Oxford beauty
Taki
The three most beautiful words in the English language are Emma, as in Maurice, Ella, as in Lister, and Stephanie, as in the incredibly beautiful French girl who refused to give me her surname 'because my fazzer reads ze Spectator'. I met the above students at the Oxford Union and I've been heart-drained ever since. What pulse-wearied torment, what despair. These ultimate creations of supreme beauty had me bewitched for most of the evening — and then it got worse.
Jemima Khan appeared with Harry Worcester (an undergraduate asked him if he owned Harry's Bar. . . ) and Nicola Formby, and that was too much for me. This is the curse upon those who follow the supreme beauty — that is to say, the beauty that belongs not to ideas and ideals, but to living forms like Emma and Ella, and Stephanie and Jemima. When I paid Emma a compliment and she blushed, it was like a Keatsian ode, an echo of the past which leaves one enchanted.
But enough of this purple prose, although for once I mean it. The motion was 'Is Britain America's poodle?' Defending it were Brian Eno, Charles Glass and the poor little Greek boy; opposing it, the formidable Nicholas Soames, Lord Parkinson and Nigel Evans, MP. Soames, Evans and Cecil Parkinson are professional speakers, MPs, and know their way round. Soames was self-deprecating, Falstaffian and wonderful. Parkinson was by far the best, making good sense when he argued that long after Bush and Blair have disappeared the special relationship will continue to benefit both nations. Cecil has held high office and knows how the world works. I thought it a slam dunk for them.
Some slam dunk, as they say in Eiraq. Let's face it, Britain's foreign policy for many years has been about as independent as Kazakhstan's was in the days of the Soviet Union. When international law needs to be broken, it is left to the supposedly punctilious Brits to assure the world that the breach of law is only temporary. And, of course, it is very much a master-poodle relationship. While the Brits are expected to do whatever needs to be done to serve American interests, British interests have consistently been given short shrift in DC. It all began with lend-lease. The Americans set out to pres sure the British to open their imperial markets, particularly their possessions in the Western hemisphere.
They also made sure that the Brits depleted their gold reserves to pay for the war against Germany. In Martin Gilbert's words, 'It was a very hard bargain, depriving Britain of what was left of her economic power.' The old joke said it all: the Yanks were overpaid, oversexed and over here, and the Brits were underpaid, undersexed and under Eisenhower. The Americans justified their policy of dismembering the British empire as being necessary for the fight against communism. The truth was that they also wanted Britain's markets.
Under different circumstances I would have been on the side of Nicholas and Cecil, not with the left-wing views of my buddy Charlie Glass. The opposition tried to paint our pro-poodle views as being anti-American, which we are not. I went as far as to say that, if England could recolonise Africa, I would be for it. It can't get worse, can it? But Americans are incapable of running an empire and all you have to do is look at Iraq. They will cut and run as soon as it's looking like they're not.
What I enjoyed most about Oxford was the students and people like Michael Beloff, president of Trinity College, whom I drunkenly addressed all night as Max Beloff, his dad. I did not hear the Fword once, which is a record of sorts. Until I got back to London, that is. And to the best party of the year by far. Jessica de Rothschild was born in 1974, so it was a 1974 party. Much more than that, of course. Jessica is an enchantress and although I don't remember much, the venue and the mood of the guests were perfect. Jemima had given her Penelope dinner at Annabel's before the bash. All the suitors were there, and we dined looking at each other like dummies.
It was a hell of a night, and I was feeling like hell when the D-Day ceremonies began. In fact, I was so fragile, I could hardly watch. Nothing bothers me except thinking of young men who fell in battle. I was happy to see a few German paratroopers of the 6th para division taking part, although they should have been allowed to wear their medals. Let's face it, the Allies had an overwhelming advantage in manpower, ships, arms and ammunition. Total aircover. too. Rommel was caught napping. But if that moron Hitler had listened to Rundstedt and allowed the 300 Panzers at Calais to roll down, I am convinced the Wehrmacht would have held. Perhaps not. I was very moved by the German headstones, low and dark, like Knights' Crosses, and under one Ein Deutscher Soldat' taking the last salute from his comrades 60 years later. As far as I'm concerned, all soldiers, especially the dead, are comrades in arms.
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