High life
Revenge of the towelheads
Taki
His parents heard abotit it and com- plained to the Palace Hotel management, which of course did nothing at all except to inform me that Mohammed senior could buy out Latsis with the proverbial change in his pocket. If memory serves, I said that was impossible because of the lack of pock- ets in the towels Mohammed wears even in polite society.
Three years later, with John Taki, aged 12, spending all day on the tennis court, the towelheads are throwing their weight around seeking revenge. Early this week the whole tribe descended on the courts and took up strategic positions. There were about 25 or so camel-drivers, plus Mohammed junior, who now weighs 16 stone and is uglier than Roy Hattersley on a good day. They cheered JT's errors until the pro asked them to eat their dates instead. While all this was going on, Mohammed senior took off his sandals and one of his concubines gave him a pedicure.
That is when I blew my top. Tennis is a difficult enough game without having a fat Arab's toenails blown one's way. The poor pro was in a quandary. The rulebook says nothing about pedicures outside the court. Like a true Swiss, he said nothing. I double-faulted twice, John Taki quit in dis- gust and Mohammed had his revenge.
Ironically, I used to love our Arab brethren. When my poor dad exiled me to the Sudan to work in one of his textile mills — I had borrowed lotsa moolah from a mafioso so that I could afford Linda Chris- tian — I got to know and love Arabs. Poor Arabs, that is.
I had a personal servant called Abdu who put on weight as if he were rich, and a driver by the name of Zaki who looked straight out of Buchenwald. Every morning I'd tease them about their weight. When
our mills were finally nationalised, they both came to the airport and cried. It made three of us.
My Arab friends in Cairo later on were also wonderful. I guess the ones I meet in chic resorts are so disgusting because they made their money from the oil squeeze. Still, John Latsis is said to have done well during the last war, hut the last thing he would do, I'm sure, is have a pedicure while the Prince of Wales talks to a plant.
Mohammed or not, this has been a won- derful holiday. Sir Nigel Dempster came and went, as did Lady Thatcher. Sir Peter Tatchell and his wife are now in Gstaad, as are the Viscontis. Professor Ernest Van Den Haag has been re-christened Van Den Haagen-Dasz because of his gluttony for ice-cream, and David Mellor is going around dressed in a djellaba.
The very sad news is that Nico Fame has died. Although I knew her little, I am a very close friend of her two daughters. and adore her husband, Georgie Fame. As usual when someone dies prematurely, all sorts of dumb rumours are going around. Georgie and Nico were extremely happy together, and Nico died from a momentary depression that no one could do anything about. C'esi tout. People should leave her to heaven.
Jeffrey Bernard is in hospital again.
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