High life | 27 August 2011

Forget about Libya, and don’t even think about Syria, the mother of all battles is about to take place right here, in bucolic Gstaad, a place of terminal political incorrectness — until recently, that is. But before I begin, the Beguine is far more likely to see Saif Gaddafi than this glitzy Mecca of the nouveaux riches, the Beguine being a religious order in the Netherlands, where The Hague Criminal Court is situated.

Personally, I’d rather see Libyan justice meted out, and pronto. Like hanging a jockstrap out to dry, if you get my drift. The Gaddafi I’d most like to see acting as a jockstrap is Hannibal, the fat slob who has besmirched a glorious name by going around in super-yachts and private Boeings, and beating up women and helpless servants just for kicks — and getting away with it all these years. Hannibal should be forced to serve as a prostitute in a Libyan male brothel, unless he likes it, that is — he is a cognoscente of the profession — with his brother Saadi, the least talented football player ever, who was actually given a try-out by Juventus after buying 7 per cent of the team, washing up after him.