National pride
Taki
-rt ear, oh dear. England snatches defeat L./during injury time, and little ole Greece slays a giant. I'm not gloating, mind you, but national pride is hardly one of the seven deadly sins. The English played well against France, better than they have in years, but lost because they lack brains. Needlessly fouling near the box in the closing minutes is not rocket science, nor is sloppy passing towards their own goal in the closing seconds. The Greeks have always had talent but lacked discipline and togetherness. Last week they came out like Prussians on parade. Figo was isolated — and soon suffocated — by a hard-working team under a very good German coach. I don't know how far we'll go, but we're on the map, although I hated to see us whip the Portuguese, among the nicest people in Europe.
I got the news while in deep Oxfordshire, at Great Tew, for the wedding of Nicholas Johnston to my old friend Linda Evans — no, not the actress, a much younger English version. What a brilliant English afternoon, with the rolling hills and verdant setting and a beautiful old English church. The Abbot presiding warned everyone to turn off their mobiles 'because I won't have my ceremony disrupted'. Hear, hear! Then it was drinks on the great lawn outside and a dinner-dance inside a beautiful tent. Needless to say, I was among the oldies, but I loved the speeches — all in good taste and very funny — and did manage to shake it up a bit with a couple of girls less than half my age.
Actually, I'm embarrassed to dance to trendy music, and only do so when drunk. Dancing cheek-to-cheek is still on, but an old man shaking about is as ridiculous a sight as fat-bellied lager louts walking around in shorts. I sat around with my friend Robert Hanson and Fergie's ex — John Bryan — and shot the bull about El Lay, where the two swordsmen get up to no good during the winter months, Around five in the morning I gave a lift to a beautiful young girl who lives in Blenheim — she refused to let me into the palace — and then had my faithful driver Nabil take me to London.
A few hours sleep and it was off to Kent, where Juanita Kerman was throwing a bash for her hubby's 60th. Nicky Kerman is an old and treasured friend, and the party was a reunion of reprobates who have survived the Sixties. First and foremost Victor Lowndes, the greatest party-giver of his time when he owned and ran the Playboy empire in Britain. And, of course, the usual suspects: John Bentley, the seducer of the valleys Sir Dai Llewellyn, Kevin Burke, Bungalow Bill Wiggins, Dan Meinertzhagen, James Osborne and so on. There were also some non-reprobates, like Valentine Cecil, Nick Scott, Michael Dupree and Nick Morris, but it was mostly bad-boy time. The only one missing, and very much missed by everyone, was Nigel Dempster, nowadays not feeling his best but, if collective hopes and prayers help, he will soon be better.
And speaking of prayers, the bumkissers of Brussels did not exactly have theirs answered, did they? As far as most people are concerned, the EU is a coup d'etat by bureaucrats and other unelected vermin who wish to legislate and run our lives. I know that this is hardly original, but it is worth repeating ad nauseam. The EU was supposed to be a free-trade area, c 'est tout. Not a centralised politburo with power to tell one what to eat or how much one should weigh.
The brilliant results of UKIP are due to the utter contempt that professional politicians have for John Q. Public, and a good lesson for fat slobs like the Belgian Louis Michel and his ilk. The fact that Michael Heseltine called it a tragedy makes UKIP not only legitimate, but the party for all freedom-loving people. Someone wrote that this is how wars start: when people have nothing in common with those ruling them and can see no way of reversing the trend. It is so elementary it proves that Labour and some parts of the Tory party are working against the common interest.
Of course people will resort to violence when their own elected officials do not adhere to the majority's wishes. I have said this before, but Guido Fawkes was the only person to enter Parliament with honest intentions. He ended up badly, mind you, but very bravely. These Europhiles better get their act together. Most Brits do not want to be ruled by child-molesting Belgian bureaucrooks. Get that through your fat heads, dickheads.
Previous page
