Assange's 40th Wing-Ding Nimrod Kamer

Brad Pitt, his wife, Al Gore, Oprah Winfrey and a bunch of other A-listers were invited to Julian Assange's bday bash last Sunday. None of them showed up, in what turned out to be a no-donors-overly-hyped Suffolk soiree. It is most unfortunate first and foremost to Assange's depleting bank account. To the defense of the invitees, neither Gore nor Winfrey, although "liberals", ever claimed alliance with Wikileaks or the person in question.

It was a bit klutzy, as if Ed Miliband invited Blair to his knot tying without first asking if he's into him. "Is Assange really 40?" some of the guests queried, pointing out he looks much younger and vigor, ready to handle an even greater leak, if only it wasnt for that sex(t)ing-while-sleeping rape charge he's facing back home in Scandinavia.

The affair took place outside a 10 bedroom farm-house, not far from Bungay and Diss, where the whistleblower is staying on expanse of the Smith family, Vaughan and Pranvera Smith, who also run Frontline, a 5,000 lifetime membership journalists club. Assange's driver stated he's positive those Smiths's got something to do with W H Smith. I found no evidence to that.

Soon upon arriving I noticed Julian, already perched, settled and stewed center staged on a round table inside a tent they've built on the front lawn. He was num, letting a few pettish, peevishly overly-proud-of-him women literally shout his praise on the microphone. At one point they pleaded all guests to say 'Hooray' for what Julian did, times three. "It's funny how reactionary idols must always endure those oldfangled would-be activists.." a girl next to me noted. Assange's new lawyer stood aside too, glancing, gorgeous as she was, along with two HBO executives planning to make a 'TV drama or mini serious' based on the man's escapades.

One other individual, looking more doughy and feeble than Assange, was said to be his ghostwriter. Just like in Polanski's film, the chap carried out as someone waiting for a GPS fixed SUV to relegate him anywhere, as long as it's Gatwick. A week ago it was learned the memoir jotted down in name of Assange, which the writer swore not to leak, will never be printed. Julian called off the 850,000 deal quite abruptly, no one knows why, subsequent to taking an advance from Canongate Books.

Next, a debutant named Jemima Khan debuted the premises. For a short while it was as if everyone were perplexed, not be to witnessing an activist but an actual Independent associate editor with a sound check book. It then struck me a bit odd, the whole 'Wikileaks in dire need of donations' thing. A) One never heard of any Wikileaks members in existence other than JA. B) It didnt seem like the Smiths "freedom of info" types as they were, and loaded with cash, will ever refuse to endorsement. Having said that, it's obvious Julian would face much harder time getting money whilst in Sweden, the equivalent of daytime prison for him. (Sun never sets wise).

I then discovered that a different kind of guest, priceless (and missing). His name: Slavoj iek, the Slovenian philosopher and one of Assange's closest pals. On July 2nd the two eBayed lunch with themselves at the Ivy, only to get a few thousand quid per person in return. Not only that, all eight winners came from the same consulting firm. Assange must've wanted to hang himself right there just out of yawn.

In any case, appeased by those who did come, wearing an all white endlessvacation suite and rampant hairdo, birthday boy seemed gleeful, some would say not waving but drowning, but still very much gratified. Two satin-gowned girls running around gave it the feel of a proper summer wedding after-all. From a distance I wished him 'many happy returns'. He seemed transfixed, swiveled at me while omitting to nod.

It is also in need of mentioning, that after disclosing to several blokes of a dream I had, in which Rebekha Brooks is portrayed by Jemima Khan and firing me from NotW, an organizer came up to inform me that since Mr. iek, my alleged acquaintance, did not arrive, I dont have any reason for staying. I nodded docilely and led myself out. Tried to catch Julian's sleepy-eye one last time, thinking only a true heroine will pretend to doubt his admires.

@nnimrodd \ 10.7.2011