A hell of a fellow
Taki
ARougemont t the Nikola and Sveva Romanov 50th wedding anniversary party (Nikola would today be head of Russia instead of president of the Eagle Club if some lousy commie bastards had not knocked off his ancestor), my host George Nicholson asked me to follow Bill Buckley to the dais, not unlike having Stephen Hawking supplant Demosthenes. Thank God, Bill, a witty and extremely accomplished speaker, made it easy for me. Roy Jenkins, rather. It seems Lord Jenkins, while on a recent book tour in America, reminisced to Bill how he had accompanied de Gaulle to the States following the second world war. The Frenchman asked to meet General Pershing, who may have been a little gaga by then. As soon as they shook hands Black Jack Pershing asked de Gaulle, -Et comment va mon ami Philippe Petain?' To which de Gaulle replied, 'Aux dernieres nouvelles, il allait tres hien.'
Although I roared with laughter, I was the only one. Perhaps they didn't hear it — there were at least five people with hearing aids present — or maybe it's just a sign of the times. Who would know about Admiral Byng if it weren't for Gosford Park, the movie? Oh, well, it could have been even more embarrassing had Pershing asked about Admiral Darlan, who was assassinated by Fernand de la Chapelle on orders (I am sure, although I'm in the minority) of Le Grand Charles. Roy Jenkins is a hell of a fellow. He knocks off 912 pages on Churchill following his opus on Gladstone, as if they were 'High life' columns. But then he goes and ruins it all by writing in the Spectator diary that 'a holiday without any work is as barren as a working day without a conversational meal'. What rot. Work is to a holiday what Jack Straw is to a St James's club. And it gets worse. Lord Jenkins then lists Renato Ruggiero's accomplishments (Ruggiero was the pizza version of Jack Straw until Berlusconi chewed him up and spat him out). The list proves beyond doubt that Renato has lived a wonderful life throughout at the expense of the Italian taxpayer, however seldom those taxes are paid. No sucker he to go out to try it on his own.
But perhaps I'm being too hard on those smart enough not to lay it on the line. Lord Archer, who is loathed by segments of the media because he was successful both in politics and in his chosen profession, and is a womaniser to boot whose wife and children love him, is the antithesis of people who only work for the state. (He should sue the ridiculous Emma Nicholson, whose only talent lies in kicking someone who is down, for the allegations she made against him.) But back to Gstaad and the real world. There is as much snow as there are honest producers in Hollywood. which makes it very pleasant for the regulars. Skiing, after all, is known to interfere with the social life, and Gstaad is very, very social. Personally, I spend my time in the karate dojo and walking up mountains. There are also a lot of beautiful schoolgirls at Le Rosey, some of whom are friends of my younger brother. John-Taki. (Well. if Tony Blair can lie with impunity, why can't the poor little Greek boy misrepresent a member of his family?) Blair, incidentally, has managed to lie even more than Bill Clinton, a fantastic achievement that would make Baron Munchausen drool with envy. This man obviously knows that he's lording it over a nation of hydrocephalics, hydrocephalus being a condition that afflicts those who willingly pay to watch television and read English tabloids.
I'm actually ready to take my hat off to Blair. No one, not even Clinton, could convince a people who have to go to Salonika for medical treatment that it's all the fault of the Tories (in power last century) without having a single wheelchair or potty thrown at him. I remember when girls would go into prostitution in Salonika in order to fund an operation for their mother or father in England. Now it's the other way round. Salonika? The last time I was there was in 1955, for a junior Davis Cup match, and I caught crabs.
Which obviously have infested British brains as they fall for such rubbish. Make no mistake about it, Blair is a white Mugabe, although I prefer the Zimbabwean tyrant's woman to the ghastly Cherie. See you around the slopes,
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