High life
Free speech
Taki
I'm Walking Behind You' was the name of a popular song of the Fifties, but some nasty schoolmates of mine used to refer to it as the Greek national anthem. It was a silly joke, but one I found amusing, so amusing in fact that I recently repeated it in a radio interview here, which turned out to be a mistake.
Among the nicer things a columnist called me as a result was traitor, but I like to think he meant I was betraying the arts because I did try and sing it over the air waves. I guess the lesson to be learned is never to make fun of a people who suffer from an inferiority complex, which alas my neo-Hellenic brothers do. The other lesson is never to tell the truth, because the truth hurts. (And as everyone who has gone to Eton knows, the Greeks may have in- vented it, but the English perfected it.) Just as I was being pilloried by patriotic Greeks, my Jewish brethren also turned against me. I had no idea until some fool from the Evening Standard rang me in the Big Olive and told me his editor wished to know whether I would continue making Jewish jokes when the future sainted editor takes over in April.
Needless to say, I found the question as silly as the Greek reaction to my poking fun at them as buggers. My perception of the future sainted one is neither of an English gent nor of a Jewish one, but of a gent c'est tout.
But why do people insist on making it so difficult for the poor little Greek boy? I have as many prejudiced bones in my ageing body as there are communists in Palm Beach, but I do find it irresistible to take the mickey out of Jews in America where Jesus Christ can be depicted as a gay and Shamir only as a saint. Ditto for the neo-Hellenes.
Therefore I hope to continue saying what I like until the day the bald Greek crook — you know the one — sends out a hit squad, or some professor from Mossad University visits my humble boat sometime after midnight.
Now, however, it's carnival time, and for a change I have never seen Athenians look better. The reason for this is simple. People wear masks during carnival, and suddenly my race is looking Germanic. During carnival there are non-stop parties, and if you believe in necrophilia, you should try Athenian nouvelle society blasts.
Never have I experienced such catato- nia. New money in Greece is as insecure as some of those Wall Street crooks, there- fore they try to be respectable. The accoutrements are all there, things like gold watches, designer gowns and de rigueur mega-yachts, with the exception of rudimentary manners. For example, I was invited by a lady whose father used to be mayor of Athens long ago, one whose house carries the minimum of gold trim- mings, a social demerit in these parts. The dinner was for about 80 people, most of whom I knew by sight. What struck me almost immediately was that the scene was straight out of a soap opera. No one was natural, everyone was posing. So I posed too, pretending I was ill, and went out with two friends of mine and got blasted in a dive nearby.
The best part of the evening was when a Low-lifer next to me in the dive came over and admired the suit I was wearing. 'You must be a minister,' he said to me and then passed out.
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