GSTAAD—It’s written in the Declaration of Independence so it must be true, the pursuit of happiness as an unalienable right. There are those, of course, who try to deny us the pursuit of happiness—we used to call them ballbusters—and they were more often than not wives or girlfriends, ladies who had replaced stern nannies or even sterner mothers as we grew older. I’ve had women try to stop my pursuit of happiness ...

If it hadn’t arrived I’d be dead, but it was hardly welcome: another birthday. Thirty-eight years old on Aug.11, but for any pedant or two, reverse the numerals and you’ll get it right. Thirty-eight came to me as I was sparring with a young whippersnapper from Norway recently. I was out of breath and told him that at 38 I was having trouble keeping up. “You’re doing fine for 38,” he said, and then attacked as if ...

I am struggling up the slippery marble steps of the Acropolis with the Geldofs and the Bismarcks. We gaze upward toward the facade of the Parthenon, with its simplicity that has excited architects and conquerors for 2,000 years. There are no straight lines, everything curving upward toward the center. The whole structure tilts slightly toward the west end, the side one first sees when arriving, feeling hot and winded. Yet every ...

CORONIS—We are steaming on Puritan toward the private isle of Coronis for a long Pugs weekend and the boozing is easy. Sir Bob Geldof is lecturing on everything and anything and the listening is even easier. After three hours of this, and about five vodkas on the rocks in the sun, we have bypassed the island of Hydra and I feel faint. The gentle swaying of the boat, the constant blaring of Sir Bob’s lecture, and the booze ...

He went away to fight and the war lasted 10 years. He missed his wife, but he didn’t worry one bit. She was in love with him and she was known for her virtue. (Those were the days.) Sailing west, he stopped in Serifos, a beautiful but rugged island in the Cyclades. Soon he had a problem, a very serious one, and his name was Polyphemus. The Cyclops was a baddie and was about to slay the Greek crew and eat them when Odysseus ...

Here’s what a wise man recently said: “Our youth love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for their elders, and no longer rise when a lady enters the room. They chatter instead of exercising, gobble up their food, and tyrannize their teachers.” Well, in the great scheme of history, I suppose it qualifies as recent. It was by Socrates, 2,000 years ago. The French would say, “Plus ...

ATHENS—Standing right below the Acropolis, where pure democracy began because public officials were elected by lot, I try to imagine if random political selection today would be a good thing. The answer is a resounding yes. Both Socrates and Aristotle questioned fundamental norms and values, and if they lived today they would certainly question the acceptance by us of career politicians who have never had any other ...

The only true love is summer love, as the saying by Giacomo Casanova goes. Actually it’s mine, as the Venetian was too slick to differentiate between love seasons. The reason I find summer love the truest is because it has its limits. Come September and the return to school, job, city, town, whatever, summer love tends to dim, as cold hard reality sets in. We all first fell in love in summer, no ifs or buts about it. It is ...

Martina Navratilova has never been shy telling it like it is. She came out when other athletes were hiding in their lockers, and recently spoke out against men transitioning into women in order to cash in at women’s events. She is brave and refuses to be intimidated. Last week, while the Centre Court crowd was going ape cheering for Coco Gauff, Martina was the only commentator to question the fairness of it: “I wonder how ...

Now it can be told! A Boris ex I sat next to last week gave me the scoop: He is absentminded, he’s disorganized, and he drops wine on sofas—hold the presses, this is a world exclusive. Actually it was Petronella Wyatt during a Rupert Hambro lunch for Conrad Black, with lotsa big hitters including Pa Johnson. La Wyatt is a good girl, and she did have a bit of a rough time with Mister B, but she’s been grand where cashing ...

The Duke of Marlborough gave a toast last week that brought the house down during a Turning Point dinner for those of us resolved to end the threat of cultural Marxism once and for all. (Much easier said than done—the “crapitalists” of the entertainment industry control the culture.) The hosts were John Mappin and Charlie Kirk, a rising star in America, and Nigel Farage was the main attraction. (Outside, the usual ...

I remember it well. My friend and neighbor Baron Lambert had my wife and me to dinner at his Gstaad chalet, and the talk turned to Belgian history. Philippe Lambert’s grandfather, a banker, had lent money to King Leopold of the Belgians in order for the monarch to buy some real estate in Africa. He bought the Congo, made Philippe’s grandfather a baron, and paid back the debt in full. Talking about kings, I brought up the ...

Bellamy’s and Oswald’s are the two best restaurants in London. Owned by two friends of mine, both gents, both English, the service and the food are as good as it gets, and it don’t get better, as they say in Chicago. Last Friday I got off the plane and went straight to Bellamy’s, where Gavin Rankin, the owner; Tim Hanbury, voted annually father and husband of the year since 1980; and Charles Glass, left-wing author and ...

A lady once offered to go to bed with me if I could ensure her landing The Spectator’s diary. This was some time ago, but what I clearly recall is that I didn’t even try. To help her get the diary, that is. I don’t wish to start any guessing games among the beautiful “gels” that put out the world’s best weekly, but to my surprise that particular lady did get her wish sometime after, through no help from yours truly. ...

They were putting the finishing touches on the giant tent as I drove up to the Schloss Wolfsegg after an hour’s plane ride from Gstaad to a tiny nearby airport. With me were my son and two good friends, and the Pilatus felt like a Messerschmitt 109 cutting through the clouds and landing on a dime. Pilatus is a great airplane. It can cruise for seven hours at 280 knots, and land at less than 500 meters. It seats six people ...

I didn’t like it, and then I liked it. But a writer’s job is to tell the truth, as Papa said back in 1942. Hemingway maintained that it was bad luck to talk about writing—“it takes away whatever butterflies have on their wings”—but he wrote nonstop about writing, as incisively about the subject as any writer ever did. Last week I finished my umpteenth book on Papa, and it depressed me to no end. Really. And then, ...