Dominique Strauss-Kahn and the art of seduction
On board S/Y Bushido
The smell of pine wafting from the shore, the whitewashed and sun-bleached terracotta houses shimmering in the midday heat — both remind me of the simple island life during the good old
days, before super yachts, oligarchs and the brain-jolting cacophony of modern music emanating from so-called clubs. I’m lying off the eastern side of the Peloponnese, far from the fleshpots of
Spetse and Porto Heli, having done them all last week. And I finally have my mail and The Spectator and I am happy at last.
But only for a minute. I read a New York rag that describes Dominique Strauss-Kahn as a great seducer, and I turn into Orlando Furioso quicker than you can say Errol Flynn. How dare these know-nothings call that frog-like corpulent sybarite a seducer? It’s like calling the Wehrmacht’s conquest of France a stealth operation.
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