High life
Wisdom and wine
Taki
TRougemont here is a buzz in this beautiful old Alpine village, and that's because one of the greatest British prime ministers is com- ing to town. Lady Thatcher is to address the Gstaad Symposium this weekend, brainchild of yours truly. The format is as follows: Lady T will speak about the chal- lenges of the 21st century, we will then dine — and drink — and a discussion will fol- low. The idea came to us one evening after a ferocious debate about . .. chalet prices. Bored out of my mind, I asked a few close friends if there was something, anything, we could do to change this most popular of subjects. Eureka! Athenaeus, a Greek who lived in Rome from 170 to 230 AD, and wrote The Deipnosophists — Sophists at Dinner — and off we went. Our first speak- er was Alistair Horne on Kosovo. Now we have Lady T, followed by Andrew Roberts two nights later. It is not exactly Aspen or Davos, but then we're not aiming for glory and profit, just for a little bit of wisdom, good company and lots of good wine. Lady Thatcher has been extremely gra- cious and generous in accepting. We are, after all, just starting out, but her presence has given the GS a hell of a lift. The response has been incredible. Even the locals, some of whom do not speak a word of English, have lined up to hear what she has to say. It will all take place at the Palace Hotel, whose owner, Ernst Scherz, is a member of the committee and has pulled out all the stops, as they say in Noo Yawk. I will introduce Lady T, and act as mod- erator. Last time I overdid things during dinner but, believe you me, this time the poor little Greek Sophist will stick to water. I have too much respect for the lady to pull a Taki. One of the pleasures of my life was to see the Marxists driven to near psychosis by her triumphs. She bequeathed legisla- tion that ensured the trade unions could no longer hold the country to ransom and make it ungovernable. Phoney Tony is now going around bragging about how good the Brits have it but, if it weren't for Lady T, he'd probably be a small-time clerk in his wife's office, doubling as a nanny for his three kids (no Leo, no Tuscan palazzo, no Queen's Flight).
And, while I'm at it, how do you spell conflict of interest? Lady Thatcher, a single individual from a humble background, was able to change history for the better. Cherie Blair, this Booth stuff is crap, is try- ing to provide a bonanza for lawyers of her ilk — lefty busybodies greedy for moolah. Hear me now, believe me later, as Arnold Schwartzenegger used to say, this is all about money and nothing but money. The next Parliament will have legislation that will permit homos to exhibit their tech- niques in public, techniques which we will have to tolerate by law. Fox hunting will be a criminal offence. Criminals will be able to sue under 'human rights' and so on. The Matrix chambers will be very very busy, and very very profitable. Calling the grotesque Cherie Blair Lady Macbeth was an insult to the Lady. I doubt if the Blair woman knows how to spell conscience.
Imagine if Sir Denis Thatcher was a lawyer — and I apologise to him for the hypothesis — and he had started a Matrix type of chambers. The papers would have gone bananas. Harold Pinter and Antonia Fraser would have had to be treated for acute apoplexy, or whatever ailment strikes trendy Marxists on their way to a Scottish moor. I won't even attempt to imagine what the scum at the Guardian would have done. But such are the joys of the double standard. One thing is for sure: I'm much happier living in Switzerland than in Blair- `Where, may I ask; is your advertised ambience?' land, a place whose Ministry of Truth, under Alastair Campbell, George Orwell predicted long ago.
Last week, George Nicholson held his annual skeet competition in the Rouge- mont shooting club. Last year the mother of my children won first prize among the ladies. This year it was my daughter's turn to win. The poor little Greek boy came in last in 1999 among the men. This year, despite the presence of three of Europe's greatest shots, I tied for fourth with Nichol- son and John Radziwill. Next year, if I'm still around, I will be in the money, or may the fleas of a thousand camels infest Jack Straw's armpits.
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