Kissinger has had a lousy rap about the greatest foreign policy disaster of American history. For starters, he had nothing to do with it. Wolfowitz and Feith convinced Cheney who convinced W. When Kissinger was brought in for advice, it was already much too late. All the good Dr Hank says now is that America cannot suddenly pull out because there will be a regional crisis. In this he’s in agreement with Gates and Rice and the generals in the Pentagon who have long been skeptical that the Iraqi government would use the opportunity created by the troop increase to reach genuine political accommodations. Kissinger thinks that the goal should not be a military solution which cannot be imposed, but a way to provide security so the Iraqis can move toward political reconciliation.

On June, 5 Israeli fighter jets launched a strike which caught the Egyptian air force on the ground, effectively destroying it. Exploiting its dominance of the skies, Israel won its greatest victory. One thing is for sure: The Arabs had done their worst as usual to provoke the Israelis, but there was never the slightest chance that they would have attacked Israel. Nasser had closed the Straits of Tiran in an act of folly and brinkmanship, but he was as likely to attack the Jewish state as Saddam Hussein was ready to launch his WMDs on New York City.

Thomas Lejus, a Moscow university graduate, was the first Soviet to be accepted to the Wimbledon draw after the war. An American friend of mine, “D,” (whom I cannot name because he is now a very big shot in D.C.) was also in the draw. He suggested we take Thomas out to lunch and get him to defect. “Do you know what this will do, if their first player defects ?…..” I agreed, and my friend and I invited Lejus to the Cafe Royal for lunch once he was out of the tournament. If memory serves, Lejus passed a round or two and on the second week the three of us met at Regent Street. After the boring opening pleasantries, “D” got to the point. I can actually repeat it word for word: “Look Thomas, If you leave the Soviet Union, we will give you a house near Washington which will have a refrigerator, and a Ford convertible with a hard roof, one that retracts even while you’re driving…” He made a sign with his hand how the roof worked. I remained silent. Then, after a long pause, Thomas answered.

The funny thing about Sarkozy being president of France is not his size, but his family. His father, Pal Sarkozy, used to frequent the same nightclubs I did back in the early Sixties. Of the beau monde he was not. Pal was rather sleazy, a bit of a conman, and something of a playboy. None of us knew what he did, and by that I don’t mean to suggest he was dishonest, but there were always rumours about him. And an inveterate womaniser, a good thing for a father of a French president to be. But his women, alas, were a pretty lousy bunch.

Robert E. Lee once said that duty is “the sublimest word in the English language.” Yes it is, but dodging duty has now become the operative word in the neocon language. They talk about supporting our troops and all that blather, but how many of these bloodthirsty donut eaters have ever answered the call of duty? The blood of America’s fighting men cannot indefinitely be spilled by a government made up of people who have avoided military duty, which is unwilling to meet the needs of those who have served.

Another friend’s farewell, this time at West Point, where Commander Tim Vogel was buried with full military honours. Some of you oldies may have seen the film The Bridges of Toko-Ri, starring William Holden, Grace Kelly, Frederic March and Mickey Rooney. Holden played a pilot based on Tim’s father, a hot shot jet fighter who died in North Korea in 1951. The film had changed his name and presented him as a reluctant hero. Tim’s father was nothing of the kind. Sully Vogel was the strongest midshipman at Annapolis and became a legend in Korea for his aerial exploits. But Timmy outdid his old man. He won two DFC’s and 17 other awards for flying 200 missions over some of the most heavily defended real estate in North Vietnam, and set a record for successfully performing over 600 landings on a carrier. He and I became good friends after his return, and like most heroes he never talked about his exploits.

Yesterday, in Columbia, South Carolina, Rudy Mussolini attacked the only honest person in Congress, Rep. Ron Paul.

During the German occupation of my homeland in the Second World War there were nightly shouts of “Vasta Rommel” by certain Greeks. “Vasta” in Greek means “Hold on.” In other words, Greeks were praying for the great Erwin Rommel to hold against Montgomery’s 8th army. The German officers who were billeted in our house were immensely flattered. Until, that is, Fraulein, my German nanny, informed them that those shouting “Vasta Rommel!” were black marketeers hoping for an Axis victory because that ensured bigger profits. The neo-cons are essentially shouting “Vasta Bin Laden!” The more bloodshed, chaos and disruption, the more it gives Israel the excuse to practice ethnic cleansing. The more the military-industrial complex thrives. The greater the hold of the neo-con influence within the White House.

People to the manor born simply do not disapprove of those born in lesser circumstances than themselves. To the contrary, a duke is much more at ease with his dustman than with a hedge fund vulgarian who tries to ape the duke’s manner of speaking. Unlike in America, where one’s pocketbook is taken as one’s worth, an Englishman’s accent counts for more. Or used to, anyway. Even if one learns to fake it, like the great Lady Thatcher who took elocution lessons and spoke la-di-dah English, there are still all sorts of giveaways. For example: A drawing room is never called a lounge, except on a boat. A mirror is a looking glass, except in a car. Wireless is upper class for radio, and one simply never, but never calls a napkin a serviette.

There are 800,000 British passport holders who can at any time come to the United States without a visa or subject to any controls. These Brits are all either Pakistani born and naturalized British subjects, or their sons or grandsons. Pakistani Britons travel to their ancestral land of Pakistan around — get this — 400,000 times per year. 400,000 trips are taken each year by Britons of Pakistani descent who are then free to arrive in the U.S. unmolested and uncontrolled and do their stuff. Jihadist ideology is the prevailing ideology….

So we have come to this, have we? Israel is more important than the United States as far as certain Jewish Americans are concerned. Well, I don’t think so, and fervently hope Rosen and Weissman have the book thrown at them. A nation of immigrants like America simply cannot afford to have American citizens
betray Uncle Sam to the country of the origins of their forefathers or fathers.

Oldies have a powerful lobby in America, even in sport. Take judo, for example. Last week I went down to Miami for the U.S. national judo
championships, a competition which decides who will represent Uncle Sam in next year’s Olympics. Along with the seniors, as the main competitors are
known as, there is also a master’s tournament. Age groups begin from 30 to 35, and so on. I was entered in the 70 to 75 group.

The first time I met Pat Buckley was in 1964 and the circumstances were rather strange. It was at the Palace hotel in Gstaad, and a few friends and I
were drinking around the large piano in the grill while the pianist was playing a spirited version of Mussolini’s favorite tune, “Giovinezza.” Our singing
the ode to youth and fascism apparently did not best please a tall, bald man standing at the bar who suddenly threw his whiskey glass at us. It smashed
against the wall showering us with glass, although no one was cut or seriously hurt.

Larry Ellison, the chief executive of the software giant Oracle and the world’s 11th richest man, according to Forbes magazine, is not imbued by an ounce of grace or elementary good manners. He has constructed a basketball court on board his megayacht, the latter a monstrosity which pollutes more than a battleship and serves no other purpose than as a penile extension to its owner. He’s also so cheap…

I remember when I was living in Flambertin des Creppieres, a small hamlet west of Paris with an admittedly extremely pretentious name, and listening to two butchers arguing about Camus. They both had obviously read him, but it was their evocation of other writers whom they compared him to which left me breathless. After they finished their wine they shook hands and went back to slicing up chickens and lambs. Just like back in old Miami, n’est pas?

Imus is an unpleasant fellow—one could never take him to a gentleman’s club, for example—but he didn’t say anything black radio jockeys don’t say every day about us whites. And it was meant, after all, to be a joke. Ethnic jokes have all but disappeared from the mass media due to censorship. The prevalence in a given society of jokes about a particular ethnic group is not a good indicator of feeling toward that group. In fact, sometimes it’s the contrary.

Fictitious enterprises are the heart and soul of low journalism, and no one is lower in my opinion than Lloyd Grove. Just that week I had launched The American Conservative magazine, so Grove needed to put a kibosh to it with an anti-Semitic slur against me. I vowed to kick him in the ass the next time I ran into him, although I had no recollection what he looked like.

The seizure of the British Royal Marines and sailors by Iran was always a no brainer. To Iran, Tony Blair is a lame duck, and the British people believe in their government as much as the Americans believed that Bill Clinton did not have sex with that woman. Few Brits accepted their Government’s story that their boats were in Iraqi waters.

In this week’s New Yorker Philip Gourevitch takes a shot at Robert Mugabe, one of the leading psychopathic monsters among the rest of the crooks and murderers who lead the Dark Continent. He writes that the South African honcho, Thabo Mbeki and his gang have dishonored themselves by failing to stand up to an oppressor (Mugabe) who is as contemptuous of his people as Ian Smith was. What utter crap. Ian Smith, a wonderful man…

Last week I spent some days in Washington, D.C. for a conference organized by Fran Griffin at the National Press Club. The subject was Sam Francis, and his terrific book, Shots Fired, about America’s culture wars. Alas, Sam Francis passed away two years ago.

Back in the old country we’ve been making jokes about the Persians since 480 B.C. But we also like them because they made heroes out of us Greeks. We only lost once to them, in Thermopylae in 480 B.C., but they were 400,000 of them and 300 of us.

Dodi was not sleeping with Diana, hence if she were pregnant at the time of her death, it would have been a far greater story than it was. It would have been the second Immaculate Conception.

The neocons have their own axe to grind — make the Middle East safe for Greater Israel — but the West does not necessarily follow an Eretz Israel agenda. Or should not, in any case. It is strange that people like Bush and Blair have not caught on all these years. The more we mix up in their business, the more the people of the Middle East will hate us. All the more so if that involvement in their lives requires the use of tanks, American-made cluster bombs and American soldiers. No sooner had we forced the Palestinians to vote then they voted in Hamas. And we stopped all humanitarian aid because they democratically elected people we didn’t approve of. Some democracy, as Winny would have said.