In praise of minding your own business

With energy bordering on the demonic, I strut around an ancient stadium trying to make up for the debauchery of the past two weeks in Patmos. Alexandra has flown back to Gstaad and I’m staying with my oldest friend, Aliki Goulandris, whose magnificent country house north of the capital brings back very pleasant memories. Just saying her name, which is Alice in English, makes me think of my youth and my two tiny children who both grew up in this house. It was the golden age: Davis Cup, karate championships, polo in Paris, sailing the Nefertiti and Bushido, Lolly and JT and Alexandra swimming in the pool, and parties galore.

Among her many qualities – she is an opera buff and voracious reader – the one I like most in Aliki is her refusal to order the lives of others. There are children and grandchildren, sisters, cousins, nephews and nieces, and many, many friends. And their habits and points of view remain their own, as Aliki believes in minding her own business. A friendship that spans close to 70 years is the result, and looking back yields a past full of wonderful memories. Politicians, reformers and suchlike are always giving advice, and nothing gets more on my nerves than having a total stranger telling me what’s good for me.

I know that smoking, booze, drugs, gambling and loose women are all bad for one, but the last thing I want to hear is that they’re bad for me – even from a friend. People are always dispensing advice, but how can you advise another how to act unless you know  the other better than they know themselves? We can only guess at the thoughts and emotions of others, yet many bores dispense advice like confetti at an Italian wedding.