Even prior to I boarded the limo to Knightsbridge, quips about hampers-for-headlines were drifting about. I was about to lunch with Mohamed Al Fayed at Harrods.
It was ten years ago, when I was Editor of the Sunday Express. I wasnt ostensible to be the star guest, but Rosie Boycott, my boss, couldnt have it so I went with a colleague. My target was to get by the majority weird dish of my hold up but embarrassment. I failed.
Various acolytes were seated at the semi-public list at the side of the main Harrods restaurant, whilst flunkies hovered for whispered instructions.
His review ran along informed lines. The Royal Family was defamed, homosexuality scorned in striking conditions not pertinent to excellent dining. This was to be expected: Mr Al Fayed used to hail a publisher I know with: Hi Fatty, how are your balls hanging?
He asked kindly about my son, afterwards elderly 3. This felt genuine, even poignant: here was a man who had lost his own boy. Grief cut by the bluster. We referred to that his bureau of swindling theories over the genocide of Diana, Princess of Wales, genocide competence eat away open sympathy, but he was not to be convinced.
We changed on to his query for a British passport. Have you got the letters? he hissed to a staff member. Puzzlement. The letters, he repeated.
A printed matter appeared from nowhere with Home Office rejections and letters about a free means that he supported. A schoolgirl concerned with it had created to the Home Secretary, asking because such a inexhaustible champion could not have British citizenship. The lady and her father materialised at the table. I felt an obligatory need to be at the back of in my office, checking the crossword.
Hearing a shuffling at the back of me, I incited to see a 6ft teddy bear soaring over me: a present for my son. It was as well un-English for an Englishman. If Harrods uses infra-red detectors, my flush face would have triggered the alarms. I declined the pressed beast but the not as big hermit arrived in the bureau later, along with a hamper, the essence of that were distributed between staff. The paper interviewed Mr Al Fayed, but small some-more came of it.
Eccentric tycoons are mostly described as the last of their kind. In that respect, Mr Al Fayeds sale of Harrods is a small similar to the flitting of William Randolph Hearst or Howard Hughes. His clowning, obsessiveness and insusceptibility to practice were outrageous, but his participation was infrequently reassuring. Billionaires have a avocation to be unusual, to be deaf to required behaviour. By adhering it to the Establishment as well as dispensing outsized soft toys instead of commercial operation cards Mr Al Fayed over this obligation. Here was a abounding man happy to heed to the expectations.
Farewell, and interjection for the bear.
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