Last night - on Channel 4- the cameras got to follow Nicky Haslam around. "Who is Nicky Haslam?" you ask. Nicky Haslam is a schmoozer. He has been schoozing hard since the end of the fifties- and has known everyone worth schmoozing from Cole Porter (yes, really) to Paris Hilton. If you're famous or rich, Nicky will schmooze you- with a distinct lack of quality control: great musicians, the wives of Russian billionaires ("my darling Natasha")- it's all the same to Nicky; all are equally schmoozeworthy. He has a business- he designs interiors that get featured on the covers of glossy magazines- but you feel this is really only a sideline- a way of getting to be at parties (he's a five a night man) where he can bask in the glow of celebrity.
Claims were made for him. David Bailey said it was Nicky not the Beatles who invented the Sixties. Oh come off it, Bailey, you old rogue, you're having a laugh with us surely! What we saw of Nicky's interiors didn't make me want to get on the phone to him. They're downbeat, impersonal, very expensive. He's no Robert Adam. Nicky says of his work that he has a "signature" rather than a style and that the distinguishing mark is a sense of humour. I looked as hard as the roving camera allowed us to look, but all I could see was curtains.
He's a nice man, very charming- I don't suppose he's ever hurt a fly- and I would hate, hate, hatety-hate to be him.