PETER DOHERTY EXHIBITION OF PAINTINGS AT "LE RURAL" GENEVA, SWITZERLAND, March 6th 2014

I eventually met up with Peter on the Saturday morning and recccomended to him that we call in at the exhibition to make apologies and say hello to Thierry and France at 'Le Rural" 5 miles outside the city, It was a debut show for the beautifully appointed chalet lined in concrete and polished steel at what appeared to be the Lombard family compound. 

France Lombard-Beche hosted and curated the show. The cream of the Swiss and French television, cultural editors and journalists were all awaiting Peter's arrival at 4pm. We received a text announcing that he would arrive at the 'vernisage' and warm reception by no later than 9.30. The wine and canapés were generous and fabulous - little tastes of heaven - The French band SPARKS valiantly played their set THREE times over to keep everyone happy and entertained. 

Our hostess was gracious but clearly hurt and upset at the apparent snub from Peter towards whom so much generosity and warmth had been offered... the assembled guests mainly millionaires economically, in talent or personality anxiously awaited the poet turned musician turned artist to honour and embrace. 

By 12.30 he called to say he was ready to come but the event was exhausted on its feet. France Lombard-Beche had presented Peter's paintings beautifully around the ground and first floors, she is a beautiful, warm cultured Patronness of the Arts with a special regard and respect for Peter and his delay by customs for over two hours ruined what should have been a perfect evening. 

The Swiss go to bed early. We all went to our respective hotels and I got stuck into my mini-bar and Fench soap-operas before passing out into an only bearably less miserable nightmare. I dreamt that Peter was fixing up and piping in room 512 3 floors above me 30 hours later I had 2 hours before my flight I decided to try knocking on his door so rode up in the lift - this was around 7am on the Saturday morning, a fresh pale blue swiss enchantment. As the lift door opened on floor 5 Peter stood hair horribly cropped(by himself on a bad brain day) in front of me a smile spreading across his fat and sweaty jowls, his poached-egg spaniels eyes glistened with kindliness and his scarred and abscessed arms widened to embrace me. we hugged, we scored, we filmed 2 youtube clips we drank champagne, I cancelled my flight, we drove to the Rural Gallery and Peter Apologised to France and Thierry. He carried into their house a large rolled canvas with a drawing of me on it 9 I glow with pride) and a blank canvas which he began to draw and paint on as a personal gift instant painting. Our hosts forced into receiving our invasion at some ungodly early hour were kindness and consideration exemplified I don't know how Geraldine Beigbeder dared show her face. She had presided over a disaster and it was only my insistence and Peter's good naturedness and charm which retrieved a little, very small compensation. The couple were delighted that he had finally made an appearence albeit 2 days late. He was apparently unaware how insulting and dismaying his absence from the opening had been. and Peter signed all of the paintings there. Peter chatted with Thierry and France Lombard for an hour and presented them with the painting he had made. 

Then he asked me to steal a spoon so I stole Mme Lombard's disposable lighter so he could wash up some coke sitting in the front seat of the car with the door open, visible to all …. I had time to show The Gallerists details of New York/U.K. artist Peter Gee and Thierry photocopied the sheets then as we were driving away his charming and beautiful wife ran out of the house wavin the Peter Gee papers she was pointing at "The TargetMan" title and smiling … I said yes that's him, maybe for your next exhibition ! 

with his minder Nasser and film-maker Katia Davidas we drove that sparkling morning around the forecourt 3 times then out of the Lombard compound through the Alps and North up France until Paris on a car-packed Saturday evening.

 we were stuck in a jam so Peter bravely jumpede out and ran to meet his waiting dealer, we passed by his flat to photograph paintings then drove to Etretat in Normandy til the next day after a dish of 'fruitsdemer' we headed for the Eurostar all the way convincing Peter that people were looking forwqard to this gig and despite his total antipathy to the idea he had TO PLAY HIS GIG. SIPPING CHAMPAGNE WE RODE THE TRAIN TO GOOD OL' BRITAIN. Not quite true actually as only 2 tickets allowed for business class comfort and perks so I agreed to swap seats allowing Peter to sit with his partner and I'm obviously been spoiled by one glimpse into monied luxury. Down the proletarian, budget end of the train the atmosphere seemed thickly polluted the passengers crammed too closely for decency. Shouted "They've packed them in like pigs " was not appreciated as the humour I intended and I meekly squeezed into my seat unresponsive unrepentant.
I joined Cristina Massei of Sonic Shocks at the Roundhouse and noticed with dismay that a police drug-sniffer dog was positioned immediately inside the entrance to the venue.Our world-beating musical heritage would have never flourished with such draconian measures - - Who I wonder took the weight of such a decision setting our Albion some further distance away from Arcady…. an unhappily underlined irony in such an event, circumstance, occasion.