High life
Seventh heaven
Taki
Except for the occasional blowing up of one's yacht, July in London has been a grand time. This is the first time in more than 20 years that I've been boatless, and I feel like Paul Claude], the French poet, who, near death, wrote how amazing it is to feel fine without sight, hearing or taste. I'm feeling fine without Bushido.
Some joker sent me a picture of Paul Getty's boat, the newly refurbished and renamed Talitha G, a 271 footer, suggest- ing I buy her sister ship. Ironically, I knew the Talitha G when she was called El Petal, and owned by Andy Embiricos's dad. I took a long cruise on her with my first wife, but ended up in the clink in St Tropez after getting into a fist fight with a sailor once in port. Stavro Niarchos came to the station and bailed me out. This was more than 30 years ago. For some strange reason, I don't think be yachting on the Talitha G in the near future.
And speaking of St Tropez, my old friend the Duchess of Pork cannot stay away from the place. She is reported to be there with two detectives and various other gofers, while John Bryan is nowhere to be seen. Well, that's not quite right. John is nearby, but lying doggo, as Lord Lucan said in his last message to us.
And here I wish to say something about Bryan, a man I've savaged in the past. One of my royal spies who just happened to be staying near Windsor during the Cartier polo, spilled the beans about that Hello! row. John Bryan was ordered by the court to pay Fergie's sister £55,000, after she alleged he had kept the payment from Hello! The truth is somehow different. Although Hello! indignantly denies paying the people it fawningly interviews, the fact is Hello! pays and pays generously. John Bryan, acting like an honest broker, made a deal with Hello! to pay Fergie's sister and her ridiculous husband, model Reiner Luedecke, £100,000 for exclusive coverage of their Australian wedding. The deal, how- ever, stipulated that Fergie show up accom- panied by her two meal tickets, Beatrice and Eugenie. In fact, first class tickets for six people plus hotel accommodations plus whatever incidentals come to about 55,000 big ones. Plus perhaps a small commission. After all, without Bryan's deal-making capabilities, the ridiculous sister and model husband would not even make the Aus- tralian version of The Oldie. In fact this couple are simply the latest addition to the Fergie saga.
What I'd like to know is when will all this end? Dip beneath the surface of the Fergu- son family and you'll find a psychological sewer. Have these people no shame? As I've said before, Fergie is not a bad girl, but she's congenitally coarse and has even worse judgment than I do. But I pay my own way, she does not. And in her new, demure little-girl-lost act, she comes across like Gazza in drag.
Enough of picking on Fergie. From time to time I swear to myself that I will never attack her again, then something happens, and presto.
My boat's demise excluded, this has been among the happiest months ever. One of my girlfriends got engaged out in Los Angeles, another is waiting to be asked at any moment, while a third is seriously con- templating becoming a nun. This finally leaves me room to operate. Last week Rosa Monckton, the sainted one's better half, invited me to wonderful Goodwood House for the Tiffany Goodwood ball. The ballroom is among the best rooms I've ever seen. There were more van Dycks and Canalettos than Fergie has had freebies, which is really saying something.
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