The Guests

SCANDI CHIC

Scandi is the epitome of Swedish sophistication and the fact that she has made London her home has endeared her to the Brits. Representing the Scandinavian Kingdom in her role as Swedish Ambassador, if there's a political debate being had, Scandi will be at the heart of it whether it's part of a late night TV show or standing on a soap-box at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park on a cold Sunday Morning.

She's super clever and has a blisteringly sharp wit. She is loved and respected by all around her. Fiercely patriotic and frequently dressed in her native colours of yellow and blue, she may be an Ice Queen from the Nordic wastes but this Maiden of the Ice has melted the hearts of our nation ....and we love her weird accent !

From her impressive ambassador's residence at 27 Portland Square in the centre of Marylebone, it is just a short walk to her favourite weekend haunts of Soho where she can be found knocking back the Schnapps with the London Glitterati. And she knows all the trendiest 'in' places having spent - or is that misspent -  some of her early teenage years acting out a tres bohemian lifestyle during her long 'lost weekend' in Soho. She even did the original London photo shoot of an upcoming rock band back just arrived from the North ! What a life she has already crammed into her first 25 years ! But that ‘lost weekend’ – who can remember it ? Only her…and maybe that cad-about-Soho a certain Raymond ?

MICHAEL PAYNE

Your host for this evening is Michael Payne - the archetypal local-boy-done-good. As a kid, he helped his dad sell cabbages in Berwick Street market but even then he aspired to the finer things in life. He taught himself to talk proper by listening to old Noel Coward 78s and expanded his vocabulary by reading his dictionary every night under his covers. In no time at all, he had progressed from Aardvark to Wyvern but before he could start on the Xs, he had been discovered. Having joined the local Soho repertory at aged sixteen, his portrayal of the eponymous Pinky in the ‘beat’ play Pinky on the Road, launched his career – and the career of the mysterious playwright, Gigi Zsa Zsa who was only sixteen years old herself ! The show was an incredible success and both the actor and playwright attempted to collaborate on a follow-up play which was never completed as there appears to have been some ‘artistic differences’ according to news reports – unsubstantiated -  of Gigi’s romantic tryst with a certain man-about-town, the ubiquitous Raymond.

Payne’s career, however, went from strength to strength and a long period filming ‘spaghetti westerns’ assured his worldwide renown as a tough speaking Brit abroad – and frustrated the old school cowboy film fraternity, notably Mr Wayne John who memorably remarked,  ‘Spaghetti Westerns ? Wop a load of old bullsh*t’.

Lauded by film critics and young woman fans alike, his star keeps rising. With properties in all the major capitals, he likes to get away from it all when he has a break in his busy schedule – relaxing with his glamourous friends in the quaint Kentish village of Smarden.

‘We never knew what he was up to at night with that touch under his bedcovers, but it clearly did him some good !’ his proud dad proclaimed in a recent TV interview.

Michael Payne – international superstar – talented, bright, knowledgeable and a mind of useless information. In a recent BBC 1 TV quiz he was asked a question about aardvarks. ‘Aardvark’ he said, ‘Well, an Aardvark is an eater of ants. It is not closely related to the pig; rather, it is the sole extant representative of an obscure mammalian order. Not many people know that’ he continued. The mischievous interviewer then asked him what a Wyvern was ‘Funny you should ask me that,’ Payne was on a roll, ‘A Wyvern ? Well a Wyvern is a mythical beast in heraldry and folklore. It is rarely fire-breathing, unlike other dragons. Not many people know that, either’

The interviewer, knowing something of the background of Payne’s method of self-education and his cockiness, asked, ‘Do you know what a xylophone is Mr Payne ?’ At which point, Payne dropped into the vernacular, punched the unfortunate quiz master on the nose and stormed out of the room shouting, ‘I only told you to go up to bloody W !’

Elsie Presley

Elsie is one of the world’s great ‘could have beens’. Had it not been for her more talented cousin, that Sun Record deal back in 1954 could have been hers – and doesn’t she let us know it ! She’s being doing the interview circuit since Elvis first shook his hips and curled his lips ! ‘It’s all mine !’ she claims. ‘Who d’ya think taught him how to wiggle ? Why, his older cousin of course. Me ! Me ! Me !’

So fed up did Elvis become with his noisy cousin that he recently took out an injunction to shut her up but still the moans keep coming. She recently caused a kerfuffle in the trendy London nightclub, Adlib, when after consuming copious quantities of Brandy Alexanders, she grabbed a microphone and started singing ‘That’s all right, mama’. ‘Elvis is a fraud !’ she screamed as she was man-handled out the club. In the audience that evening was none other than gad-about-town Raymond. Intrigued by her backstory, he booked her to sing at his Soho club, The Bag of Snails, but after her first show – which confirmed her singing abilities to be more akin to a Bavarian yodeller with a sore throat, he arranged for a dozen Alsatian hounds to be released onto the stage as she writhed her hips to Hound Dog. Pandemonium ensued, all this whilst the BBC were making a documentary about Elvis impersonators – fame in dear ol’ Blighty followed. Don’t we love an eccentric ! Whilst time has yet to heal her wounded pride, she has learned to embrace her notoriety and enjoys her new found fame – and fortune – which she has recently amassed through gigs at high class West End soirees whose hosts are always on the look-out for circus acts to entertain them.

But there is more to Elsie than the Soho Set are aware of. It’s all an act, you see. She’s a smart cookie, photographic memory, black belt at karate, IQ off the chart - which she plays down. She’s just biding her time, plotting revenge on all those who have crossed her path. She can kill with a single blow of her tiny foot !

Apparently, a recent reconciliation with her cousin has led to a tentative plan to put on an Elvis concert at the London Coliseum – with Elsie acting as the promoter. If she pulls it off, it will be the show of the century – Elvis’s first show outside the USA ! It might be even bigger than The Bootles Live at Shea Stadium. But who owns The Coliseum ? Well if it’s in Soho, it could be….you’ve got it – Mister Soho himself, Raymond !

Dingo Dark

It’s a strange, strange world when a young boy who can tap two sticks against a bit of animal skin is one of the most famous – and richest – people on the planet. Yet here he is ! Introducing Dingo – always ready with a humorous quip, everyone’s favourite boy-next-door and –  oh yes -  drummer with….wait for it…. The Bootles.

He doesn’t sing very well. He doesn’t act very well and he doesn’t write songs but he has endeared himself to the whole world as one quarter of the greatest show on Earth, the Prefab Four. On the outside, unassuming, self-deprecating and lovable, he is at the very centre of the cultural storm that is happening right here, right now.  Caught in this moment, this momentous moment in time – here he is. This lad from Liverpool has the world at his feet.

It seems eons have passed since he and his fellow LIverpudlians were struggling would-be popstars back ‘Up North’ – could it really be only 3 years. But there was a fateful day back then when a certain softy southerner visited that northern seaport and stumbled across the now famous Cave Club. Yes, ol’ Raymond witnessed the raw power of The Bootles first hand; the noise, the sweat, the energy, the fainting girls and he wanted a part of it. He struck a deal with their manager back then which gave him a 51% controlling stake of the band whereupon he tried to replace Dingo with a girl drummer to give the band ‘wider appeal’. But he didn’t reckon with the Dingo’s fans who paint bombed all his Soho properties. He backed off but Dingo has never forgiven him.

And let’s not forget, it’s a rough old place Liverpool. Gangs, knives, drugs but surely ‘our Dingo’ was not part of that ? Not ‘our Dingo’ ? Please tell us no ! Well, some of the locals back there still remember Dingo as being able to handle himself around the clubs – after all, his nickname back then was Ding-the-Blade….

Wayne John

‘Big Wayne, Big Wayne, Big Bad Wayne’ so the song goes and nothing could more true They don’t get much bigger than Wayne John ! 100% American cowboy film star. He has steak for breakfast, steak for lunch and the rest of the cow for dinner. He likes it rare ! – he never drinks milk, though. He says that’s for sissies. “Pull off the horns and wipe it’s ass !’ he screams to the chef.

But he’s not only a celluloid hero – he’s the real deal – a hero of WWII – smashed the smithereens out of the Japanese then Korea then Vietnam – there has been no stopping him. More Purple Hearts than you can shake a stick at, he is the all American hero now turned film star.

He started life as a humble farm hand on his father’s ranch in Wyoming but at sixteen he lied about his age when singing  up to the US Army. He rose quickly through the ranks to Lieutenant at the age of twenty. Through all the bloody battles he remained unscathed, not so much as a paper cut. Just as well, as he faints at the sight of blood

Oh but then that fateful day on his Californian Ranch a few years back when – wait for it – Raymond visited him to discuss a deal to open up a string of American Diners in and around Soho. Big Wayne’s Big Burgers was the plan with the strapline…”You want it big, Wayne will give it to ya !’ The deal was about to be signed and so in celebration, Wayne took Raymond to his firing range. Having knocked back several bourbons in the golf buggy on the way to the range, neither were in a fit state to start shooting. You didn’t need a health and safety expert to identify the areas of risk – it was bloody obvious – don’t do it guys ! Raymond pointed his rifle in the general direction of the target but tripped, fired and took out Wayne John’s left eye. Lots of blood everywhere but no sign of an eyeball. Wayne has never adjusted to the eye patch…even with its diamond encrusted golden rim. When he thinks of the incident he weeps…out of his one good eye.

Despite the setback in their subsequent relationship, a deal’s a deal. The joint venture went ahead but Wayne John has been plotting ever since how to cause some physical pain to Raymond

Tone

Universally known as Tone, this Italian hot head is evil personified. For goodness sake, don’t look him in the eye ! He’s a bruiser, so keep out of his way if you want to keep all four limbs and other appendages ! A true gangster who made London his home, he thinks you are overdressed if you have both your ears. His story is that he grew up in the back streets of Palermo under the watchful eye of his ‘uncles’ who ran an extortion racket which they ‘exported’ to central London soon after WWII.

He is Tone to friends and foes alike but his full name is Anton Ioni – at least that is what his mother called him until his father admitted to accidentally slipping in an additional Ioni as a middle lane – he confessed to being slightly tipsy at the registry office. In later life, Tone discovered, to his horror that 3 additional Ionis had been added and could only attribute this to the fact that his father had a stutter. To conclude, that fateful day at the registry office resulted in him being named as Anton Ioni Ioni Ioni Ioni. Concerned that this farcical event could be construed as a sign of family ineptitude, he has not revealed this fact to anyone – except one ungallant-man-about Soho – yes that man Raymond - with whom he once got drunk

His smouldering good Latin looks and bad boy reputation make him popular with both East End girls and Royalty alike – it is rumoured that he counts Princesses Margaret and Geneviève as ‘business friends’.

These days, his financial interests include multiple West End casinos, Gentlemen’s Clubs and several near-beer bars around Soho where clothing is, at least for the ‘entertainers’, frowned upon. He even owns a hotel in central Soho – one of the few places not owned by Raymond. This calculating crook is a master of finance ! He has multiple friends in high places – all keen to stay on the right side of him – not least because of the secrets he knows.

But is there more to Tone than meets the eye ? (but remember don’t look him in the eye). Some observers have noticed that this unscrupulous Sicilian has more recently been demonstrating strange acts of occasional kindness – by his standards at least. When one of his club managers was recently caught with his fingers in the till, Tone ordered that three fingers be removed from his hand – until last year, the instruction would have been to remove the whole arm. And his accent, as he gets older, seems to occasionally slip into something closer to English Public school – perhaps he’s spending too long in the company of toffs these days.

His arch enemy for the last two decades has been that cheeky chappy, Raymond with whom he has had several turf wars in and around Soho. One day they may just have a one-on-one fist fight in the middle of Berwick Street. Book your tickets now – I know who my money is on !

Queen Geneviève

Such elegance, such fine breeding – the good Queen of Genovia emanates class and exudes sophistication. Loved by the international paparazzi, her elegant face covers acres of front pages every day of the year. Adored by the masses and loved by the aristocrats, she is the friendly face of modern royalty, as comfortable at the solemn events of state as she is at football matches and pop concerts. She is the very model of a modern royal highness !

But it wasn’t always this way, why no ! Not at all ! Her beginnings were really quite modest to say the least – yet few are aware of this. The youngest of several daughters of local factory workers Harold and Mildred Fisher, she was christened Tina (titter ye not !) and grew up in stifling suburbia – the God awful Croydon of all places ! But, aged just seventeen, she escaped the shackles of all consuming South London tedium to explore Europe on Interrail – and never returned. With so many other daughters she was hardly missed by Harold and Mildred ! And who exactly was her travel companion back then ? Who did she share a rucksack and musty sleeping bag with on her peripatetic adventure ? Well no other than that darling of the continental soccer pitches – the fabulous Georgie Le Bon who boarded ship with her at Southampton. But what was a young future philandering French footballer doing in the UK ? Enough of the alliteration – you ask him !

With her incandescent beauty (atypical of Croydonians it has to be said !) it was not long before she was invited to the smartest, chicest parties in Paris, Berlin, Rome. She was on a mission, a single minded mission to bag a rich sugar daddy – but she had to be quick ! Her Interrail ticket was for only 3 months. Her boyhood friend, Georgie, drifted away and was immediately forgotten – at least for a few years

But it was in that tiny principality of Genovia, snuggled comfortably between the snow peaks of France and Germany where she met her Prince Charming (a Prince but an old one to be honest – certainly no spring chicken) - The Honourable (not that honourable !) Prince Pierre – heir to the throne of that mountain kingdom.

A chameleonic magician of truly epic proportions, she metamorphosed from a cocky, self assured South London nobody to a demure, svelte lady of sophistication. Not long before the proposal of marriage. The tragic death of both her father-in-law, the King, and husband in an accident involving a snow plough and an unexpected telegraph pole sent her into mourning for the whole of that fateful weekend. After that, her stylish black shawl was hastily replaced with an equally stylish little back dress both designed, of course, by her new friend Coco.

One year later, the cherubic Princes Poppy was born. Heir to the kingdom of Genovia. her birth certificate confirms her father to be Prince Pierre – a strangely extended pregnancy but it would be rude to comment - what’s the odd 3 months between friends ?

A frequent visitor to London, she mixes it up with the London luminaries  - she is certainly In with the In crowd ! Her favourite stop-over being the Soho Ritzzeria Hotel nestled in Greek Street. Now who is it that owns that place – and most of that street in fact ? Could it be a certain rogue called Raymond ? Or is it the one hotel he doesn’t own around these parts ?

Gigi Zsa Zsa

Ah Gigi ! Gigi ! Gigi ! Dear, dear Gigi – darling of the Jet Set, loved by the whole world. The name alone conjures up images of lazy, carefree summer days lolloping around in fields of sunflowers, sipping chilled champagne. Stop ! Enough of this purple prose ! This literary genius would howl at such flowery allusions. She is a writer of gritty ‘kitchen sink’ dramas – as demonstrated by the play wot she wrote at just sixteen years of age – ‘Pinky on the Road’ which was the toast of the London Literati – world fame soon followed. Translated into over fifty languages, at his very moment in time, the play is being performed in every major city of Europe and beyond and it has made her a millionaires at the tender age of eighteen. The French adore ‘Pinky sur la Route’, the Germans can’t get enough of ‘Pinky auf der Strasse’ and the Chinese go bananas for ‘Pinky dinggoule 22 hao’

But writing was not her original claim to fame, believe it or not ! At the incredible age of twelve, she became the European Women’s Chess champion – so many strings to her young bow. Such precociousness ! A very smart cookie who has not let fame and fortune go to her head.

But fame was thrust upon this young, beautiful, sophisticated woman. Despite her seeming omnipresence with endless TV interviews and magazine articles she comes across as distant, detached – and a little mysterious.

Following the debacle of her attempted show with Mr Payne, the world awaits her next play which, if media reports are to be believed, has a working title of ‘Goodbye to Soho’. Never has a theatrical performance been more early awaited.

Last night she appeared on TV’s Late Night Line-Up art programme and hinted that she had spent the last year researching methods of murder to help with the authenticity of the plot for her new play. When asked by Joan Bakewell what she considered to be the foulest method of murder, ol’ Gigi switched her gaze from Ms. Bakewell and looked directly into the camera in a disturbing ‘breaking the forth wall’ kind of way and remarked dispassionately, ’Poison’. Several seconds passed before she added nonchalantly, ‘It destroys you from the inside. Like love….and hate’. A chilling moment witnessed by the masses who tuned into last night’s show and which, no doubt, led to a million biscuits dropping unceremoniously into late night cuppas as viewers’ gazes remained fixed on the their flickering black and white TV sets. Even the very cool, demure Ms Bakewell was momentarily wrong-footed but gained her composure to ask, ‘and what of Raymond, does he feature in your next play Miss Zsa Zsa ?’ But ol’ Gigi was in another world, gazing into the air, thinking of her difficult childhood, her first love and her most satisfying checkmates….

Georgie Le Bon

He may just kick a ball about a field, but he does it better than anyone else ! And with such artistry even those who don’t know their ‘offside’ from their ‘backside’ admit he moves like a graceful stallion across the pitch and makes those around him appear as clumsy workhorses as they try to stop the unstoppable. Surprising that he gets time to practice given that his whole life seems to be spent in nightclubs, casinos or on the beach at Nice. His lifestyle is similar at the moment to those cheeky northern popstars - he has already been named the Fifth Bootle !

With favourable comparisons being made to Eusebio and Pele, this darling of the Nice terraces is destined for greatness. But tragedy recently struck at this year’s World Cup which was supposed to be the launch pad for Georgie’s career on the World stage. As the French players ran onto the pitch for their first game against Mexico, ol’ Georgie’s shoe lace became loose. Bending down to tie them, World Cup Willy, the UK mascot, rammed into the back of Georgie in a most undignified way ! That’s gotta hurt ! Let’s just say, he took one for the team. Injured, he never made it to the pitch for the rest of the competition – poor ol’ Georgie the ‘not so Bon’ !

But what of that accent ? It’s almost as bad as Peter Sellers acting as Inspector Clouseau ! The French don’t understand him, the Brits don’t understand him – but the girls don’t give a fig about his weird accent – they just love him !

Despite his fame, his origins remain a great mystery ! What was he doing in dear old Blighty as a youth, companion to the future Queen of Genovia – boarding the boat at Southampton ? You can’t make this stuff up !

Recently asked by Teen Beat magazine about his origins, he replied quite abruptly, ‘Do not ask zuch stupeed questions ! Mais qui, I am from Le France. If youse cut me in ‘alf, you vould zee that I ‘ave moule friites written inzide of moi !’. What a strange chap !

In a scoop which has yet to fully break, journalists at the News of the World Sunday paper have been sitting on a story from a few years back of a young lad named ‘George the Porge’ which they are trying to substantiate. Whilst the details are unclear, a certain Ray of Soho has provided the local constabulary with a picture from the CCTV of one of his clubs. It is of a young, somewhat portly boy, brandishing a revolver in the alleyway at the back of Greek Street. Surely not ?

Princess Poppy of Genovia

Beautiful, charming, full of grace, young Poppy is heir to the kingdom of Genovia. Her recent first day at playschool was broadcast on worldwide TV. Many celebrities – and a certain underworld crook – were there at the school gate to clap her in. Her manners were impeccable and she charmed the viewers. A member of the paparazzi called out to her,’Give us a smile Poppy !’ She gave him a side-eye which shut him up. ‘My name is Princess Poppy of Genovia, please address me as such’. Enough said.

Mama

Stay out of the kitchen when Mama’s around ! This beautiful, fiery, red-haired Sicilian chef has a head hotter than her diavolo nduja pizza ! If she asks you what you think of her famous chicken parmigiana, just say ‘It’s the best I’ve ever had !’ That way you get to keep all your fingers ! If she says she thinks she has put too much butter in her Tiramisu – don’t be fooled by this – she is testing you ! Please, please contradict her immediately and say something like, ‘I beg to differ. This is the best dessert I have had in this life and all previous lives !’

It is rumoured, but never mention this in her presence, that she once nearly killed a food critic who had written in the Evening Standard that her Risotto alla Milanese was lacking flavour – why would he say that and more perplexingly, why would he then return to her restaurant ? Well, ol’ Mama served him up a treat. She knows her chilies – and she inserted a Carolina Reaper (off the Scoville scale !) in the middle of his Cannelloni. Apparently, the screams were heard on Oxford Street !

Despite that dangerous Latin temperament, London loves Mama. We Brits have embraced this Princess of Pasta since she opened her first restaurant, Mama’s Trattoria, in Soho’s Romilly Street back in 1959 which proved to be the catalyst for London’s recent culinary explosion.

But she has never forgotten her roots. Growing up in the poor districts of Palermo, she was the bread winner for her family from the age of ten when her father and mother were sadly incapacitated by extreme obesity – having partaken of meatballs from a very early age.

The huge success of that early restaurant, which continues to attract international highflyers, allowed her to start what has become a highly successful hospitality business called ‘That’s Alright, Mama’. Despite fame and fortune, she always ensures that her menus cater for those who are less well off. Don’t we love her – so thoughtful and considerate !

But unknown to many, the numbers don’t quite add up. Her business is threatened by the recent huge hike in rates for her Soho restaurants. Perhaps she should have words with her landlord – a certain Ray character. Or maybe discuss options with her fellow Palermitani, Tone ?

Oh yes, forgot to mention, our dear host tonight, Mr Michael Payne, has called upon his great chum, Mama, to provide sustenance for this evening’s star-studied extravaganza at his country residence – Bell Cottage. Remember, stay out of the kitchen if you value your life !

Raymond

So famous, he doesn’t need a surname. Charming, he may be. Intelligent, skilful, cunning – yes, he is all of these. But has there ever been a man so universally hated ?

He knows everyone – but more importantly – he knows everyone’s secret.