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Whitney Straight ~ Peter Finch ~ George Ingle-Finch ~ James Goldsmith ~ John Aspinall ~ Gordon White ~ Edmund Hillary ~ George Mallory ~ Robert Falcon Scott ~ Winston Churchill ~ Maurice Saatchi ~ Terence Conran ~ Mario Testino ~ Taki ~ Graydon Carter ~ Arpad Busson ~ Giorgio Armani ~ Loro Piana ~ Luca Cordero di Montezemolo ~ Gianni Agnelli ~ Jean Pigozzi ~ Peter Langham ~ Mark Birley ~ Lucian Freud ~ Marc Quinn ~ Francis Ford Coppola ~ Luis Buñuel ~ Graham Greene ~ Robert Graves ~ Hugh Casson ~ Albert S Ruddy ~ Porfirio Rubirosa ~ Taki Theodoracopulos ~ Francis Ford Coppola ~ Pablo Picasso ~ Tracey Emin ~ Luca Cordero di Montezemolo ~ Nicholas Rachline ~ Edmondo di Robilant ~ Paul Newman ~ Marcello Mastroianni ~ Ed Pressman ~ Henry Wyndham ~ Michael Chow ~ Chris Blackwell ~ Martin Luther King ~ Terence Conran ~ Lucian Freud ~ David Flint Wood ~ Ahmet Ertegün ~ Steve McQueen ~ Kevin Spacey ~ Michael White ~ Robert Fox ~ Richard Rogers ~ Leonard Cohen ~ Tom Bartlett ~ Frédéric Fekkai ~ Nick Broomfield ~ David Hockney ~ Jackson Pollock ~ Régis Pagniez ~ David Geffen ~ Ted Turner ~ Nicolas Sarkozy ~ Fidel Castro ~ Mick Jagger ~ Fangio ~ Nic Cage ~ David Niven ~ Jonathan Newhouse ~ Marlon Brando ~ Ari Emanuel ~ Werner Herzog ~ HRH Prince Michael of Kent ~ César Ritz ~ Lord Attenborough ~ Lord Carrington ~ Muhammad Ali ~ Sir John Pringle ~ Ringo Starr ~

Oh, whoa whoa whoa!
The ho ho ho,
Of last Xmas

The bitter snow,
The frost,
All that money lost
In market compost!
I dream of a farm,
Somewhere warm,
With olive groves,
And tomato bread
with garlic cloves.

A hacienda tickled in sea breeze,
The afternoon under shaded trees.

I walk through terraces of vines,
Ancient earth tilled
under clear blue skies
By the fingers of sleeping Gods,
And dancing Señoritas.

Instead.
Back in the real world to dread…
Fickle politicians
And plebs.

Imperfections.
And infections.
A cough like an ape,
and work too late.

Gentlemen!
Fight back
Against the inevitable heart attack!
Less port and oyster,
Slow gin and bitter.

Shoot and fish,
Climb the Hindu Kish
And ride across Spain;
Ignore the rain.

Pass me my pick, George.
There are mountains to climb –
Not for us to whine.

They smile and walk on
towards the mist.

– Unknown Sherpa