Carlo and David.
Carlo and David Easy Jetted down from Scotland today and joined Stuart and I for dinner. The boys adjusted their travel ruffled, but still incredibly sharp suits and sat down to discuss the weird worlds of boarding school, delayed budget flights and Tracy Emin. At eighteen Carlo is rather young for an art collector, but then since his father has the biggest private collection of contemporary art in Italy, Iím sure he couldnít help but pick up a few tips. Apparently he sleeps beneath a Basquiat and has a Warhol at the foot of his bed, thatís great company, great dreams perhaps.
David described a very frustrating journey with an outsized picture that was too delicate to be transported in the hold, but the cabin crew would not allow it to be classified as hand luggage. After several heated arguments, the plane being held up and a wasted journey to buy two more seats to put the painting on (a last resort) the work was finally stowed in the hold under special supervision. Then Carlo had it couriered and it broke in transit!
After our chat Carlo bounded through the studio pointing at the furnishings and demanding to know how and why they all got there, his curiosity was well and truly pricked by SSIs inner workings. ďBut! Where is the work!Ē he quizzed again and again, wanting to see some of Stuartís paintings. Itís all gone, we apologised. It is all sold out! After a stroll along the canal we stopped off in Angel to eat; the meal was very good. The boys had steaks. During our feast we paused for stilted conversations about love affairs; Carlo kept his passions to himself. We heard the story of a young prince who had gone missing from the boarding school after an indiscretion. After an argument about paying £1.50 for the bus to Piccadilly the heirs to unimaginable wealth were gone.