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| Farah Damji |
I turn to the Spectator's riveting Low Life column in the latest issue and learn that its author Jeremy Clarke - described as 'The Evelyn Waugh de nos jours' - is the proud owner of a 'bird' whom he takes to a pub after what sounds like an evening at an art class. He tells us that the art teacher may very well fancy his bird as booze is knocked back. The sculptor, too, has designs on her contours. Then someone identified as the mother-in-law asks whom the bird is with. To which the bird replies, 'testily': ‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!’
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| Is it a bird? |
Or could it be one Farah Damji? - described by the Evening Standard as 'London's most dangerous woman?' Well, it's not beyond the realms of possibility. Both Jeremy and Farah are highly attractive persons free at the point of delivery and of proven fertility. Both exhibit a cosmopolitan tolerance of some of life's hardier annuals while nonetheless flouncing about in rarefied atmospheres - the Spectator's in Jeremy's case.
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| Jeremy Clarke |
It is distressing then to learn that when she attempted to defend her love in the last 24 hours, by posting a comment below his Low Life column in response to my foul abuse, she was censored! I believe the comment has now been restored - but we can't have the home of free speech (ie the Speccie) nursed along by nannies or people better off running sex clinics (reception).
But whatever the truth of the matter, I extend my best wishes to lovebirds everywhere. Just remember: the fun is always in making up, you sweety-tweeties!
71 comments:
In the style of Dame Barbara "She looked at him , her eyes flashing. "You will never find the diamonds of my Father the Sultan!" He paused then held her tightly. "It is not the diamonds that I seek!" Their lips closed. Outside his valet paced the corridor.
In the style of Ron (Ten Cents) Broxted. "He slapped the broad. "Where the fuck is Ringo?"
I don't believe a word of it
Who? and who?
Surely that should read his "jail bird." Very nice article. She has impressive assets. He looks old.
He perhaps won't see 54 again
Low Life dates lower life.
No no no. These two are destined to be together. I shall observe the unfolding romance with great interest. Both appear to hold an inherent disdain for the opposite sex. One wonders who will fold their cards first and you can hold the poker face, longer. Must say that's a rather good rear shot Madam. Where did you find that? A pornography website? Asian Babes' Buns?
My dear, Madame does not frequent porn sites. Here you get either the authentic or the PhotoShopped. Take your pick...
Free at the point OF delivery, surely.
What a lovely feel good story. Christmas came early for Jeremy.
I miss Jeffrey Bernard. You got the true Low Life with his legs falling off and the lot. Not this soap opera.
Why thank you - literal corrected. Subs are so last century.
She has a palm print. Right buttock. Does she like pain does he whip her? In one of his recent columns she asks him "Bring cable ties. I've been naughty."
These 2 are a Christian Gray and whassername. You know 50 Shades. They should write a book about the affair.
I don't see the palm print myself. And my impression of Jeremy is he ploughs the fields and scatters, even in his pre-senior years.
I miss Jeffrey Bernard too. Do you know he had a suicide party? Jeremy's writing is fine but it lacks risk. It has no flow, it's constrained. He should write more, sober. However compared to most hackery, this is top drawer, certainly better than the Toby Young, Delingpole, Nick Cohen, Rod Liddle quartet who appear to write everything about anything.
Ploughs in the fields and scatters what exactly? He's been writing about his GF's for years. I wonder what he thinks about this, or if he thinks this is foul play? Where's Peter Oborne? I once wached a cricket match, Oborne's team. Clarke was so pissed, he couldn't bowl.
Mr Clarke has a taste for exotica, as this extract from Prospect of 14 years ago demonstrates. He was taken to a whorehouse in New Zealand:
"Although the lovely Min didn’t speak much English, after she had pulled my clothes off she seemed to think that everything I said or did was hilariously funny. But when I asked for the menu, she went all businesslike. I could have fuck, she said, or I could have suck, or I could have suck ‘n’ fuck. However there was to be “no up botty,” alas, and “no condom pay more.” I said I’d like fuck with condom please. She accepted my first price with alacrity and the next thing I knew we were hard at it.
It didn’t take long. A minute and a half at the most. Min removed my condom and held it up to the light to inspect the contents.
“Long time?” she asked.
“About six years,” I said sadly, and she fell on to the bed, giggling."
http://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/magazine/4159-modernmanners/
'“no up botty,” alas...' How interesting.
But he likes doing it up the botty. I'm so sure I have read that somewhere. Or did I make it up? Everything at a price, one supposes.
I didn't know about Bernard's suicide party, though I try to avoid marginalia about the margins (famous last words). Did you attend?
The Delingpole (is the Young still writing for the mag?) is there just to draw in the blog crowd. I doubt that even the juvenile editor takes him seriously.
I hope Jeremy is not too mortified by this report. He can dine out on it for years to come - perhaps with Farah as wifely hostess....
With a botty like that, she's asking for it. Lesser men may have tried where he succeeds. He likes up botty. One of former exes told me.
Wifely darling? You don't marry that. She's expensive mistress material. All Egyptian cotton sheets, La Perla knickers and boutique hotels. I can't see her getting the Marigolds out. Well not for washing up, at any rate.
No, you're probably right.
Madam!
You are indeed attracting a better class of commentator. Is this the Spectator bunch?
But really, where do you find these people. Have you read this?
http://www.spectator.co.uk/life/low-life/6975288/low-life-108/
he appears to be unlucky in love and online dating. I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. And I am not picky.
Gosh. I suggest she reads this extract from a not too distant article he has written about himself and Cowgirl, and as the American's say, she bails.
"But Cow Girl had struck no pay dirt, knew with an old sixty-niner’s instinct that it wasn’t worth looking any further, and she had got out with an almost indecent haste."
Nothing here to see...
http://www.spectator.co.uk/life/low-life/6845998/low-life-154/
I don't think this article is truthful.
I saw her out on the town on Wednesday night, dressed expensively, hair much lighter and appears to have lost a lot of weight (a nasty present from the Low Life perhaps?) laughing and flirting with a much, much older man, a gentleman's club. Just sayin'.
"I suppose that a few years down the line, when I’m in the gutter, I’ll look back nostalgically on these early symptoms of physical addiction to alcohol and wish I’d nipped it in the bud."
http://www.spectator.co.uk/life/low-life/526366/open-for-business/
This is looking worse and worse, through the myopic lens of a beer glass. Her father was an alcoholic, thus described in her book. Is she reliving some childhood ordeal with this terrible man? MA, as her friend I hope you are giving her the strictest advice.
He does look awfully old for her. DH Lawrence stated love was a case of one party being grateful and the other party being vain. A very odd couple don't you think.
“And all the time she felt the reflection of his hopelessness in her. She couldn't quite, quite love in hoplessness. And he, being hopeless, couldn't ever love at all.”
― D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love
Thank you darlings. I shall upload onto my kindle for a read on my way to Belize.
Is Madame now an off-shoot of the Spectator? Great idea!
Hideously boring. Are you Hello/Goodbye magazine?
This could be straight from the pages of the Daily Mail. A non story about 2 nonentities.
Can we have some serious gossip please not washed up writers with their begging bowls (prevous post) or formerly interesting socialites/sociopaths?
Green Goddess - how lovely. I hear Belize is delightful this time of the year.
Darling Jeffrey - I hope you've grown back your legs in the spirit world.
According to one Jeremy's pieces he lived in an old people's home and his family were waiting for the inmates to die off. Then it was just him and his mum. Is she still with us?
Is it a bird? you ask apropos someone's behind. Yes. It's thrush.
His mother is still alive, the odd "we" slips into his writing. I think an uncle, the last resident died and left him an inheritance. Jerry and Mummy rattling about in that big old house in Devon?
He gives good narrative, I always look forward to his columns and he has a strong contingents of followers who regularly post comments. Not like here. Quite.
Oh I have my hard core Arcatistes who come and go according to what they want.
Oh and PS. Most of Jeremy's posts generate 2 or 3 posts a week while this post has 36 as I write. And no one's paying me.
Belize is Lord Ashcroft land. Tell him to send back some of that tax dodging cash to our empty coffers. Tory swine.
I was told ages ago this site had closed down. But here you are all glam and theatrical, still peddling mischief. As you are.
"Bernard bin in," was the regular cry for Bernard's at best periodic column. "Jeffrey Bernard is unwell" was frequently found where his column ought to have been. He was irreplaceable.
Mr Clarke started well, with the end of an affair which took him to the depths of depression then more recently the memorable adventures of Cowgirl, the retailer's mistress and being trussed up like a glazed turkey. Then there was a peroxide blonde hooker who became a social worker. This dark one is just the latest in the slipstream of his quest for content and to make a rather shabby little life look interesting. Swathes of self loathing and artful mimicry come to the surface, the bouts of sobriety and falling violently off the wagon make one wonder the potential for real life and human connection and the perameters of acceptable behaviour and societal norms. I read much anxiety and turmoil in his weekly offerings, there is an underpinning of mortality, sometimes he depresses me with the darkness he inhabits and the dark places in his soul. I read his articles every week, just to check he's still alive and vomiting. Worth the price of the subscription. I met him at a Speccie party recently, he has a heavy estuary accent and smokes a lot. He seems like a nice enough fellow but to bring it back to the great Bernard, his eyes lacked emotion and he looked a bit hunted, like he felt he shouldn't be there at all.
Do you have her number? With a body like that I forgive her dodgy taste in men.
Yours
Baron
Thank you for your appraisal of Jeremy. And Baron - yes, what's her number worth?
Is that damji's arse?
I would. Just sayin'
au contraire, i want more stuff like this. posh sexy tittle tattle, now the news of the world's gone xxx
That's a very sultry photo of Ms Damji. Whoever took it must have been in bed with her at the time. Is Madame not telling us something?
Jeremy looks like a kind and gentle man. I am an avid reader of his column. No he's not Bernard but he brings his own talent to the table and is an experienced journalist. That is a good photograph, unlike the pornography hovering above his head.
Lie down with dogs wake up with rabies.
Sounds like poppycock to me. I'm certain Madame has been taken for a ride by Damji who is a proven reprobate. I fully expect to see an apology to Mr Clarke published on this site shortly.
I would love to be a fly on the proverbial wall in the boudoir and to soak in the post coital chatter of these 2 love birds. They must have amazing make up sex. They both look rather content in the photographs.
It's a good match an the age difference (12 years I think) is perfect between a man and a woman. Having lived spectacularly public lives, perhaps they find a quantum of solace together. He writes about her with great tenderness. He's no stranger to controversy and has had skirmishes with the law himself. This from his publisher's website:
"A brief account of Jeremy Clarke’s formative years:
Two O levels. Three convictions for smash and grab. Two for drunk driving. One for possession of amphetamine sulphate. General labouring and factory work. Attended charismatic Baptist church. Resigned from job as refuse collector, returned library books, sold house, went to the Democratic Republic of Congo, then known as Zaire. Came back altered. Conscious decision to join bourgeoisie. Night classes, then three years at School of Oriental and African Studies in London. Reviewed book by the late, great Dr Brian Plummer on ferret husbandry for University College London student magazine. Taken on by legendary editor Dr Karl Miller as his latest ‘great white hope’. Book deal. Fifty grand advance. Spent advance. Failed to write book."
You made me smile, you hopeless romantic Madame.
But it also made me rather wistful that some of your readers are so cynical about a budding love affair between two people. Whilst perhaps this could have been kept a private matter between two consenting adults (I assume), when we find love we should grab it greedily, sucking out the marrow of life and woven into the skein of immortality in which it binds us, albeit temporarily. Love is to be celebrated. If they were to write a book together, I'll bet they could produce a worthy tome for our modern times.
I can't recall the last time I received such well-considered comments - it must be the draw of the Spectator: birds of a feather etc.
Love affairs ideally are cemented by a secret and a mystery. Alas, Jeremy has made a living from turning his intimacies into trade, albeit well-written trade. That he does not identify his lovers is something in his favour: but his lovers know who they are, and their friends may know who they are (to Jeremy) - indeed, this is the peril of bio-columnising: eventually, one of the anonyms will rise up; or at least not obstruct self-publicity.
AA Gill has his 'Blonde' and Jeremy his 'Bird'. In return, a sum of money is electronically placed in their respective bank accounts by appreciative publications. Every week.
This blog is becoming an iniquitous den of scandal and vice. I don't recall seeing women's ladybits on here before. Are you turning, Madame?
SHE has a reputation for dissolving marriages. Does Mrs Low Life know about this affair? Her Dalrymple/Jenkins affairs, although they took place almost a decade ago, still reverberate. But this is perceptive about serial married monogamist Jenkins.
http://try-me-the-book.com/buses.php
"He was going to be 50 soon but he was still very sexual, he was a purveyor of the finer things in life. I was another pretty toy to add to his collection, but for a while at least I was a favourite toy."
She writes about men and love with a hint of steel and coldness. I hope Mr Clarke's machete is sharpened.
A Mrs Low - if she exists - might discover something in his weekly column; she needn't even take out a subscription, unlike Cowgirl.
It's not as if she could accuse him of being furtive or underhand.
I am always delighted to hear of other people's guesses on the afterlife excursion.
The mortal existentialist would not need to think beyond the aforementioned arse.
I would too. Him not her. I almost did. He's an intelligent homo sapiens, a rare breed.
It's a pity Jeremy's been photographed with light behind him. Didn't the photographer learn anything when she read the polaroid instruction manual?
I await Mr Clarke's response in Low Life with interest.
It staggers belief that this vicious site still exists. What strange creature is responsible for it that lurks in the mud? The astrological link adds a daemonic element as you suck in the gullible, the vulnerable, the dumb and self-advertisers. Where's a good exorcist when you need one!
And I see D Fallowell has moved on. Took him a long time to see you for what you are.
Mr Clarke is too much of an old school gent to either remark or continue this tawdry self-exposure.
Yes indeed. Such an old school gent, he exposes himself every week in the Spectator, as he once did on Prospect (will I ever forget the image of his used condom held to the light by a New Zealand prostitute?).
Heartening to see the old traditional values in action.
I doubt this budding romance will survive a direct attack such as this. Jeremy is probably in a dark corner or a Soho gutter, licking his wounds. What an awful woman. She may be glamorous and beautiful, I'll give you that but she knew this would kill off the affair. Game, set and match, Farah.
I must confess to some puzzlement. Why would this 'exposure' kill their affair? After all, he is free to write about his 'bird' and doubtless those in his circle will know who she is. He has made a career out of writing of his sex life, his Cowgirl, the New Zealand prostitute, at al. So, why should he be so dejected because one of his lovers goes public about herself? Perhaps he thinks himself superior or entitled in some way? Discuss.
Dear Madam,
I do hope you have ample legal cover once these two have come to their senses and sued the shit out of you. Mr Clarke in particular, who has been most virtuous in never naming his paramours is rudely scrutinised hereabove, in all manner of private matters. They will pour a bucket of shit big enough to fill the municiple baths in Brighton one imagines. Upon your head.
Well, you can live in hope sweetheart. There's nothing defamatory here. Jeremy makes a living from confession - indeed items above are taken from his columns over the years. Of his own volition he has written about paramours and the like - it would be odd if such a hack should then entertain fantasies about suing over invasion of privacy. He invades his own.
And Farah is delish - as the pics demonstrate. What's not to like? She's even retweeted the piece on Twitter. So, dream on.
Oh, West Ham is strictly for cunts of the hacking kind.
And I see you follow me on Facebook, West Ham fan. I'll make you suffer. Slowly. Legally.
After re-reading this article I notice that Madame craftily does not say that the 'lovebirds' are indeed lovers. She merely wonders aloud. It would therefore be in the interests of Mr Clarke or Ms Damji to issue a denial, if untrue, before any further action. The photographs, too, prove nothing. It is entirely possible that Madame selected two people at random and merely connected them in a speculative piece. Whether this is actionable might depend on the respective reputations of the 'lovebirds'. I hope this helps.
They're an odd couple. He has EDL leanings, all this English Nationalism Revivalist bollocks ( and you are quite accurate on your statement above about West Ham cunts) and they don't look good together. She is an evolved political beast. I've watched them together, he is uncomfortable in his own skin and she is like "laying down a string of expensive pearls on a polished marble surface, one bead at a time," a nurtured and mindful sensuality, (I was in that pub scene, I will leave it to your imagination whether I was the artist or the sculptor or the mother-in-law). He wasn't looking at the woman across the table, his nervous energy was all over the shop and he was engrossed in what Farrah was doing and the attention being heaped on her and essentially, who was holding her favor in that moment. He looked as if he felt strangely insecure. Jeremy was not at all as I had imagined the great Speccie columnist to look or sound or behave. She does have an unnerving way with men. She makes one (I still haven't given it away) feel as if you are the only person in her gaze and has a lost somewhere mid-Atlantic demeanor and extraordinarily beautiful laughter. He squeaks, sort of high pitched and nasal, a funny indistinguishable accent. He's also going bald and has a comb-over a la Trump in the front. She was restraining herself, trying to let him hold court and all that comes across in the column is a massive inadequacy from Jeremy, he cowers in her presence. This can't last. He writes as if he is unworthy to have her as "his bird" (dreadful and quite insulting phase, I fear) I have watched her disastrous affairs, for some time now. I do hope she will find someone worthy and great. She finally deserves it, but don't we all, deserve love? We are but stepping stones on the journey of life for each other, it helps if we do as the poet wrote "tread softly for you tread on my dreams."
Between the pair of them, they probably couldn't come up with a reason Why Not.
It's a bit like Mornington Crescent, the comments on this blog. I don't give it long, he's [deleted for legal reasons] feckless, she appears to be undergoing her own evolution. Ah well, time will tell. However I'd lay odds against him ever writing about her again.
I'm impressed that this blog attracts so many comments whereas the Spectator can only managed a handful, outside of its Cafe Nero blog. One is award-winning, the other scarcely known. I wonder which is which and why.
I believe the above commenter meant 'censure'.
Poetic justice
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