High life
Women and children first
Taki
Ibeg to differ with Stephen Glover's media column of last week where he claims the Guardian has scored 'the biggest victo- ry of any left-of-centre newspaper against a Conservative government for a long time'. Velly, velly solly, as they say in Hong Kong, but the Guardian did not win. Mohamed Al Fayed did. The Egyptian is the one that pledged to rub the Tories' faces in the dirt and if the poor dears are not in the you- know-what, I don't know who is. All the Guardian did was Mohamed's bidding. He set out to screw the Tory Party for the citi- zenship snub and, as they say in Holly- wood, he sure did some screwing.
But before I go on, a bit of background, one on which I speak with a certain author- ity. A couple of years back I attacked Al Fayed in these pages and elsewhere in a light-hearted manner. I had absolutely nothing against him. I was just fooling around. He responded as if I had murdered his mother. By word of mouth and through letters to the sainted one he painted the poor little Greek boy as an unsavoury phoney who made his living selling baklava in Piraeus — while pretending to be a ship- owner and well-born. I did not mind as it was all clean fun. Then things got ugly. He referred to me as a coke-sniffer who wrote under the influence.
Having paid my debt to society more than 12 years ago, I thought it below the belt. I sued for libel. Then, almost immedi- ately, I did a Greer-Hamilton, and pulled out. My reason for doing so was as good as it gets. The mother of my children wouldn't have it. 'We have teenage children who read the British press and they come first, not your ego,' was the way she put it. Not for a long time had a princess made so much sense. Fayed acted with magnanimity once I called a halt. Despite the exhortations of Michael Cole — his silver-tongued servant — to try to get me to pay his costs, Mohamed let bygones be bygones and each side paid their own. Which brings me to Neil Hamilton, a man I've never met. In Britain, or so I thought, a man is innocent until proved guilty. The Guardian has rail- roaded him in a kangaroo court made up of freebie-takers and phoney expense- receivers par excellence. The word is out that he's bent. It has yet to be proved. After all, unlike cheques, unmarked notes can neither be proved nor disproved. It will all come out in the wash, as they say at Aspinall's.
One thing is for sure. Mohamed Al Fayed has much, much more in his coffers, and I don't mean moolah. I mean dirt on MPs and hacks. He keeps records like nobody. And he's dying to tell a court of law. His benefactions are many, as many as his records. For example, I know of one ex- editor of a major newspaper who spent a week at the Ritz, cruised up and down the gallery that connects the Place Vendome side with that of the Rue Cambon, shopped till he dropped and never had to pay a penny.
The numero uno gossip columnist, Sir Nigel Dempster, always thanks Mohamed for the gifts his wife and daughter receive from the Egyptian Santa Claus, but he is in the minority. As is the former sainted one, Dominic Lawson, who wrote about it in last week's Sunday Telegraph. Hacks live in glass houses, yet are throwing rocks at MPs who have received a pittance compared to what the rats have. Watching Alan Rus- bridger and Neil Hamilton on Paxman last week I was struck at the manner of the two hacks vs the MP. The only way I can describe it is as a passionate disbelief in Britain: the MP treated as a mobster rather than as an elected representative.
Mohamed Al Fayed is a big boy and needs my advice as much as I need a trip to Grozny. I will nevertheless give it. Be mag- nanimous in victory, Mr Al Fayed. And trust the Guardian as much as I trust the Labour Party.
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