Why Bloomberg will be president

Gstaad

I was not aware that there is a group of Spectator fans who meet in French-speaking Switzerland. They contacted me and we have agreed to meet up this week here in Gstaad. A very nice English voice informed me over the telephone of the existence of the group, asked if I was interested in speaking to it, and told me how long they have all been reading the dear old Speccie. My response was a resounding yes, and then I asked Michael Watts, the gentleman who rang me, if he was aware of my speaking fee. He was not. ‘Fifty thousand Swiss francs for 30 minutes,’ I told him and waited for the thud. But he agreed without a counter offer and asked if I needed a down payment. (Actually, a lunch is what we settled on, but don’t let my non-existent agent hear about it.) The group is arriving by bus and we’re meeting for a grand lunch at Le Grand Chalet. Everything should be hunky-dory, especially if I don’t drink too much beforehand.

Actually, I plan to tell them about the goings-on at The Spectator. As the lunch is on the same day as the magazine goes to press, I might as well spill part of the beans: I have been sexually harassed by ladies who work at Old Queen Street and have done nothing about it because I have been too ashamed to come clean. The culprits are two ladies called Mary and Lara. My lawyers are advising me not to go into detail while they ascertain the wealth of the harassers before they file for damages. So, I shall take their advice and say nothing more than that this has gone on for a very long time, and without the help of Doctor Klinghoffer of Zurich I don’t know how I would have survived.

If only! Joking aside, I was pleasantly surprised, during a large dinner party up here in the Alps, to hear more than one woman say that, as the world awaits the Harvey Weinstein verdict, they were not hoping for him to be sent down.