If all left-wing academics were as nice as John Sutherland, Taki would tolerate Hush Puppies

Just before I left Gstaad for the Greek islands I went to dinner at Eugenie Radziwill’s, whose other guests included the great Barry Humphries and his wife Lizzie, and a couple I had never met before but whose name rang a distant bell, John Sutherland. The bell turned out not to be so distant, the prof having reviewed a book for the Speccie just that week. I was late as usual and when introduced to Susan Sutherland I made the gaffe of asking her whether the professor was her father or her husband. She was an English rose type, very pretty, and smilingly she said, ‘He is my husband’ — without making a face over my rudeness. Her hubby seemed amused and we got along swimmingly at dinner. After drink took hold, I told him that if all left-wing academics were as nice as he, I’d tolerate even Hush Puppies, but never socks and sandals, or something as stupid as that which will not be retained in his memory bank.

Barry Humphries is on a sticky wicket, as they say in dear old England. Importing people who know the difference between Rambo and Rimbaud can be as dangerous as reading rather than counting in Gstaad. Money counts a lot here, and lotsa money counts a hell of a lot more. Yes, once upon a time Gstaad was a foreign writers’ colony, mostly American, but that all ended long ago. So, it was a pleasant surprise to meet someone new, whose wife was beautiful and young and had not been worked over by a plastic hacker. Perhaps it’s the start of something new, and as Cole Porter wrote, I loved the look of her, and the lure of her, and I wouldn’t mind at all to make a tour of her.