High life
Poor old Craig Brown
Taki
The mother of my children, whose birthday falls this week, is in town, and I'm taking her to good old Annabel's for a celebratory dinner. Annabel's is always a good bet, and as I told Alexandra, an added bonus is they don't allow Craig Brown inside the premises. Craig Brown, the food critic for the Sunday Telegraph, is advertised as the wit who puts the nation's restaurants to the test. This is for sure. It is very testing to eat with Brown in the room. But before I go on, I must declare an interest.
I have never met, spoken with or corre- sponded with Brown, although he has been writing about the poor little Greek boy for years. In fact, he went after me back in 1981, when a collection of Jeffrey Bernard's and my columns were pub- lished. Brown liked Jeff's, hated mine. So what else is new?
It seems that Craig Brown does not like my style of writing, which doesn't surprise me. I'm not mad about it either. Mind you, although his literary energy is aston- ishing, he hasn't hit any sixes either, even writing in his native tongue. When Brown joined the Speccie some years ago, writing a column under the Wallace Arnold pseudonym, the penny never dropped until he left. It dropped because he not only claimed the name of his column Charles Moore's idea — as his own, he had lawyers warn us that certain dread words he had used in these pages were his copyright. A bit like the poor little one claiming High Life as my own. It was par for the course. As I didn't know Brown, I did not partake in the controversy. But he continued taking pot shots at me.
Last week, however, the penny dropped again. I was leafing through Harpers & Queen, when lo and behold there was my tormentor, and in living colour, as they say. It was not his smartest move. To say that he looked like someone conceived by a man with a dose of clap would be a slight understatement. He looked like a pink pig, his oversized skull, I suppose, denoting hidden wisdom. But always be wary of the very ugly. The Spartans went as far as to get rid of them. Craig Brown would not have lasted long in Sparta.
While reading about how much money he makes — dread word, money — I also notice his wife. More pennies from heaven. Frances Welch had rung me about a year ago, as she was writing about foreigners liv- ing in London. I said I'd see her because I like her old man, Colin. While she was interviewing me, I noticed a certain hostili- ty. My drawing room did not meet with her approval. Or perhaps it was because I had staff and the place is clean and beautiful. did not know at the time that she was mar- ried to this chewed-up potato critic.
Now that I've read about this beautiful couple living in splendour down in Essex, I am beginning to understand. They say that three things make people envious, back- ground, looks and moolah. At the risk of sounding ever not so humble, he suffers on all three counts where the poor little Greek is concerned.
The French have a wonderful expression for Brown types. They say one is 'mal baise'. But never mind. God is known for giving people the looks they deserve.
Previous page
