Last night I attended a dinner at Tiny's to celebrate Paul Trible and Paul Watson -- Peter Davis called them Paul Squared -- of Ledbury, the amazing Savile Row-cut shirts that is based in an 1866 tobacco warehouse in Virginia. Euan Rellie, international man of mystery, threw the event and he assembled a crowd as interesting and witty and smart as himself. Aside from Scene editor Peter Davis, whom I finally got to meet in real time, there was the luminous Lucy Sykes-Rellie, style expert Mary Alice Stephenson, investment banker Federico G.M. Manella, Kristian Lalibert, Elizabeth Edelman and many other witty, brilliant people.
As befits a very international crowd, the topics veered from the Oscars to the Italian elections and the upcoming sequestration. The reigning mood was political moderation -- Republicans and Democrats in the room all had an aversion to political extremism on both ends of the spectrum. My kind of crowd. As a serious single malt afficionado, I noticed early in the evening that Julia Macklowe had a glass with contents smelling more like whiskey than the Jack Daniels offered at the bar. Julie smiled mischievously and revealed that she had smuggled Macallan's from restaurant downstairs. Rules and conventions seem to evaporate around Julie, who later on in the evening at dinner was observed attempting to fix up a bachelor investment banker seated to my left with one of her friends. This being the digital age, she was showing pictures on her iPhone of a stunning woman. "You'd better listen to her," I told him, hushed; he agreed. Rules and conventions, bending.
After several vodka tonics and some wine and a wonderful dinner with memorable conversations, the Corsair, your humble correspondent, stumbled home, happily.
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