High life
The last resort
Taki
TMykonos he worst invention since television is the jet-ski. It is noisy, it pollutes, it's extremely dangerous to swimmers in general and snorkellers in particular, and it needs about as much skill as floating on a rubber mattress in a Hollywood swimming
pool. For any of you too civilised to know what it is, the jet-ski is a water-going motorbike, a toy for people who want to be noticed, the latest accoutrement for men whom Nature blessed with large egos but forgot to endow elsewhere.
My Mykonos holiday was somewhat ruined by this horrible invention, as tens of water-going cowboys raced around and in front of my boat as soon as we came into sight. As yet there are no regulations against the jet-ski, which means young boys can race around at 30 mph literally ten feet off the beach doing a slalom, with the heads of swimmers serving as poles.
Needless to say, the worst offenders are the Mykonians — a greedy race with the highest per capita income in the world — and, of course, the sons of the rich. Throughout last week I got stuck time and time again between the boat of the Vardi- noyannis family and that of a man by the name of Manios. Now the Vardinoyannis own much of Greece and act it. Not that I'm against them. They come from Crete, were enterprising bodyguards of sorts and ran the blockade to supply Rhodesia when a lily-livered world had turned its back on those who fought for Britain in the last world war. The Vardinoyannis are bil- lionaires and made their fortune during the late Seventies, which I suppose makes them old money for this part of the world.
Mr Manios I do not know, but he is reputed to have made it in the last three years, which I suppose is a bit nouveau even for Greece. (Not as nouveau as yours truly, however. After all, I only made it on 14 July this year.) With the Vardinoyannis children playing Prost v. Senna on one side and Manios pretending to be Nigel Mansell on the other, it was to be expected that I was driven to drink. (I apologise to The Spectator's oldest reader for yet again mentioning my weakness for the demon drink, but this time it was really not my fault. The jet-ski would drive Princess Margaret to abstinence.)
Mind you, when I was out at sea it was perfect. We were very lucky with the weather, although the species we were hunting proved as elusive as a German U-boat. Ironically, my friend Oliver and I had two German beauties cornered in a café, and just when we were about to pounce, they fell into a long clinch and went off holding hands. Which drove me crazy with desire, which in turn • led me to resort to cheap tricks like asking them if they would care to join us on board for a gourmet dinner and all that jazz. 'Nein, nein,' was all we got for our trouble.
Oh well, there are worse things but I cannot think of them for the moment. Women are strange creatures and I have never been able to figure them out. When I was young they said I was too young, now they say I'm too old. When I was poor they went after rich men, now they're after the meek that shall inherit the earth. It's enough to drive one to ... turn gay.
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