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Safety in numbers for a certain birthday girl

Last week I reached the mid-life milestone of my 40th birthday! To celebrate the girls in the office took me for a fantastic lunch in the Park Lane celeb hang-out, Nobu. The day didn’t disappoint as top fashion designer Mathew Williamson sashayed by.

After polishing off soft crab sushi and a bento box to die for, we trotted along to the bar at The Dorchester. The place was absolutely surrounded by secret service and a wall of London’s finest police and we soon got to the bottom of why there was a such a strong security presence, as President Musharraf was staying at the hotel. After a minute of wondering whether the bar was the safest place to have a drink in London, we decided it probably was THE safest.

Just as we chinked our second Mojito, in walked Sir Melvyn Bragg plus two bespectacled minions. The trio settled into the banquette next to ours and proceeded to discuss the in and outs of the 2008 South Bank Show Awards – quite loudly!
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This week Katie quaffs free champagne and munches canapés with the glitterati

It’s January so nobody is drinking, except for the journalists.

We’re wandering from party to party with no celebs in sight (anyone with any money has the sense to stay inside in this weather), draining free champagne just to make the time pass quicker.

The only story in London seems to be Kate Moss’s birthday, but there’s no chance of finding it so instead we’re taking what’s on offer.

On Monday night I find myself at The Wallace Collection watching the presentation of the T. S. Eliot prize for poetry.

The building is an imposing traditional pile in the centre of London and all around me are guests dressed up to the nines for their big party of the year.

I look a mess. As it’s my first week back at work after the New Year, I have celebrated by staying up drinking whisky until 5am with N. and now, the evening after a long day’s work, I’m not feeling too clever.

“After a sleuth of free champagne, N and I are in the mood to carry on and by 2am we’re falling out of a pub in Soho, more than a little worse for wear”

But still, the canapés are miniburgers. I’m glad I came.

When the presentation’s over I quickly grab Margaret Hodge (the minister for culture) and ask her why the Arts Council has had their funding cut.

“It’s just crap PR”, she starts, and my ears prick up. She’s standing a bit too close to me and talking very fast. I wonder if she’s drunk as she continues toroll off a series of loose-tongued comments that, considering she knows I’m a journalist, I’m sure she shouldn’t be telling me.

I nod and grin and try to look stupid. Ask more questions. Try to look more stupid. Then as soon as she’s finished and I’m out of sight, I scribble down every word that she said, rush home, and file the lot off to my editor.

On Tuesday, Granta magazine is celebrating their 100th issue. The bash is heaving with a variety of authors and journalists all getting impressively drunk in the shambling ruins of a Notting Hill theatre.

Harold Pinter shows his face but is soon lurching back out the door after a five minute run-in with a Daily Mail journalist.

I suspect she got as far as ”Hi I’m from the Daily Mail” – or, at least I did last time I tried him. Across the room I’m not having much better luck with Martin Amis. He’s brushed off my greeting with a hasty, stern faced ”no thanks”.

Hasn’t this guy got a book to promote? Surely he must need some publicity?

Apparently he does. As I walk away I catch a whiff of smoke as he’s sparked a cigarette inside the hall. Seconds later the flashes of the photographers start – and he’s guaranteed himself a mention in every national paper tomorrow.

On Wednesday I run from Selfridges (a party for Dunhill) along to Natasha Law’s exhibition (Jude’s sister) to a book launch held in the private rooms of The Royal Academy.

After a sleuth of free champagne, N. and I are in the mood to carry on and by two in the morning we’re falling out of a pub in Soho – more than a little worse for wear.

“There’s a club called Punk just around the corner where I can get us guest list”, I suggest. But N’s looking broken. He kisses me goodbye, hails me a cab, and packs me off home reminding me that I’ll have to be back in the office for ten.

I make it in on time, only a little rumpled, and have a flick through the papers.

There’s Kate Moss’s party, at Punk nightclub. And in the background a taxi – that I’m probably pulling away in.

Dani tries not to get her hopes dashed in the quest for a well-fitting shoe

‘One should never set their hopes too high, for fear that they may be dashed’. Half of me agrees with this old proverb, the other half quite strongly disagrees.

Quite clearly the parts of me that whole-heartedly think it’s a great idea are the parts that have been disappointed in the past, by being promised things that haven’t happened or made to believe something is going to be more, groundbreaking, thrilling, interesting, well paid or fun than it actually is. Most of the time things are promised to me that never actually happen in the end!

The part that disagrees is the part that likes to get excited. It’s the part that likes to plan how much I will be getting in my pay packet and spend it in my head before it reaches my bank account. I am disappointed when the amount figured is severely less, I will do the same next month, in hope that someone will accidentally pay me enough to buy that pair of shoes.

“The things we once found dull are now the things we look forward to; Bank Holidays, slippers, and fat-free boiled sweets”

And if you think about it, nearly everything in life can have these 15 words of wisdom applied. Eating in restaurants, first time in the sack with a new partner, going to the cinema, having children, getting married, that first cup of tea in the morning, your birthday, Christmas… See where I’m going with this? Although it can be applied to nearly everything, we only think of it for the bigger things. Why does my mum only ever use that phrase when I’m really excited about something and why is she always right?!

I suppose its that motherly intuition kicking in, the opposite part from the ‘because I said so’ parts of parenting.

This part of a parent is the protective side. But also, if you ask me the slightly lazy side. Instead of being there for you when their hopes have been dashed, they try and stop all your hopes all together in hope they will not have to pick up the pieces.

I can’t complain, anyone would rather protect as opposed to wipe the tears up. But sometimes it just feels so good to be really excited about something. Especially as real excitement is less frequent as we grow older. Things that made us excited as kids are now generally expensive, and the things we once found dull are now the things we look forward to; Bank Holidays, slippers and fat-free boiled sweets. Buying a new pair of shoes is the closest I come to reliving my childhood excitement. When I was little my mum had this ornamental glass shoe, I would try it on every day in hope of it fitting. It never did. But now whenever I see a pretty shoe that fits I get really excited and my bank manager wails. Life’s all about those little things!

Andrew Kay goes to the dogs at The Coral Stadium in Hove

Anyone who thinks my life is a constant treadmill of foie gras and caviar could not be more mistaken. Oh, I know that my hedonistic lifestyle should have led to hardened arteries by now, and maybe it has, but a recent health check revealed high good cholesterol and low bad cholesterol plus excellent liver and kidney function. Great news – you may well be stuck with me for some time yet. The truth is I try to eat a reasonably balanced diet, and it may be paying off.

It is equally true that I like to sip from all sides of life’s cup and so when invited to join a party for an evening at the dogs, I jumped at the opportunity. It was not my first time, but there had been several years gap since my last visit.

We met at 6.30. It’s a busy nights’ entertainment and a head start is a good idea. There were six of us and our ages ranged from denying middle age to looking damned good for our age. From the minute we arrived the staff could not have been more helpful. Some of our party were ushered through while two of us queued to pay for tickets. The lift was pointed out and we headed for the restaurant, which was a tiered gallery overlooking the floodlit track.

“There are a lot of places that could learn a great deal from the hospitality, charm and helpfulness”

The first table we were shown to was not great, and we said so. It was not a problem and they immediately found us a better one and laid it up. The race card was also rather difficult to read, a lot of information in a small space. One of the staff readily blew the whole thing up to twice the size on a photocopier for us. You can’t ask for better service, can you. They then made a disabled toilet available for one of our party who was finding the trip downstairs a bit too arduous.

The menu had progressed since my last visit, with a few trendy dishes on it, but I was sticking to classics. Though I did go a bit trendy with a smoked duck breast and orange salad to start, and I am pleased to say it was better than good. Others went down the prawn cocktail route and were rewarded with generous portions, if not by innovation.

I stayed safe with a rump steak to follow. I have to say, it was really very tasty – well cooked, rare as requested and well seasoned too. I like rump for flavour but it can be heavy going, whereas this was very tender. Don ordered his well done and the chef went a little too far, and it came up tough. Not a problem, a passing member of the team spotted that he was not eating his steak and immediately had it changed for some scampi which he really enjoyed. They even packed the rejected steak, saying that we were bound to have a cat or dog who might enjoy it.

All around the table we enjoyed our food. Some of the dishes were perhaps better than others, but all were decent and generous to a fault – no dolly portions here. A few puddings were ordered but by this time we were engrossed in our racing.

This too is easy, as helpful staff explain what to do, take bets at your table and pay-up there as well. I had an excellent run of luck with nine winners, and despite my parsimonious wagers, I came away £18.30p up on the evening. That is not including the £30 that I spent on entrance, dinner and drinks.

As an evening out, I cannot recommend the Coral Stadium more highly. Ok, it may never win any awards for cuisine, but there are a lot of places that could learn a great deal from the hospitality, charm and helpfulness. We were made to feel special and our every need was dealt with both quickly and efficiently.

There are a great many offers and deals to be had too, but I found them almost as complicated as the cumulative betting options that are on offer at the track. I guess that if I called, they would be able to explain to me what is what.

The dog track is a little bit of life that is packed with character and charm, and from what I could see, it attracts a great number of families. There were children of all ages, and although they cannot gamble, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle and the excitement of the event as much as the adults did.

Hats off to the entire team then, for giving us a first class night out that I think offered fun as well as good value.

Coral Brighton & Hove Greyhound Stadium, Nevill Road, Hove
General enquiries 01273 204 601
Restaurant reservations 08457 023952
www.brightonandhovegreyhoundstadium.co.uk

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