'Like a Hollywood film premier' was how one paper described the thursday night opening of Tracy Emin's new show; but only a select coterie were invited to her party afterwards. A party at which the Ken Ardley Playboys had been booked to play. But Bob, whose own art career has come on leaps and bounds in the last year decided he was not going to present himself as a figure of fun to his contemporaries. I on the other hand (being a bit of a tart where these things are concerned) agreed to do a solo floor spot as compensation.
The artworld liggers qeued a hundred deep to catch a glimpse of the star and her work, and as the crowds parted to allow Trace and her entourage to make there way across the square, the people shouted 'Hurrah' and threw their hats in the air. Meanwhile I was tuning down to an open D and running through a few bars of 'Mrs Billingham'.
Having changed out of her taupe satin two-piece into a more practical Donna Karen trouser suit, Trace was straight down the front for the opening chords of 'Airfix Lancaster Budgerigar'. Fifteen minutes later, after a medley of Milkshakes numbers and no let-up from the frenetically shimmying star of the evening, we retired to the VIP lounge to drink Moscow Mules with Lulu and The Pet Shop Boys. Gilbert even took his coat off - or was it George?