High life
Where to die like a man
Taki
Makris, the Greek Eton, was two blocks away from Panepistimiou street, so we walked it. Although the occupation and ensuing civil war had ravaged the capital, it was still full of flowers, neo-classical build- ings and electric-powered trains running through it. Once at `Yannakis' my father's so-called buddy ordered an ice cream for me and a coffee for himself. He asked me about school and what sports I liked and then proposed a film". Just as he said it, I saw him give a furtive look down the avenue — we were sitting outside in bright sunshine — and jump up and run away at a tremendous speed.
Fear gives wings, as our rich Kuwaiti brothers showed us in the summer of 1990, but never have I seen a man disappear so quickly. It was very simple, however. He had spotted my father coming out from `Demosthenes', the barber shop chic Athe- nians frequented in those halcyon days. The old man, although a Balkan and national track and field champion at 800 meters, did not pursue him. He was too shocked that I would sit down with a per- fect stranger just because he said he was a friend of the family. I remember what he said as if it was yesterday. 'This boy will come to no good, he's too stupid.'
Well, for one I proved him wrong, wrong that is if, as Alan Bennett writes in The Madness of George III, 'it takes character to withstand the rigours of indolence'. But I don't wish to talk about character, only about sexual abuse. It seems it has become the 'all in all', as Wordsworth says of nature. At least here in Lalaland. The Menendez brothers kill their parents in cold blood and inherit, and the juries refuse to send them to the chair because shyster lawyers claim they were abused. What I'd like to know is what about their mother, who did not abuse them but got 15 bullets in her head as a result? How come the cretins in the jury do not send them to fry for her death? Not that I personally believe for a moment that the father did abuse the brothers.
Oprah Winfrey, Roseann Arnold and other TV pachyderms have risen to the sex- ual abuse claim as Michelangelo rose to the ceiling as a way of getting sympathy in the age of Clinton. It is the road to neverland. Michael Jackson buys his way out and blacks all over America cheer. La Bobbitt cuts a willy off and women all over Ameri- ca cheer. I'm off to live in Sarajevo. At least there one can die like a man.
On a far brighter note, Chic magazine has named 40 of the sexiest men over 40. I'm listed at 37, which means my odds to marry the Princess of Wales are getting longer. This is the bad news. The good is that the sainted editor came in as the 16th sexiest man in the world over 40, the only problem being Chic cheated. In their haste to have him humiliate me by 21 places, they included a man who is only 37 years of age. Now that's what someone like Clinton would do. Shame on Chic.
'We're the battering classes.'
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