Ranked as “the most influential Arab in the world”, Al-Waleed has at various times held investments in News Corp, AOL, Apple Inc., Motorola, Fox News, Eastman Kodak, TWA, Twitter, The Savoy, the Four Seasons hotel chain and Euro Disney SCA. Not afraid to back his beliefs financially, the “Buffett of Arabia” gave £18.5 million to the families of Palestinian “martyrs” in 2002 and sent a cheque for $10 million to New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani after the 9/11 attacks. In exchange he requested “a more balanced stance toward the Palestinian cause”. The cheque was returned. When Forbes magazine listed him as being worth £13 billion in March 2013 he was irate at the use of “incorrect data” that “seemed designed to disadvantage Middle Eastern investors”. Al-Waleed, whom rival publication Bloomberg list as being worth £18.5 billion, indignantly told Steve Forbes to remove him from his list and announced through his office that would he would “sever ties” with it. Surely, this dispute could be easily solved as, after all, what’s a billion or two between friends?
Tag: newspapers
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Prince Al-Waleed bin Talal
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Alex Preston
This talented Oxford educated author is a former credit derivatives trader who is now regular on BBC2’s The Review Show. This Bleeding City, his first novel, was based on his own working experiences and analyses how the financial crash could be seen as “our subconscious revenge, our way of bringing down the system that had ensnared us”. His second, The Revelations, was described by A. N. Wilson as a “strange and compulsively readable tale of City slickers seduced by a promise of spiritual awakening”. He predicts a bleak future for financiers in suggesting that we are still in the midst of “a crisis that will take more than a few bankers paying back their bonuses to solve”. -
A man who didn’t mince his words
Matthew Steeples leaves a tribute to Michael Winner
As I’ve said before, Michael Winner (30th October 1935 – 21st January 2013) was like Marmite. He was loved and loathed in equal measure. Restaurants put up signs announcing “This restaurant is a Michael Winner free zone” after banning him for the most obnoxious and sometimes truly unfair reviews but his fans celebrated him in equal measure.
Winner is best known both for his Death Wish films and as a restaurant critic and I would suggest that the world is a poorer place for his passing. Yes, he was a preposterous buffoon with a capability to offend but surprisingly he also often stood for all that was right and decent.
The Queen and Michael Winner He took the view that “an OBE is what you get if you clean the toilets well at King’s Cross station” and once told Richard Littlejohn that he was an “arsehole”. Given my views on some of the names that have recently been honoured and thoughts on Littlejohn’s bile, I would suggest that shows someone who was actually quite reasonable. This is echoed further in his comment about Gordon Ramsay, whom he described as someone who suffers from “verbal diarrhoea”.
Michael Winner was a man who lived life to the full and in the end that was what took its toll. He suffered with a bacterial infection in Barbados after eating oysters and got food poisoning from eating steak tartare for four days in a row.
Towards the end, after doctors gave him just two years to live, Winner accepted his end was nigh and here we conclude with the last paragraph of his final column for The Sunday Times:
“Gstaad is packed with famous names, all fighting not to be in this column. I totally understand. It’s a miracle they speak to me. If it were known that they associated with me, they’d be barred from right-thinking society. Tell you about it later. Now I need a rest.”
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Anne Robinson
She’s best known for the catchphrase: “You are the Weakest Link, goodbye!” but this television great has accomplished much else. The “Queen of Mean” is renowned for her knack of coming up with great newspaper headlines and has also accumulated a fortune of some £40 million. Robinson is vehemently pro fox hunting and lives in Kensington but don’t get her started on what she thinks about the Welsh. -
The death of the typewriter, the death of an era
Gina Miller reports on the death of the typewriter
I noted that Britain’s last ever typewriter rolled off the assembly line at Brother’s factory in Wales last week, the Brother CM1000 electronic typewriter. This was one of 5.8 million typewriters made at the factory since 1985 and it has been donated to the Science Museum in London.
The power of words Over the weekend, whilst perusing the Sunday newspapers, I shuddered at the disgraceful dumbing down of language. Then, last night, whilst watching the evening news, I was appalled by the grammar being used by newsreaders as my radar is now fully focused on honing in on grammatical sabotage.
It has struck me that with the death of the typewriter we are also experiencing the death of an era. An era in which the art and craft of writing, grammar, attention to detail, concentration and a love of words was celebrated has passed. Gone is a time where cutting and pasting required dexterity and glue. A time when mistakes, typos and bad grammar all had consequences; and when people enjoyed a romance with words has indeed moved on. Words that could be simple yet sophisticated have been sadly forgotten. I love the power of words. They are an amazing form of self-expression that can convey such beauty and such emotion. They have the power to make or break a person. They can lift or depress the spirit, they can make us rejoice or cry.
As a young girl I would sneak into the back of a courtroom and marvel as my father, a noted criminal barrister, defended a client. Years later reading the John Mortimer play, A Voyage Round My Father, I found the exact words to express my childhood wonderment. ‘He sent words into the darkness as if they were soldiers into battle,’ Mortimer wrote.
In the work environment we now use computers, which often means people are less productive and lack concentration as they are distracted by the Internet and auto spell checks which dull the intellect. Typewriters used to be chained to desks so they were not stolen or thrown out of windows. But now staff can steal time by using office hours to communicate with friends on Facebook or Twitter, shop online and book leisure activities and holidays.
Outside of work, letter writing is dying; people text to say thank you, to make up – even to break up. Communication lacks emotion, style, considered phrases and politeness. Written communications have been reduced to rough, short, sharp, harsh expressions of functionality.
I love how words taste just before you say them, how some of them have to roll around your mouth for a while before they can be uttered and how others explode off the pad of your tongue, excited to be leaving your thoughts and heading out into the world. Words like ‘strident’, ‘garrulous’, ‘mosquito’, ‘svelte’, ‘sanguine’, ‘parlour’. The word ‘rat’ that you can’t say and be tearful at the same time – it’s a great word to repeat several times when you can’t control your emotions. I love coming across words that I’ve never heard before – sometimes just hearing them is enough to satisfy my appetite but more often than not I need to get the full effect of them by thinking of how to use them. This I explore with my children where we have rhyming games, opposite games; if a word was a colour, what colour might it be?
There are some words that you can’t help but ‘feel’ as you say them – say the word ‘whisper’ and the very air around you changes as you say it. Words are beautiful to say and hear but they really come into their own when they are written down.
I’m certainly not as clever with the use of words and language as I would like to be and I probably use each and every forbidden type of style and grammar error known to man. But I firmly believe that in these fast-paced, hectic times we should all encourage a wider expansion and usage of vocabulary so that generations to come can enjoy the pleasure of words and language.
Like the health message of ‘eat 5 a day’ in terms of fruit and vegetables, I would encourage parents to ensure their children to ‘use 5 a day’ – at least 5 adjectives a day to ensure the beauty of language is kept alive.
Gina Miller is an entrepreneur, philanthropist and lover of words.
For more information about Miller Philanthropy, go to: http://www.millerphilanthropy.com
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Liz Jones
This mouthpiece was born in Rettendon, Essex in 1958 and vents bile on all manner of subjects. Articles such as: “Why don’t more women moan like me?” and “Liz Jones’ baby craving drove her to steal husband’s sperm in ultimate deception” are frankly illustrative of why she’s so unpopular. After she got banned from the majority of fashion shows and her husband left her, she quit London for Somerset in 2007 to feed organic muesli to the rats in the barns of a 47-acre farm she purchased as her “rural idyll.” That misadventure came to a sticky end in November 2012 after she’d alienated the whole county by calling them, amongst other things, “smelly” and “faintly Amish.” Goodness knows whom she’ll choose to offend next. Phillip Schofield sums her up best: “She is inconsistent, bitter, nasty and unhinged.” Our advice: Just steer well clear of this acid tongued poison pen. -
The battleaxe in the Beemer
Matthew Steeples examines the truth behind Liz Jones giving up on her “rural idyll”
The Mail’s Liz Jones is a waspish woman who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Those who’ve paid even a moment’s attention to her bleating, will be familiar with lines such as: “Last week, my brand new £1,300 MacBook Pro broke” and “Phil Spencer wanted his £46,000 and he wanted it now!” She never stops talking about money and the size of what she both owns and owes.
Liz Jones In today’s Femail, Jones bores on about about how she feels “like a cross-dresser” trying out the Kardashian Kollection of clothing in a pointed attack on Kim Kardashian, but it was for her diatribe yesterday that she truly got the goat of the nation in “[bidding] a ferocious farewell” to life in the country in an article entitled “Goodbye… and good riddance!” 2,151 people have commented so far and most of them have been far from sympathetic.
When Upcott Farm at Brushford, near Dulverton in Somerset came up for sale in 2007 at a price of £1.6 million, it featured in an article by The Telegraph’s Caroline McGhie. The 5-bedroomed farmhouse came with a 2-bedroom annexe, a courtyard of barns and stables and 47 acres of land. McGhie waxed lyrical about the merits of moving to this location: “People come here for the peace and quiet, the night skies, the dramatic coastline, and they work from home,” she stated before adding: “You can find everything here, including butchers, bakers, afternoon tea and cake, fish and chips, an art gallery and a shop selling fishing tackle.” Of Upcott Farm itself, she concluded:
“This would suit a member of the new wave of buyers dubbed Droppies (Disillusioned Relatively Ordinary Professionals Preferring Independent Employment Situations).”
McGhie got it half right: Upcott Farm sold to someone who considers herself far from “relatively ordinary” and someone who is far from “professional.” The purchaser, however, was certainly someone who’d become “disillusioned” with what she’d bought and someone whose desire to be “independent” and create a “situation” just alienated all she encountered. The buyer, you’ve guessed it, was none other than Elizabeth Ann Jones.
Jones was born in Brentwood, Essex in 1958 and studied journalism at the London College of Printing. She became editor of Marie Claire in 1999 but was sacked, she herself suggests, for “listing in the magazine the freebies she had been offered in the previous month.” Here, it seems, began Jones’s obsession with all things material and here she also met an Indian BBC radio journalist named Nirpal Dhaliwal in 2000.
Jones married Dhaliwal but the union was to prove an “utter disaster” as he had affairs with women she terms “younger, dimmer [and] slimmer.” “I’m no racist” Jones was divorced in 2007 and said goodbye to her “3,000 square foot of Islington real estate” and “easy, if super-busy, London life” in favour of the green, green grass of Somerset.
Upcott Farm, Brushford, Dulverton, Somerset, TA22 9RS Whoever’s side you see it from, five years of hell followed. Jones baited the locals and they grew to loathe her. She wrote columns and a book, The Exmoor Files, where she attacked them as “faintly Amish… feral, old and smelly” and another hack and neighbour, Jane Alexander of The Telegraph, responded: “Dulverton [was] positively fizzing with fury” after each and every publication.
Of the local restaurants, Jones stated:
“I have given up trying to eat out in restaurants here on Exmoor… It is still stuck in the Seventies, with only things in baskets and rum babas on the menu… If you tell the waiter you are vegetarian, you are stared at, incredulously, as if you are black.”
She whinged about her inability to find love:
”I will never, ever meet a man here in the middle of a moor, where even to be in possession of your own teeth is a bonus.”
And whined about fieldsports:
“I didn’t increase my popularity by being unable to pass a party of men and often children with guns, shooting rabbits and deer, without getting out of my BMW and saying: ‘Do you really have nothing better to do with your Saturday morning?’ The look of shock on their faces that I had the cheek to challenge them was priceless. I would stop, too, and shout at huntsmen on horses, galloping on tarmaced roads, one hand on the reins, the other clamping a mobile phone to their heads. ‘You will ruin your horses’ tendons!’ I would wail.”
Whilst Jones found little to like in her new community, they found nothing positive in her arrival either. Her dog was blamed for worrying lambs, and Jones’s inability to control it, locals say, was an indicator of the chasm between her life and theirs. In 2009, one neighbour went as far as to tell Danny Brierley of The Independent:
“We have got nothing in common with her, really. I think she may find it difficult to make any kind of life here now. She is not a very friendly person and we are all sick to death of talking about Liz Jones. A hatred has been building up for months. She is actually having a go at people and they are not going to tolerate that. She has feelings like all people, of course she has. But everyone wants her to leave and leave now. No one can make her, but we think she will go. I don’t see how you can live in such a small community with people who think that way about you.”
Matters came to a head when Jones’s precious black BMW convertible, “bought in 2005 for £26,000,” was pelted with eggs and teenagers fired shots at her letterbox with an air rifle. A local councilor even dressed up as her in the local carnival and yesterday Jones took revenge on those she blames for her “five-year prison sentence” and deprivation from Space NK, Cath Kidston and Illy coffee.
Instead, the article just shows the true reality of this bombastic harpy. The lines Jones penned speak for themselves. Country people don’t welcome someone who planned to “hack for miles across the open moorland in my Prada jodhpurs” anymore than the folk of Knightsbridge welcome Arabs treating their roads like racetracks. The gardener who had to endure Jones yelling “walk faster!” at him didn’t deserve such anymore than a bus driver in SW11 deserves abuse from his passengers. Jones concludes:
“I’m now a different person. I became so lonely. I would often get in my car, not just for the warmth, but for the kind voice of the satnav lady. I’ve learned that an amazing view and a pair of nesting grey herons are not enough to make me happy.”
27 acres of land including paddocks and a fishing lake remain on the market through Savills and Strutt & Parker at a price of £200,000 at Upcott Farm Miss Jones bleats that she’s taken a £500,000 loss on Upcott Farm, which languished on the market at first at £1,900,000 and then £1,750,000 for three years. The “unexpected” sale of the property has given her the ability to “flee back to the city” but the locals and even the “Droopies” should be warned: there’s still 27 acres of the farm unsold and on the market at a price of £200,000. Halloween may have passed but the battleaxe in the Beemer could still call again.
Read yesterday’s “Goodbye… and good riddance!” article by Liz Jones for the Mail on Sunday at: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2231033/Goodbye–good-riddance-During-catastrophic-years-country-Liz-Jones-greeted-gun-attack-relentless-abuse-Now-flees-city-bids-ferocious-farewell.html
To purchase Liz Jones’s book, The Exmoor Diaries, go to: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Exmoor-Files-Husband-Found-Rural/dp/0297854437
For more information about the remaining 27 acres at Upcott Farm, contact Strutt & Parker on +44 (0) 1392 976005 or go to: http://www.primelocation.com/for-sale/details/18314693?search_identifier=71cbb8a2fb43a12182bfa7b79b5de0a3
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Gaby Hinsliff
We’ve got nothing against this respected journalist and writer, but when we heard that the fashion mag Grazia had a “Political Editor at Large” we thought it was April Fool’s Day. Hinsliff also blogs at usedtobesomebody.blogspot.com and states that she resigned as political editor of The Observer to go “in search of a life.” She’s based in Oxfordshire and published her first book, Half A Wife, in 2012. In it, she advises on “how to balance a happy, healthy family life with the demands and rewards of work.” There are plenty out there who ought to pay attention. -
Video of the Week: Total Control
Nicky Haslam adds another string to his bow
Nicky Haslam is a man of many parts. He’s best known as an interior designer and author but over the years, in chameleon like fashion, he’s variously styled himself as Liam Gallagher, bought a house in Transylvania on the net and once told Vanity Fair he’d rather meet Kim Jong Il than Nelson Mandela. Whether he’s partying with Paris Hilton or working with a Russian oligarch, Haslam’s character and charm always shine through and for good reason he tops the list of the most invited in the land.
Nicky Haslam’s “Total Control”
Nicky Haslam’s life has been well documented in many a column but his latest move, recording a debut album entitled Midnight Matinée, can certainly be described as a bold departure. Yes, he did cabaret at Bellamy’s in 2009 and The Savoy in 2010 but having heard the first song, this truly does represent something akin to Kevin Spacey’s Beyond the Sea. I must admit that I thought it vastly superior.
Produced by David Ogilvy, who wrote the music for a BBC film about the interior designer, Total Control is the first in the series of songs to be released. It is accompanied by a video by a Canadian filmmaker named Douglas Arrowsmith.
We at The Steeple Times very much like Haslam’s “highly individual” foray into the “contemporary music scene” and for that reason make it our video of the week.
For more on Nicky Haslam and his interior design business, go to: http://www.nh-design.co.uk
Listen to Total Control and watch the accompanying video at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyvmrswykXM
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Paul Burrell RVM
A Royal servant turned blabbermouth. He calls himself a “noted authority on all things regal.” Is anyone listening? No, we think not.