a bit vague about the content. “It’s very early days but I would love to write a book,” he said yesterday. “I hope people will be interested in me, and not because of my family.”
Well, yes, we’re very interested in Gary, and his Ibiza villa tastefully named the Hotel de Bang Bang, and his much-reported “dark side”. In fact, we hope he’ll emulate his niece Pippa and write a book about party planning. In fact, hang on, I’m almost sure I’ve seen an early copy…
Getting Ready
You need to put a lot of care into your outfit. I mean you’re the host, right? So choose nice grey tracksuit bottoms for informal feel. Classy trainers, Vans or similar. Nice string vest in edgy colour (yellow) under black short-sleeved shirt, wiv four buttons undone so everyone can see pendant saying “NUTTER” in rhinestones.
Accessories
Show you’ve made a special effort as host by getting a new tattoo. Choose your parlour carefully. Inky Pinky in the Old Kent Road will do you a nice mermaid wiv chainsaw for £40. Plan to have it done a week in advance, so the bandages will be off and the bleeding mostly stopped when guests arrive.
Venue
It’s totally crucial you chose the right gaff for your party or you’ll look a right plonker. Too quiet and everybody’ll piss off early. Too garish and they’ll think you’re dead common. I recommend the Horny Hippo in Shoreditch, the Randy Badger in Brixton or the Screaming Fanny in Poplar. The girls are very clean, and that Margje one, the Bosnian in Poplar, she’ll stick her arse right in your boat-race for a score.
Décor
Lots of searchlights whizzing around, like the end of The X Factor. Disco mirrorball. Ibiza Rocks compilation played at loud volume. DJ Bleepy on the Ones and Twos. Maybe some wild animals wandering about, jaguars and that, panthers whatever, with diamanty collars. Muzzled obv, we don’t want them taking a bite out of Margje, do we?
Games
Everyone likes Monopoly, don’t they? In my version, 12 people play for real money, but the roads marked on the board are real roads where I got real properties! You should see their faces as my associate Keith advises them about swift payment. Twister is popular, especially when played wiv Margje, Heidi and Ulrich.
Refreshments
Nothing makes a party go wiv a swing like Lambrusco and Red Bull. Unless it’s my own cocktail, the Crack House Hooker, which is four parts Tesco in, five parts Lidl Rum, 10 parts Morrisons Ouzo and an olive (optional). For food, you need to speak to my associate Colin, of Colin’s Cut-Price Caterers, who’ll do you a nice hog roast from Romania for £1,250.
As for drugs, WE DO NOT ALLOW ANY DRUG-TAKING IN THE LAVVIES IS THAT CLEAR? Instead, there’s be old bald midget geezers wandering around wiv lines of cocaine on their heads so you can lean down and have a snort as they pass by. It’s all about style, you know?
Worse than a bad review
Writers smarting under a disobliging review must feel for Akram Aylisli, the Azerbaijani author whose Stone Dreams prompted a hate campaign. A politician promises £8,000 to anyone who cuts off Aylisli’s ears. Interesting the body-part should be the organ of hearing rather the instrument of offence, namely his hand or fingers. Stone Dreams details the war between Azerbaijan and Armenia in the 1990s, and the struggle for peace.
The government clearly has read only the bits about fighting. A Presidential aide has announced: “If a person has no national spirit, he cannot have a sense of humanity”, which is nonsense. As Dr Johnson almost said, national spirit is the last refuge of a scoundrel.
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