High life
Troubled waters
Taki
Gstaad
wentwent for a drink with the owner of the Palace Hotel and heard some rather in- teresting gossip. It seems that Sheikh Yamani has applied for Swiss residence, a Permit C, as it's called by tax dodgers, but is having a tough time getting it. Yamani is the civilised Arab who nevertheless raised
the price of oil to uncivilised heights during the early Seventies, a fact not forgotten by the good old Swiss. I hope he doesn't get it because already there are too many of these towelheads owning property in my favourity country.
Mind you, whatever happens in the Gulf, one thing is for sure. Within the next ten years all the sheikhs will be on the Riviera and in Switzerland, and some may even try the Big Olive. King Fand may be a nice guy, but how in hell does he justify his counsellor Sheikh Eynani dropping 16 million big ones during an unlucky month on the Cote d'Azur? Arabs are volatile, and, unlike the English who love the fact their Queen doesn't pay taxes, word of Eynani's losses is out and being used as propaganda against the West by that cud- dly bear Saddam.
Personally, I like gamblers, but desper- ate ones, not bullies like Eynani. Losing one's house on the green felt table is in a strange way honourable; throwing money away in order to impress the hookers that hang around casinos should be a punish- able offence. Fand should send Eynani to Amman to live in a Palestinian refugee camp.
And speaking of refugee camps, Gstaad is a camp of sorts, for the very rich, of course. From my chalet window I look into the Fayed abode, Fayed as in Harrods, that is. The Fayeds are keeping a low profile, probably out of embarrassment since it was revealed that their father not only wasn't descended directly from the Prophet but was a lowly camel driver.
One honest man who choppered to Gstaad last Sunday was my friend Avvoca- to Agnelli, as different as one can be from people like Fayed. Gianni came from St Moritz and I picked him up at Saanen airport. After asking me for all the gossip he chatted for a couple of hours and then helicoptered back to the Engadine for lunch. His advice to me was not to do as he has, because he's been taking a beating in the market. He also reminded me that a $30 per barrel oil price is one welcomed not only by the Arabs, but also by the Soviets and the Brits, not to mention the Texans. I guess it's bicycle time.
And given the fact that my boat is probably one of the most expensive to run, what with 4,500-horsepower engines, I guess it's also sailing-boat time. The air, however polluted around the Med, is still free, and owning a sailing-boat does give a man a certain cachet. No one could poss- ibly take him for a rich Arab, nor for a fat Greek like Bluey Mavroleon. I am actively looking for a sailor, and have put my fast gin palace up for grabs. If any threatened
sheikh wants a try-out, please write to me directly, not through The Spectator. I will
be giving trial runs starting 1 September off Piraeus. Kuwaiti money is welcome, so is Saudi, Dubai, Abu Dabi, Jordanian, Yemeni and Emirate dough. There is a special reduction for Saddam.
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