New York
‘Why would he run for Parliament?’ screams the headline in the New York Times. A subheading lists ‘An inherited passion for women, gambling, the environment and politics’. As I start to read, I fear the worst, but as it turns out it could have been a lot worse. Zac Goldsmith’s name is big in Britain, less so in America, although in green circles he’s an international prince. Although meant rhetorically, it’s quite dumb to ask why a person would run for Parliament, as if being rich and normal — liking women — disqualifies one from holding office. In fact, that’s what’s wrong with politics. The wrong people are in it. If more people like Zac Goldsmith threw their hats into the ring, fewer smiling professional wallet-lifters would be running our lives.
In May 1997, election night, I dined at Lord Black’s and immediately after dinner headed for Jimmy Goldsmith’s house as the first results began coming in.
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