‘It isn’t like Tel Aviv at all, and this does
not surprise. There is no heat, no sea,
and no people screaming at each other’
— Tanya Gold, p62
High life
Taki
Gstaad
For some strange reason there have been
no #MeToo complaints around these parts.
Some locals have grumbled about yours
truly, and an interview I gave about this vil-
lage to a Swiss daily, but although Harvey
used to hang out here during Christmases
past, no one’s come forward to claim rape.
Is there something wrong with our women-
folk? No, most of them are semi-ladies who
have made it big and landed some pretty big
fish, so no use of crying wolf, sorry, rape.
Even the mother of my children has
expressed surprise. ‘I was pretty once, and
men liked me, yet no one has ever jumped
on me, except some silly Englishman with
terrible breath who tried to kiss me while
you were out on the dance floor.’ Well, all
I can say is when in trouble, look for the
money.
In America, as well as in Britain, it’s busi-
ness as usual. Companies that offer money to
plaintiffs in anticipation of future legal settle-
ments usually go after those involved in per-
sonal injury and medical malpractice cases.
But lawyers are now lowering the boom at
men who have been accused of sexual har-
assment. As I said, always look for the money
— especially in the two countries mentioned
above. Where there are shyster lawyers, there
will be lawsuits, or my name is not Taki. There
is even an advertisement doing the rounds
that reads: ‘If you or someone you know has
grounds for a sexual harassment claim and is
in need of financial help...’
And it gets better: in the US the sharks
lending the moolah can charge up to 100
per cent interest because the money is con-
sidered an advance, not a loan, and is there-
fore not subject to usury laws. It seems that
there are scores of firms doing this dirty
business, and more than 40 million big ones
are advanced each year. Personally, I don’t
believe one hundredth of the bullshit. But
I’ll tell you what I do believe. What Mary
Wakefield wrote, in these here pages two
weeks ago, about sexual abuse and exploita-
Low life
Jeremy Clarke
I picked up my grandson from his moth-
er’s flat and noticed the change in him the
second I clapped eyes on him. He was tall-
er than when I had said goodbye to him
a month ago, and his spirit seemed more
conscious of itself. I also noticed that my
devotion to him (lately inviting criticism as
being excessive) was as strong as ever.
Alone with me in the car, he was reluc-
tant to speak. The circumstances of his life
have changed in the past few months —
new home, new school, new friends, new
town, a different parent — and I wondered
if he was defeated by it all. We were bowling
along a fast country road when I turned to
him and said, ‘Are you happy?’ Oscar is too
intelligent to measure the complexity of his
experiences against a simplistic concept like
happiness. But he has a kind and forgiving
heart and he knew that his grandad’s ques-
tion was kindly meant. ‘Yes,’ he said, and he
met my searching eye as he said it. He might
have lied, of course. Faithfulness to a good
cause does sometimes cause Oscar to palter
with the truth. But I chose to believe him.
‘Fancy a swim?’ I said.
He did, and, unusually for a Saturday
afternoon, we had the vast local indoor pool
largely to ourselves. We measured his recent
growth spurt by seeing how much further hetion in Africa and elsewhere by UN troops.
And yes, I read the response last week
from the Under-Secretary-General in New
York and I consider it total baloney. UN
troops have been raping women and chil-
dren on our dime for a very long time, so
you can write letters to your heart’s content.
Bravo, Mary — whom I’m suing for sexu-
al harassment, incidentally, and Lara also
— for exposing the UN’s hypocrisy and out-
right lies. This makes a mockery of sorts of
#MeToo, n’est-ce pas, mes chers amis? (I am
writing in French so that the UN’s troops
can read it.)
The Hollywood assault survivors, need-
less to say, are not going to go away quietly
or empty-handed. The loudest hissy fit ever
is not about to go the way of the Weinstein
Company. There’s fear and loathing out
there and a whole new moral climate with
new rules. A man is guilty of all charges as
long as a woman says so. Imagine what these
women would have done to Harpo Marx,
who used to leer at women’s bosoms and
roll his eyes. Shock horror, what!
Which brings me to Woody Allen. He
beat the allegations once, but they’ve resur-
faced. The court of public opinion, scared
witless by the Farrow gang, are saying that
he should never work again. That fool Colin
Firth says so too. So let’s stop reading Wil-
liam Burroughs. Let’s never again look at
a Caravaggio, and certainly not a Picasso.
And what about Byron’s incestuous behav-
iour? And Gauguin’s paedophilia or Jean
Genet’s thievery? Woody Allen’s Radio
Days, Manhattan and Annie Hall are great
films. None of his accusers come even close
to his genius, so they can scream all they
want. They are simply furious at being
dumped for someone younger. Woody
should now write amusing books and tell
his female accusers to go and reproduce
themselves.
Finally, in a book review about dildos in
the New York Times — it’s a perfect sub-
ject for a shamelessly partisan paper — one
Peggy Orenstein takes on my friend Nor-
man Mailer, now long dead and easy to
attack. While praising dildos and other sex
toys, Orenstein claims that Mailer was quak-
ing in his boots when he wrote about the
emasculating ‘plenitude of orgasms’ created
by ‘that laboratory dildo’. Orenstein knows
less about Mailer than I know about having
a period. Mailer never quaked in front of
anyone, although Orenstein sounds pret-
ty horrible so even a brave man might
get scared.Here’s the quaking man writing to
Ernest Hemingway, whom he’s never met:
‘To Ernest Hemingway. I am deeply curi-
ous to know what you think of this [It’s a
manuscript of The Deer Park, Mailer’s third
novel] but if you do not answer, or if you
answer with the kind of crap you use to
answer unprofessional writers, sycophants,
brown-nosers, etc, then fuck you, and I will
never attempt to communicate with you
again.’ Papa never answered, yet Mailer
came to his defence after the fall.
I hate to think what he’d do with Oren-
stein. Norman, where are you now that
emasculated men really need you.