Launch of Hot Key, and Notting Hill Editions

A brace of bumptious literary parties last night: the first, in Clerkenwell, for a new children's imprint that will publish books for children and young adults. It is helmed by Sarah Odedina (who was my first editor at Bloomsbury), and looks set to publish its first book later next year, which I look forward to very much indeed. Lots of little mince pies and bucketfulls of champagne made a  merry evening in their snazzy, white-painted and wood-floored offices. I spotted The Fool's Girl author Celia Rees, who's got a new, modern-day novel coming out soon, as well as I, Coriander writer Sally Gardner. The place was thrumming with agents and authors as I left, so it all looks set for a rocket-fuelled lift off - very best of luck to Hot Key.

Then onto the Hammersmith and City line (not one of my favourite lines, I must admit, although it was behaving properly last night) to the other end of town, for a party celebrating Notting Hill Editions' new series of essays. It took place in the Idler Academy, which was packed to the brim with literary types and lots of cakes (including a rather delicious ginger biscuit) and, of course, champagne. Latinist Harry Mount (who teaches at the Academy) was there; as was the author of The Kit-Kat Club, Ophelia Field, and erstwhile Cheap Date editor, Kira Jolliffe, as well as bags more. NHE's new selection of handsomely bound essays includes Adam Mars-Jones, neuroscientist Susan Greenfield, and Simon Heffer, as well as Osip Mandelstam and Stanley and Munro Price. They combine intellectual curiosity and power with - well, looking nice on your coffee table. And there aren't many things that can do that. The box set makes a lovely present, too.

The Back of My Head is in Italian Vogue

Yes, it's true, fame at last: I went to a party last week or so for Benjie Fraser (son of Antonia Fraser) and his children. The theme was Arabian Nights, which was liberally interpreted, with some choosing to dress in, well, normal clothes. There are lots of pictures on Italian Vogue - and here is the back of my head, talking to Nicola Shulman, author of Graven with Diamonds. As is clear from the picture I am obviously wearing a costume. Ahem. Well, it was the closest thing to a costume I could find in my house - a blue Nehru coat. The party itself was roisterously amusing, with panjandrums, bishops, and Antonia Fraser in a moustache.  (The moustache was fake, I hasten to add). Harry Mount was there, inexplicably wearing an English hat. There was an abundance of Frasers and family, including writer Flora Fraser, and artist William Roper-Curzon in his dressing gown, which was conveniently suited to Arabian costume.

• Read my review of Graven with Diamonds
• William Roper-Curzon and Henry Hudson

Literary Review Summer Party: Flowers and Green Trousers

This is not Jeremy Lewis

Last night brought the Literary Review Summer Party, which took place in the elegant confines of the Academy Club, a refuge from the sweltering heat. A full complement of dashing editorial staff was present at the beano, including explorer Sara Wheeler who was wearing a garland of flowers as if she were the goddess of summer itself; Jeremy Lewis, our beloved Editor at Large, was wearing this seasons must-haves - electric green trousers, or 'candy pants' as I believe they are known to the fashion world. Henry Conway himself could not have chosen better. Also present were biographer Jane Ridley, historian Michael Burleigh with his wife Linden; Harry Mount, Suzi Feay, political columnist Joan Smith and David Cesarani, amongst others. A  flowering of literary talent fit to adorn the heads of explorers the world over.

Take a gander at this month's Literary Review - Mervyn Peake is on the cover, and there are the usual round of intelligent, witty and quirky pieces (including a lovely one about deer parks.)

Literary Review Bad Sex in Fiction Award

Monday night brought the best party of the year - the Literary Review's (s)extravaganza, which takes place at the In and Out Club in St James' Square. This year was no exception to the festive excellence: the room was crammed with literary and other types right from the beginning. It's a place where Dan Stevens of Downton Abbey can be seen next to Nadira Naipaul; where Rachel Johnson of The Lady (an ex-winner of the prize for her novel Notting Hell) can be spotted with Nicky Haslam; soldier Patrick Hennessey appeared briefly; Latinist extraordinaire Harry Mount; actresses Olivia Grant and Daisy Lewis; novelist Elspeth Barker; biographers Anne Somerset and Jane Ridley; writer Louise Guinness; literary editors, journalists, teenagers and liggers; it's the only party where the young and the old mingle happily, much as at Margot Metroland's parties in Vile Bodies. All washed down, of course, with laudatory amounts of champagne and Hendrick's gin. Alexander Waugh, as always, compered the readings wittily and smoothly. The winner was Rowan Somerville (pictured), who very sportingly accepted the prize, saying that there was nothing so English as Bad Sex; it was given by Michael Winner, who said he'd prefer to be at home watching I'm A Celebrity... . Not the done thing, Mr Winner. Courtney Love once gave the prize - she was much more gracious. Aside from the rudeness of Mr Winner, it was a marvellously exciting evening. A toast: to Auberon Waugh and the Literary Review!