Gstaad For a cultural pessimist like myself, things have never looked rosier. Economic depression, unemployment, environmental disasters, wars and armed conflicts: with the final destruction of modern civilisation just around the corner, I can hardly conceal my glee at being right. Mind you, as a modern prophet of pessimism, I pray non-stop that I’m wrong,
So the end-of-the-year Christmas party was the best yet, even if I say so myself. The festivities began at 10 p.m. and ended somewhat hazily around 6 the next morning. My son JT provided the youth, I provided the gravitas. Actually, it was the other way round. I provided the brawn — judo and karate
Let’s start with the bad news: in honour of China’s economic rise, a Chinese-looking woman was the first Christmas Grinch here in the States. The sourpuss teacher in upper New York ruined the Christmas spirit for a class full of seven- and eight-year-olds when she told them that there is no Santa Claus, and that
Let’s lighten up a bit and have some fun before next week’s ‘Big Bazooka’, the Christmas double issue. The vast majority of us Westerners are a happy bunch despite our countries being racked by debt, rising prices and job losses. Mind you, I know 4,700 people with no sense of humour whatsoever, especially when it
New York Sophocles was a man before his time, at least where protesters the world over are concerned. He and I were at school together although he was a few years older (496–406 BC). Antigone, among his greatest plays, is one that makes us think not just about politics, but also about the ethics that
Henry Kissinger, writing on American foreign policy, mentions that, according to Dean Acheson, ‘Leaving high office is like the end of a great love affair — a void left by the disappearance of heightened sensibilities and focused concerns.’ Dr K. should know. He was a swinger in his younger days, was among the first to
New York I had a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious week, and a weekend in Connecticut to recover from it. Let’s begin with the Norman Mailer benefit gala for which I had taken a table and filled it with swells and other such birds and creatures. The Mailer Centre is quite an extraordinary achievement only four years after the
New York God, it’s great to be Greek right now. We’ve out-front-paged the Holocaust as well as the Israeli ‘existential threat’. (The latter has been jerked up a notch, and Big Bagel papers present the Iran problem as 1939 and the Nazis having the bomb.) When the Greek alarm first sounded in mid-2009 in a
New York According to Virgil, Libyans are ‘a people rude in peace and rough in war’. The old boy wrote this a couple of thousand years ago, so we have to cut him some slack. And he was obviously not speaking about the present rabble. As far as I’m concerned, most Libyans are human biohazards.
Fort Worth, Texas To the best state in the Union for the annual John Randolph Club meeting of true conservatives, hip, hip. No posturing peacocks spouting gibberish learned at university diversity courses here, but witty, juicy, intelligent criticisms of today’s cultural sewer, and the part liberals and the enemies of Christendom have played in destroying
New York The morning routine is now a pleasure. Up early, stretch and bend the creaky limbs, hit the coffee and off to judo and karate. All last week I managed to get drunk only twice, hence there were five such mornings. And what mornings they were: stolen from summer without the oppressive heat. One
New York Here is the 64 million dollar question: is there a moral case against soaking the rich? I can’t think of a better place to ponder such an issue than right here in the womb of capitalism, the Big Bagel, taking into account that within the narrow corridor that is Manhattan Island some of
New York An English prof. made an earthshattering discovery about ten years ago — that there is a strong link between having money fall upon you and being happy. No, he didn’t win a Nobel for it, nor for the conclusion to his findings, which was that money buys autonomy and independence. The prof. should
Over the years, I’ve often written about Israel and not always in a flattering light. After President Rabin was assassinated — his wife once told me that she preferred Arafat to Netanyahu any day — I lost all hope that reason, wisdom and humanity might prevail in the Holy Land. I keep returning to a
Gstaad One of the safest countries on earth is in trouble. Good old Helvetia, a country more upside-down than sideways, according to Papa, could end up on its head. Its industrial base might melt as its currency is much too strong for its own good, and deflation might set in as the Swiss National Bank
Gstaad This is the worst news I’ve had since the surrender at Stalingrad. The Spectator’s deputy editor has become engaged to a former adviser to my favourite minister, Iain Duncan Smith. But how can this be when the deputy editor is already engaged to me? If true, what does it make her — words fail
To Aix-en-Provence for a young friend’s wedding to a celebrity DJ in a beautiful tent in an olive grove. A short chat with the beautiful Kate Moss and her hubby, followed by some heavy boozing under the disapproving eyes of my two children and their mother. Aix is a beautiful old town with many parts
Gstaad It’s been very sunny and hot, with the bluest of blue skies above and the greenest of green mountains around me; in fact, it does not get any better than this. The farmers have cut their grass and packed it for the winter’s feed, soon the cows will be coming down from the hills,
Gstaad 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
Gstaad Blah, blah, blah! I’ve heard it all before. We are all swivel-eyed fanatics, racists and right-wing extremists. And we’re also bigots because we believe in Jesus Christ. Today is my name day, the Day of the Assumption, but please don’t ask me how my parents got Taki out of it — Panagia, Panagiotaki, Taki