Many years ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to an evening at Jemima Goldsmith’s country house in the Cotswolds.
Everything was effortlessly elegant: roaring fires, big floppy dogs on the sofa, stylish furnishings, fantastic company.
She was the epitome of the high society hostess: witty, totally at ease and fabulous in every way.
That’s why, when I heard shortly afterwards that she was dating Russell Brand, I was completely baffled.
Why on earth would someone as classy as Goldsmith even entertain a loathsome little low-rent toad like that? It just seemed inconceivable to me. I think I even wrote that in one
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