High life
Comparing lengths
Taki
I've been trying to figure out who has been on holiday longer this year, Fergie or yours truly, the difference being that I'm on my daddy's Civil List and a tax burden only to my children.
Let's see. She hit the slopes a couple of times last winter, whereas the poor little Greek boy skied only once; then it was the French Riviera, Italy and Portugal, while the greatest Greek writer since Homer only made it to good old Helvetia.
Mind you, two weeks on the Cote d'Azur makes a follow-up holiday de rigueur, which is why the duchess went there in the first place. ,The last time I saw her 'brother' John Bryan he looked very tanned, but of course I'm not insinuating that one cannot give financial advice while on the Riviera or in Portugal. The only place Fergie has missed this year is Mykonos, an island so full of financial advisers that anyone land- ing there without a trunkful of condoms is turned back tout' suite.
Now I know that it's none of my business what. Fergie does and does not do, just as I know that I've been a bit tough on her in the past, but she does ask for it. Nigel Dempster told me when he was in Gstaad that he felt very sorry for her, and that he liked her a lot. This is great praise indeed coming from the Greatest Living English- man, but doesn't stop the fact that Fergie loves publicity almost as much as poor old Jeff loves booze. Giving an interview to a cretinous American network one year after having been caught in flagrante was par for the course. And saying that Andrew encouraged her to go on holiday with John Bryan means only that she takes everyone for a fool, or that her husband is even more stupid than he looks.
But enough of Fergie. I promise not to mention her name until the next scandal, and perhaps not even then. And speaking of scandal, I recently read an article by William Davis in the Sunday Express about men who go after rich women. I liked the piece, and I like William Davis, but he did get a few things wrong. (As I did last week misspelling Sir Peter Tapsell's name, thus associating a great man with a great poofter.)
My best man and big buddy Porfirio Rubirosa did not get £20 million from Bar- bara Hutton, only £2 million, plus, as Davis says, an aeroplane and a string of ponies. The world's most succesful marriage — in terms of the wealth of the blushing bride, that is — was the Roussel v. Onassis nup- tials. This most ghastly of Frogs got 57 mil- lion greenbacks off Christina, and a million per year for the rest of his grotesque life, and is now trying to break the Onassis trust so he can get to handle his daughter's moolah.
Libel laws in Britain prevent me from writing what I wrote in a Greek newspaper about him, for which he sued. The editors are delighted and we are all waiting with bated breath for him to show up in the Big Olive in order to have his day in court. I am willing to bet my last devalued drachma that he will do a Ligne Maginot.
Given the fact that Roussel made a for- tune with his you-know-what, I'm obviously in the wrong business. If anyone very rich and of the female persuasion needs an age- ing Greek please contact the Speccie. You have nothing to lose but the root of all envy.
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