High life
Security conscious
Taki
Things sure ain't what they used to be. Going into Wimbledon last Monday I was stopped by a large black security man who 'scanned' me from top to bottom. He took his time about it, too, which made me embarrassed — 32,000 people inside the grounds, and only the poor little Greek boy gets scanned. When I complained, the security man said he was following orders, an original excuse if there ever was one.
Mind you, there may be some nutters out there stalking female tennis players, but I'm not one of them. In fact I find women players are getting uglier as their serves are getting stronger. During my time on the circuit I used to have sleepless nights over Lea Pericoli and an American girl who shall remain nameless because I found her in the showers in Paris one day doing a Martina Navratilova with a Wimbledon champion of her sex. Back in those good old days, sum women tennis players may have been lesbians but at least made an effort toward the stronger sex. If one begged long enough they would throw him a crumb or two. No longer. Martina Navratilova, I'm told, is among the nicest of players, but I'd hate to cross some of the bull dykes in her entourage.
And Martina has a wonderful sense of humour. Last year she had lunch with John Aspinall who regaled her with reasons why he loves gorillas, the main one being that the social structure of the species is domi- nated by the male, who is bigger and stronger than the female and always takes the important decisions. Evolution has decreed the male to be dominant, and on the rare occasions that he's not, one sees the egregious rarity of role reversal, as is the case of the draft-dodger in the White House and his wife. Martina agreed and roared with laughter.
Speaking of the war hero, I've received a letter from a loyal reader, Mr Walter Avery, an ex-US Air Force officer, pointing out that another Spectator letter-writer had inferred that President Bush was not a pilot but actually a bombardier. This is simply a falsehood spread by anti-Bush people. George Bush was the youngest man ever to qualify as a navy pilot and when he was shot down on 2 September 1944 he had just hit his target and was on his way back to the USS San Jacinto. But I'm not surprised to hear lies about George Bush. With the greatest liar ever sitting in the White House, it is par for the course to denigrate those brave men who dared do what the war hero did not.
But back to one of the best weeks I've had since I started shaving. On Monday I was invited by the only lady over 24 I find terribly attractive, Olga Polizzi, Lord Forte's daughter, and my rival, William Shawcross, to dinner in honour of Ben Bradlee and Sally Quinn of Watergate and Washington Post fame. I must admit I was a bit nervous as I have savaged Ben and Sally for their politics. Well, yet again the poor little Greek boy got it wrong. They could not have been nicer and more amusing, and they even understood when during din- ner I switched my affections from Olga to her two daughters. Oh yes, I almost forgot, the sainted owner of the Speccie was there, with the sainted Babs, Rocco Forte and a hackette I will not name because I attacked her in the taxi afterwards.
This is the good news. The bad is that people like Jerry Zipkin are in town, but for some strange reason I don't think I'll bump into him chez Harry Northumberland at mighty Sion House, nor chez Jimmy Goldsmith in Paris next week. Having failed miserably with the Polizzi girls and having had a Waterloo in the taxi with the hackette, perhaps the Paris air will change my luck. And I am accompanying a rather beautiful 17-year-old, my own daughter. My problems are just beginning, alas.
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