come to the Substack party

3 glass of wine chaos in Lincoln's inn

I simply assume that any party that invites me won’t be much good. Or that it is a scam. So despite being invited to parties given by Substack for its writers for a while, I have never been.

Then I dimly began to understand that these are fun parties and it was a great compliment to be invited. So last night I went to their summer party, which was held on a very smart lawn at Lincoln’s Inn, which is where they keep all the lawyers.

Discreet enquiries revealed that both Rebecca from Fancy and Sophia from Onwards and Sideways were going, so we met at Chancery Lane station.

“I saw Rosamond Dean go that way,” I said, pointing down Staple Inn Buildings. “So it’s probably that way.” I was pleased to see Rosamond Dean, but it did make me suddenly remember that one of the other reasons why I don’t go to parties like these is that I will immediately see someone I don’t want to see and have to spend the rest of the evening making sure I am not in the same quadrant of the party as they are.

Anyway off we three merrily went, nattering away like old friends, because we are. I mean, I’ve never actually met Rebecca, but I read her Substack and it can quickly feel like old friends if you do that.

We arrived at the party and I immediately saw not one BUT TWO people I didn’t want to see. I swerved a hard left and went to talk to Amol Rajan, who doesn’t have a Substack, so I said, “What are you doing here?”

“Substack is the future, innit,” he replied. We had our photo taken and I think I squeezed him a bit hard, out of panic. I do love Amol. We briefly overlapped at The Independent and he always bowled around the place in loud Hawaiian shirts but I didn’t realise that he was a genius until he started at the BBC.

Then I took a nice girl who works at Tatler, whose name I didn’t catch, back across the party to talk to Sophia, who worked at Tatler for a long time. Next I spotted Katie Razzall, who lives round the corner from me, talking to Matt Cain.

“What are you doing here?” I said to Katie. “I’m the BBC Culture and Media editor!” she said, and gestured round the party, which was filled with Culture and Media people. I went to find a drink for me and some fizzy pop for Katie and also saw Natasha Polisczuk and said hello.

By now the party was quite busy and I had found a drink and looked down at the glass and it was empty! But a man filled it up for me again. “I mustn’t have a third glass,” I said out loud, to no-one in particular.

There were a lot of faces that I knew very well but hadn’t met so introduced myself (thank you, white wine!) to Hattie Crissell and the aforementioned Rosamond Dean. I caught up with Rebecca Armstrong, who is an old friend from newspapers.

Rebecca Thornton arrived and we discussed how slightly wild everyone looked because, while we are all perfectly normal people, we don’t go to parties like these very often, with people we do know and don’t know and also occasionally don’t want to see.

“This is the Substack office party,” said Farrah Storr, who is the Head of Content (?) I think. Something important anyway. I remember when she recruited me, years ago, in a café in Soho. Back then Substack was just me and, like, four cancelled American comedians.

Sophia and I decided we ought to eat something (me definitely). We went to the barbecue stand - there was beef, chicken or a vegan option.

“What’s best?” I said to the chef and he gave a nasty laugh. “There’s beef, chicken or a vegan option,” he replied. So we both had the beef. We ate our beef and I explained to Sophia why I didn’t want to see the people at the party and she laughed and said she wasn’t surprised.

Then we went to find a loo, me draining my third glass of wine on the way (I didn’t have a fourth!!!). As we wound our way through the maze of streets through Lincoln’s Inn I started lecturing Sophia on why she ought to move to Kentish Town. As my voice hit a certain hectoring note I was grateful that I was sensibly heading home and not still talking to people at the party.

As I got into bed I saw that the next book on The Book Club - the book podcast from Goalhanger, to which I am devoted even though it makes me feel inadequately well-read - is The Code of the Woosters, so I downloaded that. Surely even I can manage a P.G Wodehouse.

How about you? What’s your favourite PG Wodehouse book? What do you do or say at parties that lets you know that it’s time to leave? Please leave an amusing comment in the handy box below.