Emmy weekend. Staying at hotel on edge of Bel-Air. And they rented out pool yesterday for event. Sent me to another hotel to swim laps. And they had rented out their pool. Yeesh. So they drove me to third pool in Westwood, which looked just like the second. Feel like main character in John Cheever’s The Swimmer. When I got back to hotel after fetes yesterday, manager had sent me two bottles of Fiji water and dried fruit and nuts. But oddly, I had time and had enjoyed chatting with my driver, who had been chosen for Olympics in boxing but got injured and couldn’t go. So I didn’t mind the “ordeal.” Saw Julianne Fellowes and his wife at BAFTA tea yesterday, my favorite people on the planet. He said that he had once told a guest he was sorry their dinner hadn’t been so delicious. And he was expecting the guest to go own and on about how wonderful the food had been, but rather said, “Oh, we don’t come for the food.” The Mrs. does her own turbans and has no attendants, even on Emmy weekend. Bringing book to Nick Loeb today that I had told him I would pick up at East Hampton Ladies Village Home Improvement Society about his Dad’s Danish art collection. I flipped through last night to take in the collection, which is breathtaking–his Dad, John, was Ambassador to Denmark . And there are pics of Nick as little boy escorting Queen of Denmark and another of him and his Dad with Ronald Regan in Oval office.