New York This is a very good time to be in the Bagel. The sun’s out, the girls are walking around in their briefest, Central Park’s blooming all over, and Miss Monica Lewinsky is on national television performing oral acrobatics as a presenter of a show called Mr Personality. No, I have not seen the
New York My doctor tells me that the reason I grew a tumour in my head was because of my obsession with Ashley Judd. For any of you living in outer space, Ashley is an actress whom I’ve never met but have rather ambitious plans for if I ever do. Needless to say, it was
New York Flaying the Frogs has replaced baseball as the national pastime in this here great country, with Murdoch’s minions doing most of the flaying, using elegant words such as weasels, yellow-bellies and slimeballs to describe our Gallic cousins. It is strange how Marianne’s reluctance to join Hopalong Cassidy for target practice against a bunch
New York Just as well I never made it down south. For the last three weeks I’ve been feeling kinda funny, finding blood on my pillow in the morning and having headaches, things I attributed to my Karamazovian hangovers. While waiting to fly to Iran, I decided to go to see a doctor. He took
Gstaad Some days you pick up the newspaper and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ writes Thomas Friedman of the New York Times. Actually, I haven’t been shedding too many crocodile tears lately, until, that is, a Sam Schulman column reached me via the miracle of the post. Talk about bursting out laughing.
Gstaad These are quiet days and nights here, the noisy mobile telephone brigades having left immediately after the New Year. It is a sign of the times, the mobile telephone, that is. One used to be able to tell where a person came from by their manners, their dress, even their looks. Not to mention
New York My friend Tom Fleming, editor-in-chief of Chronicles, and a polymath who doesn’t tolerate fools or knaves, recently wrote that when he’s described as a journalist, he takes it as an insult. ‘Journalists are to writers what kept women are to wives …’ The American version of Paul Johnson went on to say that
Nice to be back in London, if only for a week. Not so nice to have to read about such low lifers as Angus Deayton and John Leslie, not to mention the feuding Spencer family. Mind you, I’ve lived in England for more than 30 years – no longer, thank God – and had never