High life
Courting couple
Taki
Ihave a painful and terrible confession to make, and damn the consequences. I have finally come to the conclusion that I am an addict, and an incurable addict at that. The dastardly drug I'm addicted to is known as Courtazone, which in laymen's terms is a compulsion to attend law courts at least once a week.
Last week, thank God, my old friend Hartley and the BBC gave me a fix in High Court No. 13 one court away from where I got addicted in the first place in June. And for any of you who ' may have short memories about such memorable events, my addiction began when I found myself in the witness box talking non-stop abut Taki, and everybody having to listen for a change. Alas, I knew 1 was hOoked the moment I came down from the dock. Although for two whole weeks my name was bandied about as if I were Prince Philip in China, it was a methadone high, not the real thing. Nevertheless, hanging around a courtroom keeps me happy, in the same way an old sea dog feels good when drinking in a bar on a pier. This week Jeff came to the rescue. As everyone knows by now, Jeff was nicked by a combined raid by the Customs and Excise, Metropolitan Police, SAS, Grena- dier Guards, Coldstream Elite, Gurkhas, and the Special Branch. (There were also some tall men with slitty eyes, some of whom I thought 1 recognised later on guarding Prince Philip, but I'm not sure.) His crime was to pay up when some undercover agents induced him to make book on a horse named Aid and Abet, which needless to say came in at four to one, leaving him more skint than is his custom, and them with overtime pay plus the winnings.
Given the fact that I had no law courts to go to during the weekend, I was at Bow Street early on Monday morning, long before the accused. And, as in all good boxing cards, the preliminaries proved almost as good as the main event. The ones I liked the best were the two men who wanted sex one night last week, but before looking for it decided to get drunk. This they did by breaking into a Curzon Street liquor store and stealing three cases of- lager. (They could have gone around the corner to Annabel's which was still open, but I guess that's what class justice is all about.) When the magistrate asked one why he did it, the man answered that he was desperate for a drink, to which Geof- frey Wheatcroft, standing next to me, whispered rather loudly, 'Perfectly under- standable.'
Then there was the yob who was caught by the fuzz while carrying a four-foot-long iron pipe. He pleaded not guilty, and although he admitted that he had called out, 'Come on you cunts let's have a go,' he added he had the pipe with him for self defence.
And then there was the Irishman who was found wandering about a Mayfair hotel with a six-inch blade in his pocket. He also pleaded not guilty, saying that he had the knife because back in Ireland he was warned that black people would attack him.
Finally there was the Arab who was caught shop-lifting a large bottle of per- fume. He pleaded guilty, but blamed it all on love. He was going back to Algiers, was broke, and wanted to give something to his girlfriend.
I thought the saddest case was the black hooker who was fined £35 for obstruction, which meant that she would have to go out and turn a couple of tricks in order to pay the fine. If she was a bit prettier I might have assisted her, but with all these dis- eases around I decided to give it a miss. And I was so happy in court anyway.
What I don't understand is why the sainted editor is now to be seen exclusively in courts of law. Is he also an addict? Or is he simply a groupie? Why does he spend so much time in Southwark Crown Court, in High Court No 14, in Bow Street Magis- dates' Court, and God knows where else in the future? I remember a time when Alexander Chancellor was to be found exclusively in his office near Siena, or at my house in New York, but never in a court of law. Well, almost never. There was that case when . . ah, I'll let bygones be bygones.
I guess what it all boils down to is that both Jeff and I are misunderstood by the powers that be, and that sooner or later Charles Moore will have to hire people whose behaviour is more appropriate to the manners of polite society. After all, now that the Spectator is owned by Austra- lian gentlemen, we cannot have its contri- butors in and out of jail and the courts. People down under might take offence. BUt being an eternal optimist I am pre- pared to believe that it might also have the opposite effect. In fact I know it will It has already. We are both invited there this winter, and we both plan to go. The only thing that I'm wondering about is how the jails and courts there differ from the ones here. So is Jeff.
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