GLASGOW'S GROUCHO Club will open on 18 August. Showbiz, nightworld and media players aligning their Edinburgh schedules should note the new venue plans profile invitational parties on 16 and 17 August. Meanwhile Abigail's Party, the new Soho boite targeting the younger end of the Soho House crowd, will open quietly next month. Young, gorgeous, bubbly, ambitious, fun-loving scenesters will have to wait until September for Abigail's showcase.
SO WHAT goes woof, hic, woof, hic, stagger, stagger, hic, woof? The Queen's corgis after lunch.
DRUG PEDDLERS III. Did anyone else notice the relationship between the charts illustrating the ups and downs of the Tour de France, and the graph tracking Somerfield's share price? "During the mountains stages in the Pyrenees, the similarity became positively startling," one player reports.
...pounds & p. So, it takes William Hague more than a month to realise that the pounds 1,500 love token adorning his wife Ffion's lovely neck has not been paid for. If Hague can't control such (insignificant?) details in his own life, why should an understandably suspicious electorate trust him with the more sterling responsibilities of running the country? In fact, why should the Conservative Party up with this put? When's the penny going to drop on the blue benches that this man is unelectable? Hague's toast. A clown. A sacrifice. But who has the cojones to seize the moment with both hands and start providing some effective opposition to our corporatist masters on the nation's behalf? Pop lover Liam Fox? Daylight Saving Time Zone Lord Jeffrey Archer? Anyone? Hello?
JACKIE BALLARD's campaign for the Lib-Dem leadership is interesting. But as a serious candidate for No 1 Chick, she's a non-starter. A gag doing the rounds: "Hughes and Kennedy are both fine men. And so is Jackie Ballard." Ballard's stylecops whine: "You can't criticise a politician because of the way they look. It's sexist." Oh no it's not. Read Nancy Etcoff's Survival of the Prettiest and you'll understand why "not liking the look" of someone is hard-wired into our collective DNA. At this level, Pandora (as advised by better brains than hers) isolates every candidate's weakness, zones in, then applies the blow torch to the belly. Anything less would shortchange readers and voters. If Jackie B (pictured) can't absorb banal cracks, she'd fold under pressure, and so disqualifies herself - and more significantly, the party she seeks to lead - from consideration for the highest level. If Lib Dems want to play games, get a PlayStation. But if the gold party's serious about winning, the candidates must play ball, get in the box - and score under pressure.
NEW STORIES in both Prospect and Civilisation suggest punters are switching off politics faster than insurance commercials. That's because the old school doesn't understand how to connect with the psychographic. Pandora does: she collects markers. Including one she clutches close to her heart from J Prescott. Yo, JP - it's time to get the Jubilee line moving. Your people are overdue on naming a firm opening date, and then delivering. Action please, sooner not later.
OH, AND here's the last (for now) from Andrew Cunningham, the car poet. Pandora's edit of his "Car Poet (On Daimler Chrysler)": "Oh Lord, don't you buy me a new Chrysler-Benz;/ it ain't quite the same thing, so lets not pretend./ If I'm seen in a Chrysler, I'll shred all my friends;/ they share pointed star signs - but that's where it ends."
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