Ekaterina Rybolovleva

Some suspect that the oligarchs from the East buy big mansions they don’t live in for laundering their filthy lucre. While Abramovich is making life intolerable for those living in Cheyne Walk, he has three other places to park his unattractive noggin. All the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea had to do is say no to a man who unlike his adversary Boris Berezovsky will never have the decency to take his own life. But K&C said yes, thank you ever so much Mister Roman, and could we also kiss your bum, sir? Becoming butlers to oligarch billionaires whose manners resemble those of Gulag guards seems to fit and please the English.

Ironically it was in the same house, now being depraved by Abramovich-of-a-bitch, that I first heard his name mentioned. It was Sebastian Guinness, celebrating his brother Jasper’s 50th birthday, who said some Russki had bought Chelsea. I said he must be as big a crook as they come, especially after I was told Abramovich used to sell rubber (quack-quack) ducks outside the Dynamo stadium.

I have not changed my mind. Lord Moyne, a very good man, must have had his reasons to turn over the house to members of his family. They in turn flogged it to the duck salesman, who some suspect of greasing palms to get his permits so he could ruin the life of those living near the river.

But back to the King of Shit. When my friends the Bismarcks rebuilt the Gerald Road police station into a beautiful house, there were some neighbors who complained. The good news is that the neighbors were awful South African accountants, or lawyers, or dentists, or something like that. I am none of the above and am being abused by the works of some horrible Russian who owns the world’s biggest collection of shit and needs a large swimming pool in which to wash himself. There is only one thing to do, and that’s move. Maybe even to Cyprus.