Five years ago, I met a young man of Eastern European descent who sounded exactly like the Queen of England. He wore a cravat, dark nail polish, and a velvet smoking jacket, and was a closeted gay person whose type in men were poor waiters just getting off a 12-hour shift. It turned out he shared a publicist with socialite-turned-infamous scammer Anna Delvey, which was pretty impressive considering that he had no job and nothing whatsoever to publicize. Depending on which business card he landed on, some evenings he was a journalist, an art critic, “in luxury real estate,” or, if he was feeling particularly drunk and honest, rich and unemployed, dahhling. I had never met anyone like him, and could never work out how such a life was decided on and paid for, until last month, when I sat down with all 11 episodes of ITV’s Brideshead Revisited, first broadcast 45 years ago this month. My friend, the Lord — he really does go by Lord — has been doing a decadelong impression of the stuttering aesthete Anthony Blanche.