“The Westbury is one of Mayfair’s more understated hotel addresses. Tucked away between the hedge funds and art galleries, away from the gaze of shoppers and tourists, it luxuriates gently, with a quiet confidence.”

Boutique. It’s a word that is bandied about often, and with gay abandon. Occasionally its use is appropriate, even essential. If ever there was a time to use it, it is now – I’m standing in one of the Flemings Townhouse suites looking with delight at the mise-en-scene presenting itself [...]

Lancashire Court was as busy as you’d expect at 7pm on a warm spring evening, but for some reason, I knew the comment was directed at me: “Smart hair, good suit…look like a Peterhouse man – are you?”

“If I concentrate, I can see it all in my mind’s eye. It’s the early eighties – 1982 perhaps – that apocryphal year for the finest Clarets. I’d say it’s November and wintry, cold and grey outside…”

“I’m standing in a snaking queue populated by gazelle-like glamazons in six-inch Louboutins and slinky Issa dresses. Peering behind me, I spot former England football coach Sven-Göran Eriksson in a charcoal grey suit.”

Jean-David Malat has an unashamedly shrewd eye for the business of art, and the art of business. Director of the Opera Gallery in London, he has a knack of identifying new artists and divining what will sell. Hot on the heels of February’s record breaking modern and contemporary art sales [...]

I could feel myself hunched up and I made a conscious effort to stand and walk taller as I strode along Park Lane, on my way to the Four Seasons spa. As stressed as I was, I was also incredibly excited…