No invite to Joan's fifth wedding

Gallery: Joan, her husbands and the uninvited

One cannot, it would appear, go anywhere at the moment without being accosted by some old fruit with an invitation to Joan Collins's wedding. Michael Caine, Johnny Gold, Ruby Wax - honestly, the poor dear has wrung her contacts book absolutely dry on this one. All I can say is that it's a good job the thing didn't clash with the Oldie awards. From a party organiser's point of view, one simply could not compete with Joan's nuptials.

As readers of this newspaper may already be aware, however, I will not be attending the much-anticipated ceremony. Apart from the fact that I'm far too young for the gig and I think black tie at a wedding is rather common, it has been made clear to me that my presence at Claridge's at five o'clock on Sunday 17 February will not be required. Not to put too fine a point on it, I've been uninvited.

It all started swimmingly when, at a rather charming party at Joan's house just before Christmas (I can't bear it when people call her Joanie), she announced to gathered friends that she would be getting hitched. "Darling," she purred, "you must absolutely promise that you're free in the middle of February to come to my wedding." Of course, I undertook to clear my diary immediately and then thought no more of it.

By the beginning of the month I hadn't received an invitation but then neither had my good friend Cilla (Black). She'd received a phone call to confirm that she was going to be there (a little over-anxious on Joan's part, you may think, but things are so tricky when you've done a £375,000 deal with OK!), so I assumed that I would be next on the list.

It was only a couple of weeks ago that I realised all was not well on the wedding-invitation front. A message from Joan's publicity agent, Stella Wilson, informed me - in appropriately embarrassed tones - that, because I was a columnist for Hello!, my presence at the wedding would make things difficult and, in short, Joan was sorry but she would have to uninvite me.

Obviously, I was incandescent. For a start, I like to think I'm well-mannered enough not to write about a private event if a friend asks me not to, and, secondly, it's not form to leave a message like that on a person's answering phone via a PA. Very common, in fact. I fumed for several hours (although it did give me something to talk about on the party circuit) but then decided to try to see things from Joan's point of view. For one thing, £375,000 is not to be sniffed at in these financially treacherous times. For another, I'm actually engaged to be with clients in the South of France this weekend (an appointment which was set up probably before Joan ever met Peruvian Percy) and then there's the fact that Joan and I go back a long way.

It may surprise you to learn that, although I first met Joan in the late-Fifties, I have never been to one of her weddings. It's just one of those things. She was already over Maxwell Reed (husband number one) by the time we first met in 1959 - you have to remember that I'm much, much younger than her - and numbers two and three (Anthony Newley and Ronald Kass) happened too far away for me to be there. Number four was that awful Swede Peter Holm, whom I loathed (even though he was faintly good-looking), so I was looking forward to being able to "see in" number five.

Because it's not as though I haven't looked after the old bat over the years. I've escorted her to film premieres and society events, not to mention introduced her to just about everybody I know.

I remember, way back, I went to visit Joan on the set of Dynasty (it must have been just after the thing had started filming) and decided it would be fun to take her out for the evening. The great Hollywood photographer and friend of Cole Porter, Jean Howard, was throwing a party in my honour so I took Joan along as my guest. I did have some wonderful friends back then, who were forever giving parties for me (once upon a time Diana Vreeland deemed the opening of my new suede suit cause for a party).

Anyway, there we were at Jean's (2000 Cold Water Canyon, if memory serves - an incredible house) and everybody was thrilled with Joan. She was looking absolutely breathtaking that night in a Nolan Miller dress (some rumours suggest Collins will wear Nolan Miller on her wedding day) and she worked the room like a dream (she is never one to get stuck in a corner, in my experience). Michael Feinstein was on the piano and the whole thing was just heavenly.

Of course, Joan and I knew each other well socially by that time. She flew down to my house in Hampshire especially to be at my 40th birthday party - I have an idea she may even have arrived by helicopter. Sadly, she couldn't make my 60th because she was playing poker, which I forgave her for, as I'm told she's rather good.

Then there was that divine evening at Cliveden with Jimmy Goldsmith and his family. That was later on because Joan was really famous by then. I remember Jimmy's daughter Jemima was absolutely delighted at having such a big star to dinner. That night we gave Joan the seat of honour next to Lord Lambton and the Duke of Beaufort so I didn't see her for dust, as you can imagine.

It was on the way to Cliveden that Joan told me about Robin (Hurlstone, her previous boyfriend). She was utterly besotted with him as he was with her - and quite right too. I mean, I know she's knocking on a bit (some people swear she's over 70, although she insists she's not) but it really doesn't matter because she's so well put together. One always tends to remember what Joan was wearing at an event, even if one cannot recall anything else about it.

And she's always been so sweet about my little forays into the world of fashion. I distinctly remember her complimenting me on my make-up when I launched my new look just before my 60th birthday (you remember - one minute I was all grey bouffant and pinstripes and the next Evisu and eyeliner). In fact, one of the only looks I've never tried is a Joan. I prefer something you can put together without too much effort and I'm not sure shoulder pads are my thing. For my part, I've always thought that she liked my urban-warrior look best (maybe that should be bourbon warrior).

She's a very girly girl, you know, and she does like a strong man. With that in mind, I try to behave in a suitably gentlemanly manner when I'm out with Joan (not always easy when one's wearing safety pins or a hard hat). There was one occasion when John Aspinall's half-brother, James Osborne, gave a party in a tent in Battersea, and, when we arrived, Joan had been placed with her back to the room. Obviously, this was ridiculous - you don't invite a major film star to your party and then seat them so that nobody can see they're there - so I changed the place cards before she noticed anything was wrong.

In fact, you name the event, and I've probably escorted Joan to it. One of my favourite pictures of Joan and I together is of us at the Savoy. I've no idea what we were up to in there (probably some premiere party or another) but we're both fairly "away" and howling with laughter at something - or, more probably, someone. We've been to Ascot together a few times as well.

It's always a tricky one, Ascot, because while I'm allowed into the royal enclosure, Joan's not. I tend to drop her off at the Aspinall's tent or at Robert Sangster's box and then head off on my own. I did hear that one year she tried borrowing somebody else's badge for the royal enclosure but got turned away. But that's Joan - never one to let rules get in the way.

So, you can see why I was just a teensy bit hurt that Joan couldn't tell a celebrity magazine to sod off for the sake of an old friend. We were getting on like a house on fire before Christmas (I last took her and Percy out to The Ivy in November to congratulate her on her role in Over the Moon), so it's such a pity that all this has blown up.

We haven't spoken since the uninviting (even though we were both at the Valentino party last week), but I'm not giving up on seeing my old friend married just yet. Joan's marriages are a bit like buses, you see. You wait for ages for one to arrive, then three come one after another.

By the way, darling, I do think your idea of having the royal piper playing his bagpipes as you walk down the aisle is rather brilliant. It'll be so nice for the guests to hear the wedding march without the help of their hearing aids.