The healing power of the Hamptons

These are peripatetic times for the poor little Greek boy, up to the Hamptons for some sun-seeking among Wasp types, and then down to the nation’s capital for the memorial service of that wonderful humorist P.J. O’Rourke. By all means take the following with a grain of salt, but even 800 million years ago, when only micro-organisms slithered around the beaches, belonging to a private club was all-important, especially in the Hamptons. Never have I seen more chest-thumping, bandy-legged, bearded louts trash-talking as they pollute the beaches in this beautiful town. Southampton was once a luminous little village that served as a seaside refuge for New York’s civilised rich during the unbearable heat of urban summer. You know the sort of thing: white wooden houses, long green lawns, wicker chairs, yellow and white umbrellas and people who talked in what was known as Park Avenue lockjaw.

Most popular

Druin Burch

Lucy Letby and the killer nurse I worked with

Back then, belonging to a private club was pure snobbism; now it’s a lifesaver.