Bedlam rolls into Barneys

During our flight I managed to watch three films, "Social Network", a useful lesson in setting up a business; "Toy Story 3" which made me cry; and "Get Him to the Greek", a faithful depiction of the record business that made me howl with recognitive laughter. It left Mr Wesley cold however, perhaps because you don't always get the joke when you're looking at yourself (HAHAHAHA! OK, I take that back, I'm sorry). The weekly meeting chaired by P Diddy's label boss was too real. His character observed that British hellraisers are indestructible - "English singers don't die. Ozzy Osbourne is going to outlive Miley Cyrus!"

On Friday night we went to see our ex-pat pal Gary Spencer who promotes a night at Ajna, a club in the Meat Packing district. When Gary e-mails me the shots from that night I will add them as testimonial ballast to the paragraph above. Ah, here we go:

The peek of lilac cashmere sock hints at another side to the Earl

Very generously they presented our table with an ENORMOUS bottle of vodka. With commendable waste-not war-baby attitude - inherited from our parents - we felt morally obliged to finish it. We took along Karen and Scott from super swish Bergdorf Goodman. Earlier in the day, we had ambushed Karen at the store where she is personal shopper. The surprise was as successful as it could be given that she had circulated photofits of us to her colleagues the day before, on the expectation we would stop by. She led us to the top floor to see an exhibition of art by the late Tony Viramontes, an old cohort of Boy George. Not being a lion heart Brit, he died at 28. The work he left behind, recently discovered by his parents, is quite dazzling, with props to the display team for painting the walls with such zing:

Karen Cortell of Bergdorf's

We are staying not far from the UN in Manhattan with our friend Dezia, a diminutive lady of hardy constitution who hails originally from Derby in England. Having lived here for so long, and married two Americans (one at a time), she is, however, quite naturalised now. She used to live with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, in the adjoining apartment at the Dakota Building, as their personal psychic. I'll let you roll that revelation round your brain for a moment.

Saturday night, as already noted, we dined with our friend Stefan Campbell. As it transpired, he had only just left Mr Bell of Barneys and we could rely on him, he told us reassuringly, for a testimonial. We enjoy a real advantage with our great gang of mates here and on Sunday met up on the Lower East Side to enjoy the company of Chuck Zwicky, who was Prince's engineer for many years at Paisley Park; his Princess from Queens, Michele; and Joady, another valiant pilgrim from the Old Country and her fella Andrew, music industry both. While we waited for lunch to be served, Mr Wesley and I wandered a few doors down on Orchard Street to present ourselves to Andrew Clancey only ANOTHER refugee from England, who has a store called "Any Old Iron" - in tribute to his family's scrap metal heritage: http://www.anyoldiron.net/ Along with Christopher Melton, they source "rare and UK-specific menswear", including Barnzley and Joe's "Child of the Jago". We gave Andrew a tee shirt with the Earl of Bedlam logo as a present and he immediately hung it on a rail announcing, "There! You can say you are stocked in New York!"

Andrew Clancey hangs the first EoB tee on a real life retail rail! YESSIR!!!!

The Earl and Mr. Andrew Clancey of Any Old Iron on Orchard St

When we returned to the apartment we cuddled up with Dezia and forced her to watch the Grammys. Our friend Joe Mardin was nominated for best documentary, about his father Arif, but he lost out to The Doors, whose frontman Jim Morrison pegged out in his twenties of course. Arif is the man (amongst near countless accomplishments) who suggested to the Bee Gees that, good as the last take had been, "Shall we try, gentlemen, jumping it up an octave?" Anyway, if any proof was required regarding the cast-iron constitution of Englishmen then look no further than Mick Jagger's sunburst performance that made enduring the three-hour show worthwhile.

Yesterday, Monday, we had a most life-enhancing meeting with Mr Bell of Barneys himself, and I shall draw out the suspense and return anon to regale you with that. It was something of a love-match, appropriately enough for Valentine's Day. Think the passionate pull of Rhett and Scarlett with the long-term relationship potential of... ooh, stuck there for a moment! um, some couple that have been together a  long time, true love enduring, not just out of joint-mortgage duress. (I will think of a reference during the day I'm sure - a-HA! PAUL NEWMAN AND HIS WIFE!!!! THERE! Knew there was one).

It was a Valentine's Day Love Match-Massacre between Mr Bell of Barneys and the Earl of Bedlam

Mr Wesley, our sweet Michele Jaffe (cake), who came hot heeled from the Betsy Johnson show - www.michelejaffe.com - and I ate together at the restaurant across from Dezia's building - none other than Ali Ba Ba's Terrace! Having referred to our workshop in the last blog as "Ali Ba Ba's cave" we were bound by destiny to dine there:

Diddidly dee two ladies unt he's the only Earl yah!

For now I must get a shifty on as Gary is going to film us this afternoon for JoonBug. And I will pick up the USB lead for the camera from Chuck I promise.

Pip pip toddle-oo a tres bientot.