High life
It's the Fraulein's fault
Taki
DGstaad
amn! Why didn't I think of it? Of course I, too, was abused as a child and, needless to say, when I was busted at Heathrow with coke in my back pocket in 1984, all I was doing was researching the damage cocaine inflicts on users, honest! And I'll go a step further. When I backed a brand-new yellow mini into a tree, I swear on Cherie Blair's head that I was trying to find out whether trees suffer when directly backed into or not. I don't know what this world is coming to. Here I am, as much a victim of child abuse as Pete Townshend, as eager to research drug and tree abuse as he was to research child pornography, and what do I get? Four months in the poky back in 1984 (Orwell had predicted in his opus that the state would jail free spirits like yours truly) and I am now facing a possible 20 days for my tree investigation. It's unfair, it's illegal, it's outrageous, but there you have it. It's because I'm Greek, I am sure. I'm also guilty of a hell of a lot more. I'm a family man, a provider, I pay my taxes, I'm white (although always suntanned), I am self-employed, I inherited from my old man, I have never sued the state, or any person for that matter, I employ people, I own a yacht . you name it, I'm guilty of it.
But back to having been abused. My German nanny used to wash me in the bath when I was a baby. Repressed memory syndrome inhibits me from giving you details, but I'm certain that old Fraulein must have pulled a number on me. In fact I know it because, ever since, whenever I see the odd Fraulein, something happens down there. Ask any of my childhood friends. I wrote an essay long ago about it. It was so bad for a while that the mother of my children once asked me to speak to a friend of hers, a shrink, as to why every time I ran into a beautiful woman I had to try and jump into bed with her. I agreed to speak to her under protest.
We met in her office — in Paris. The shrink was lying on a sofa, something I found rather strange. After a few banalities were exchanged, she asked me why I couldn't remain faithful. Instead of telling her about how terribly I had been abused in the bath as a baby. I chose to tell the truth. 'I love Alexandra but whenever I see a sexy woman, something drives me to try and have sex with her."Arghh, ahh, ah, mon dieu ' the poor woman screamed, as if in pain. In fact, I later found out that she was passing a kidney stone — ergo the scream — and it had nothing to do with what I had said.
So much for compassion from shrinks. Or from those awful judges who sent me down for researching drug abuse. Some of you may snort and dismiss it, but cocaine abuse can be very dangerous late at night. Both men and women have been known to prefer talking rather than screwing when under the influence, which is why so few Europeans are reproducing nowadays, especially decadent, rich, upper-class Europeans. The Labour government, obviously delighted that the landed gentry is not reproducing, should nevertheless erect non-discriminatory laws in order to preserve the few white fools who are known to attract American and Japanese tourists throughout the summer months, all three weeks of them. Labour has appeased everyone but those who actually can draw tourists to the miserable place that Cool Britannia has become.
Remember when Jack Straw's son got caught selling a small amount of hash to a journalist? Do you think Judge Trapnell (God rest the soul of the man who sent me down) threw the book at him? Of course not. Straw pre has throughout his life lived off the state, so to speak; he started as a professional rabble-rouser and busybody, and ended up living high on the hog off the state as a professional busybody. In Cool Britannia we don't send the son of a leftwing prick like Straw to jail for dealing; we vote him president of the Oxford Union instead. (Apparently he is as much of a dictator as his old man, and just as phony.) Alas, ditto in America, where rock stars, Hollywood types and the Kennedys have all avoided the poky by claiming they were abused as children. (The one exception is
that poor Downey chappie, who is always being thrown in jail for possessing happy dust; his crime? Not having been abused.) Now my tree research might once again land me inside. It's a horrid thought, especially when I think how terribly I was abused by an old chauffeur of ours underneath a tree somewhere in Kifissia.. .
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