Tatler Tales

For Christmas my daughter bought me a subscription to the British magazine Tatler so that I could feel that I hadn’t quite left everything English behind. While we’ve had Branston Pickle, Savlon, Hob Nobs, TCP, Temple Spa cosmetics and Ormande Jayne perfume brought over by visiting friends, something was still lacking; my body was well cared for but apparently not my mind.
For any American who has never read Tatler, it is a sort of Town and Country meets Vanity Fair with a touch of Vogue thrown in. It is basically a highly incestuous magazine being written by, for and about the stratosphere of society. My sister-in-law, inheriting my copies, once said she loved to read it for the names alone: names like Ticky Hedley-Dent, Balthazar Mattar, Fleur Chenevix-Trench and the Hon. Peregrine Pearson. Established in 1709, the names these days are slowly but rather surely losing their very English edge and a good dose of Pop Culture (only the very wealthiest of course) is being met with a decent smattering of Russian. Social climbing continues unabated no matter what the century.
Since my departure from Britain and the necessary gap in my Tatler reading, the Editor has changed thereby affecting various columns and features. One new column is by Andrew Roberts, the noted historian, who like myself has recently been relocated to the Big Apple. He has many of the same complaints I do; in his Sept. column he notes “They don’t have electronic boards on the subway telling passengers when the next train is coming…; they don’t have chip and pin for credit cards—instead you still have to sign slips of paper; and you can’t catch a cab between 4pm and 5pm…” Right on! What is it with this place? The City of London is just as hard-up as NYC—after all, they have all those historic buildings to maintain—yet they seem to have been able to beautifully maintain the Underground. Credit cards? I’ve had to change one of mine twice in 6 weeks due to identity theft; please bring in chip and pin! And as for taxis, well, I have to plan my day around the 4pm change if I know I’m going to need a cab.
Still, there is one thing on which Mr. Roberts and I don’t agree. He states, “Despite living in the so-called ‘city that never sleeps,’ New Yorkers like to be tucked up in bed by 9.30 and have lights out by 10pm…” Huh??? A small exaggeration perchance? A wee white lie? Dinner at 6.30? Well, Henry Kissinger is getting on a bit these days so if Roberts is dining with him, maybe---though I truly can’t see the Kissingers going in for the Early Bird Special. My own dinner is around 8pm. I may not have to be awake for a power breakfast at 7, but believe me those guys don’t need nine hours of sleep. Maybe Mon.- Weds. is a bit on the quiet side but once we hit Thurs. here in New York the movie rolls continuously until Sun. evening. My daughter has been known to stay out until 5 am. Could it be that Mr. Roberts at 47 is just mixing with the wrong crowd? Those historians, you know, and those busy making history, can be a bit of a stodgy group. Or can it be that he actually prefers sitting at home with the chocolate Hob Nobs?
Me, I’m dabbing on the Ormande Jayne and heading out….I’ve got dinner booked for 8.30, music starting at 9.30 and the main attraction probably not on until at least 10.30. And actually, it’s a Tuesday night!