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t again I've been sidetracked on my way to the Bagel. To the Dominican Republic, actually, where I was going to attend the marriage of Emilia Fanjul, daughter of Pepe Fanjul. an exiled Cuban billionaire whose politics have been described as being to the right of my own. Obviously a very good man. His Casa de Campo resort, where the wedding took place, is apparently the eighth wonder of the world, but one I missed visiting as I ran Out of time partying in Gstaad, The Fanjuls were very big in Cuba BC, but left for America and Santo Domingo when they realised they were up against Fidel's henchmen. Once out of Cuba they continued to thrive, proving that it wasn't being in bed with Batista that made them rich, but because they had the enterprise and independence needed to excel in a free market.
I would have loved to have made the wedding in Santo Domingo, but was very happy to attend James Blandford's instead, in Verbier, Switzerland's answer to Casa de Campo, or so I'm told. Lord Blandford I've known since he was a very young man, and I'm very pleased he's overcome his problems with drugs and is settling down. I thought my presence as a one-time Pentonville dweller was de rigueur, as Jamie, too, had attended the same prep school.
Mind you, there was another reason I missed Santo Domingo. I had to meet a naval architect somewhere in Italy concerning the design of my new sailing boat. They say it brings bad luck to discuss such mat ters, and although I'm awfully superstitious. I will nevertheless reveal a minimum of detail. She's over 100 feet long and at least 21 feet wide, made of steel, a ketch that will sleep ten guests and be crewed by five, excluding my son and cook, both good sailors. I was going to call her Olga-Serena, after two recent girlfriends, but when I tried it on the mother-of-my-children, she thought it in very poor taste and suggested I name her Arsehole after the proprietor. Actually she'll be Bushido V, after the code of the Samurai. the V also being in very poor taste, but one I insist on, as it really gets up people's noses.
Incidentally, I thank both readers who wrote in about the Winter Olympics. Both had it right. The first black person to win a Winter Olympics gold medal was Vonetta Flowers (and two Canadians in hockey) which, as National Review pointed out, threw the PC commentators into confusion. Because they are no longer allowed to use the word black, their tongues were tied. So they were reduced to declaring that Miss Flowers was 'the first AfricanAmerican from any country to win gold at the Winter Olympics'. African-Americans all over Africa must be ecstatic. They should demand American citizenship tout de suite.
And talking about ridiculous people, a story about my friend Roger Moore caught my eye, written by one Nadia Cohen, showbusiness reporter. Now a showbusiness reporter to me is the equivalent of a royal correspondent, one who has absolutely no access, but one with plenty of imagination. The sub-headline was that Roger's children snubbed his marriage to Christina Tholstrup in Monte Carlo. It is obvious Ms Cohen and good taste are strangers, because the reason Roger Moore married quietly was precisely because of his three children. One does not rub it in.
Moore's children, whom I know and like very much, do, after all, also love their mother and, out of consideration for her and their feelings, Roger chose to go low key. I recently spoke to Geoffrey Moore, who adores his dad, and it was obvious how much he admires him; ditto Deborah, his beautiful daughter. Christian, the youngest. I stay away from because I did a dirty on him about ten years ago. He was 17 and circling a blonde I was quite chummy with. 'Christian Moore keeps calling me,' she bragged. 'He's very good looking.' she added. 'I hope he's good looking enough to go to jail for,' I countered. 'He's just 13, you know.' End of a possible affair. We oldies know how to protect our turf, even if we have to cheat once in a while.
Talking about made-up stories, I don't know the Duchess of Devonshire. but if she 'hissed' a catty comment against Camilla Parker Bowles I'll donate my boat to New Labour with John Prescott acting as chief steward. What utter, unadulterated BS. Happy Easter to all of you. I'll be celebrating mine on 5 May,
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