High life
Snorting
Talc!
Doctor Ricardo Snorto is a dwarf-like Brazilian who specialises in selling modern pre-Colombian art and borrowing Peruvian pure cocaine. He has nine sisters, all tiny because of the enormous amount of Peruvian pure they've been ingesting since they were babies. Snorto became a doctor despite the fact that he could not even finish elementary school. He managed this by Impressing the examining doctor in Recife, Brazil, with his knowledge of the interior of the human nose. Ricardo Snorto knew how to describe it, draw it, almost reproduce it with matchsticks. He thus got a Brazilian doctorate. Then he went about testing his nose to see if he could make it collapse. Unfortunately for him, or his nose, this takes money. That's what brought Snorto to London. Upon arrival Snorto set about becoming respectable. He managed to mar- off all his sisters to impoverished tnglishmen willing to marry anyone, no matter how short, just to get out of England, and the tallest one to a Swiss tycoon. With some Swiss francs he began manufacturing Pre-Colombian art. That was easy to do. All he needed was a carpenter and some pictures taken by a zoologist of his family back in Brazil. He soon was making a fortune selling his art to greedy foreigners.
In order to meet prospective buyers Snorto became very social. And because of his ability to snort more coke than an elephant can devour peanuts, he soon became somewhat of a legend. No party was complete without him. Last week, however, he got into a spot of trouble.
As everyone knows, there were two parties that everyone who is anyone had to attend last Saturday. The Niarchos wedding in Deauville and Nicky Haslam's costume ball in Hampshire. I chartered a plane to fly to Deauville, planning to attend the wedding and the dinner, then fly back around midnight to Nicky's party, which rumour had it was going to be less respectable than the Deauville shindig. I invited four broken down Englishmen to share the cost of the plane with me and off we went. Just before take-off we saw a funny little man, Dr. Snorto, running towards us as fast as his Toulouse Lautrec-like legs could carry him. He wanted a ride. The pilot said impossible. We were too many. But Snorto is very small and we managed to put him inside a girl's hat box without anyone being the wiser. The flight was perfect and we safely landed in Deauville among the hundreds of photographers who were waiting to snap the incoming celebrities. My first embarrassment was when Snorto jumped out of the hat-box and was photographed disembarking. I could be clearly seen in the background. And my plane was the smallest in the airport, a fact that Snorto could not appreciate as he is so damn small. Despite it, some peasant offered us a ride to town and we made the wedding on time. I knew Snorto was not invited but was not worried. No one would ever spot him in a crowd except when they stepped on him and he yelped. That happened about three times during the ceremony.
The evening ball was harder to crack, but once again Snorto passed unnoticed. We hid him in the boot of the car and during the dinner he simply stayed under the table. The trouble started when we took off for Nicky Haslam's.
It seems the greedy Snorto had pinched • everyones favourite snuff and taken it back on the plane with him. He snorted and snorted*, finally giving an inhumanly strong snort that just managed to rip off a rivet from the propeller. It was almost like the DC10 problem. The pilot, fortunately, noticed it and he even noticed the cause of „it. He grabbed Snorto,, shook the white, happy dust off him and turned him over to the police.
The last I heard, Snorto had escaped from the French jail and is working his way back to this country. He was responsible for my missing a great party and I am very angry. So are my English friends. Haslam, on the contrary, is very grateful.
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