Chronicles
Taki
If there is one of Doctor Johnson's aphorisms I do not agree with, especially in these times, it is the one about patriotism being the last refuge of the scoundrel. It comes in handy, however, when one paraphrases it and says that a journalist's last refuge is the weekly diary. In my, case, as I have been suffering from jet-lag, nightclub-lag, and other excesses of the indolent, I will simply chronicle my week's activities.
On Thursday, still on English soil thank god, I attend a dinner at David Metcalfe's. His wife Sally is American and one of the few of her kind who have married Englishmen and have not become more royal than the king. That is not the case with the Metcalfes. In fact David points out to me that Prince Charles and I are the only two people in England who can vet a dinner list: HRH to see if there is anyone present who might be embarrassing, Yours Truly to see if there is anyone present I have not yet embarrassed. Despite some groans upon my arrival, the dinner is a great success. The best food and wine make up for the presence of three Greeks and the fact that the English contingent has trouble understanding the Queen's English with a Turko-Greco twist. After dinner I have my last drink at Annabel's, the best nightclub west of Teheran. At half past two in the morning I meet a beautiful writer, and get horribly depressed at the realisation that she likes someone else and that I have to catch a plane in five hours. So I go off to Tramp to try and forget.
The first thing I read upon landing in New York is that Andrew Stein has been mugged. Andrew Stein used to be called Andrew Finkelstein, but he removed the Finkle when he decided to go into politics. Stein is one of the most obscene politicians in this most obscene of states. His father is a multimillionaire semi-gangster who is financing his boy to the top. Stein is Manhattan borough president. which is one third of the way to the top of the greasy poll in the city's mayoral politics. Stein made his reputation as a do-gooder firebrand: he is for ethnic minorities getting all the welfare benefits in order to be able to buy better heroin etc. . . But suddenly, divine justice. Stein gets mugged right on Fifth Avenue, and loses 100 dollars and his cashmere overcoat. He screams blue murder and goes on record as saying that muggers should be jailed and the key thrown away for life. Something a lot of hard working people have been saying for a long time, but were called fascist for it by the disgusting Stein. On Monday I finally have a good time as I go to dinner with Bryan Ferry and run into my old friend Lord Brooke. I make a tasteless remark about what a pity it is that he already has a title otherwise he could get one for services to export. Brookie, always the gentleman, just laughs it off, but his companion, a 92-year-old lady from Denmark, one Erica Nielsen, gets furious. Hers, is a terrible story. She survived the sinking of the Thank by masquerading as a duchess (she was working on board as a maid) and jumping on the first lifeboat. She has lived very well since and is at present advising Lord Brooke on how not to get into trouble in this most dangerous of cities.
On Tuesday all hell breaks loose at a publisher's lunch when Edward Kennedy's remarks about the Shah are heard over the wireless, Teddy calls the Shah one of the worst criminals ever and demands that he leave the country and make room 'for the thousands of Mexicans and disenfranchised who are waiting to come here.' Some of us become indignant. After all votes are votes, but even as big a liar or an opportunist as Teddy cannot compare the Shah with Hitler and Stalin. It is an insult to the millions of Jews. Poles, Cambodians and Vietnamese. But my side is outnumbered as Teddy has too many supporters in the rest of the company. I leave disgusted and dream of England.
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