“I pretended to be someone called Antonio,” said one woman, whose name was not Antonia. House of Cards seemed more appropriate, but for some reason there were no pictures of Kevin Spacey. Instead of the usual pictures of Graham Greene and Joseph Addison, the walls were adorned with portraits of Ralph Fiennes and Regé-Jean Page, the handsome bloke from Bridgerton. Partly to get at the Pol Roger, but mostly to gawp. By 6.25pm there was already a crowd clamouring to get in. We assembled at the Spectator’s warren-like offices in St James’ Park to find out. The network has deep pockets, but are they deep enough to bring down the British government for the sake of a bit of frisson? If not the magazine, the party’s new sponsors, Netflix, who aren’t averse to a bit of melodrama. You wondered if they had laid the whole thing on. The political developments leading up to the Spectator summer party on Thursday were so well timed that they lent the event a dreamlike quality.
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