High life
Chelsea low life
Taki
Last Sunday, while playing tennis in the courts of Cadogan Square, I suddenly thought a racing car had entered the gar- den and was heading for the poor little Greek boy. And sure enough a racing car was. Two of them, in fact. Upon closer inspection they turned out to be driven by remote control, two small missiles flying all over the green, making formula one noises.
My opponent, being English, made a face but said nothing. I looked around in disbelief and saw a couple of Arabs staring in fascination at the projectiles, some Americans ditto, while an old English lady ran for cover. I tried to signal at the two oiks who were controlling the pests, but they were both deeply lost in their endeav- ours. My screaming at them also went unheeded, as the racket was such the oiks would not have heard a shot fired.
That is when I ran up to them Orlando Furioso-like and told them that what they were doing was illegal and to stop right then and there. In an accent that would have shocked Eliza Doolittle in her pre- Professor Higgins days, the oiks said there was nothing written in the garden prohibit- ing themselves from driving the rest of us nuts. In fact the sign says no noise, no radios, no ball playing. The fact that the Cadogan Estate had not pointed out that remote control racing cars are also fdrbid- den was a point the oiks were ready to defend, but not to the death, needless to say, because I did threaten expulsion with extreme prejudice if they continued. They finally decided to stop after saying they were going out to check whether I was right or not, 'and we'll be back to deal with you mate'. Incidentally, I'm still waiting.
Now if that weren't enough, after I resumed my game, Mohammed junior began to ululate loud enough to be heard by Laurence van der Post in the Kalahari desert. Mohammed senior just sat there admiring junior's lung capacity. The Amer- ican men looked quite content listening to the Arab scream rather than to the unend- ing complaining (I presume) of their ghast- ly wives. Suddenly Cadogan Square had become hell on earth. To top it off, a very nice Englishman came up to me as I was finishing — a Speccie reader — and informed me some dusky type has been walking around asking perfect strangers, like himself, my address. (The loyal Spectator reader declined).
The fact that some gangsters blew up my boat, and have done things since I can- not talk about at present, does not alter the fact that London for me means peace and quiet, and lotsa fun. The Cadogan Estate, however, does not provide it. I pay over £6,000 rent per annum in order not to have to smell souvlaki at night, nor hear aoud. Yet the greedy bureaucrats who run the estate, have driven out all the people who once upon a time made Cadogan Square one of the nicest places to live in. They did this the new-fashioned way, by raising and raising the rents until only American companies and date-eating sons-of-the-desert can afford them.
Although a few natives still live around here, I mostly hear loud American accents — thank God, Fergie's first friend, Steve Wyatt, has moved out — and pick up after our Arab brethren children's candy wrap- pers. In his book 'Somerset and All the Maughams', Robin Maugham described the square, and it was idyllis. So what else is new? I'll tell you what. The greedy ones should post a warden during the weekend to make sure the nouveaux who infest the place behave. And they should pay the poor man enough for him to have the energy to walk around and do his duty. The gardeners at present are doing•a mag- nificent job, but they were trained as gar- deners, not policemen. The greedy ones should also read a Turkish fable that tells of a peasant that did not feed his donkey because, as he proudly proclaimed to his flock, the donkey never compalined. After the donkey starved to death, the peasant cried to Allah that he was not to blame.
Cadogan Estate tenants unite! We should leave en masse. We have nothing to lose but our high rents, oiks armed with noise machines, Mohammed juniors and Arabs eating their dates.
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