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.”
Restaurateurs throughout the land are sighing with relief: Michael Winner has hung up his hat and retired as a restaurant critic.
Michael Winner
Love or loathe him, Winner’s column for The Sunday Times has entertained and provoked the nation for some 20 years. In this time, he has been banned from establishments for his acerbic remarks and incurred the wrath of many of his readers.
Mr Winner, who finally married Geraldine Lynton-Edwards last year and who is suffering with ill health, was lauded and mocked again today in a tribute article in the paper. One reader, Liam O’Flanagan commented: “How can we survive Sunday mornings without you?” whilst another, Sheila Taylor, added: “Don’t leave me like this!”
Like Marmite, Winner’s words were not to everyone’s tastes but we at The Steeple Times think the world will be a poorer place without his weekly rant.
Jilly Cooper’s state of the nation style summary strikes chords with Matthew Steeples
Best-selling bonkbuster author Jilly Cooper might be best known for novels such as Riders and Jump! but in the 1980s and 90s she was equally lauded as “one of the Conservative Party’s most ardent supporters.”
Jilly Cooper
Cooper, born in 1937, showed she still has a grip on the nation’s pulse yesterday when she declared that the Conservative Party is “full of terrible people now” to The Spectator’s “Steerpike.”
Separately, in a comment to The Telegraph’s “Mandrake,” Mrs Cooper shared her thoughts on Pippa Middleton’s first book, Celebrate:
“[It] wasn’t a good idea. I don’t blame her – I think that she was ill-advised… All I can say is that I hope the British don’t demonise her because of it. She seems a lovely girl and her sister is wonderful.”
Ever the diplomat, Jilly Cooper, in these comments, shows herself as a truly brilliant wordsmith. She has tact and decency but at the same time doesn’t hold back when it comes to honesty.
Nigel Farage should put in a call. Mrs Cooper could be just the asset UKIP needs to transform them from a “bunch of loons” to electability.
Undoubtedly best known as one of the greatest actresses of the post-war period, Yorkshire born Dench briefly played Pru Forrest in the BBC’s The Archers. She’s an advocate for “more progressive drug policies” and only took the role of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride & Prejudice after director Joe Wright wrote to her and said: “I love it when you play a bitch. Please come and be a bitch for me.” There’s barely a role she hasn’t conquered.
Of Italian-Jewish descent, Caring is of the “supermarket-sweep” school of empire building. This billionaire started out in the rag trade but now controls the majority of the top restaurants and clubs in Central London. He survived the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami and viewed that to be a wakeup call. Since then he’s donated millions to charity and focused on his two passions: golf and shooting. This buccaneering businessman generally passes on breakfast and lunch and lives between a converted stable block set in 500 acres near Dulverton and a mansion on The Bishops Avenue. What will he buy next?
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.
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.
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.
This Swiss born son of a printer has spent over £85 million buying up properties in the Henley-on-Thames area of Oxfordshire. Schwarzenbach also owns 123,000 acres in Australia, 26,000 acres in Scotland and has his own polo team, the Black Bears. This financier’s foreign exchange dealership, Interexchange, is the biggest in Switzerland and betting against the dollar has brought much success. He supposedly even named his Gulfstream G650 “George” as “ultimately it was Bush who paid for it.” Whilst Schwarzenbach’s Grand Hotel Dolder in Zurich wins plaudits galore. an investment in Mayfair’s Café Grand Prix was less successful. It is, however, for philanthropy and discretion that Schwarzenbach and his wife, a former Miss Australia, are known best.
This billionaire former president of the Bank of Moscow lives in exile in London and is on the Interpol Red Notices wanted list as a suspect in a £136 million (13 billion rouble) fraud. (more…)
This week we must thank Dan Large for having alerted us to an amazing YouTube video showing Her Majesty The Queen’s life in 3 minutes and 24 seconds.
Elizabeth II
Created by “an old retired guy who likes to play with computers” named “HerBunk” and using the technological wizardy of FantaMorph, the video has attracted nearly 6,000 likes and 300 dislikes. We look forward to hearing what readers of The Steeple Times make of it.
Watch the video at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8nJhG1xE5o&feature=share
