The spy who came in from the drawer
By Nury Vittachi
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Although your humble narrator is a frequent visitor to Beijing, I sadly had to miss the spectacular opening of the Olympics. I consoled myself with the knowledge that others were missing it too, including the Prime Minister of Britain who was “otherwise engaged”, and the Dalai Lama (real name Eddie “the Finger” Donahue), who was inexplicably left off the guest list.
But I enjoyed watching it on television, especially since the opening dances celebrated three out of my four favourite interests: writing, the press and Asian wisdom (my fourth major interest is the extended sleep-in, but that’s a tricky subject to express in dance).
I couldn’t be there because I was appearing at the world’s biggest book festival. Now who do you think was top of the bill? Salman Rushdie? Salman was there, but no, he didn’t get the top spot. JK Rowling? The festival was held in Edinburgh, just down the road from the café where she wrote the first Harry Potter book, but no, it wasn’t her.
Top spot was Anonymous. Taking a gamble, organizers offered tickets for a speaker described only as a “mystery guest”. Punters were so surprised to be asked to shell out without knowing what they were getting that they immediately obeyed, causing the session to sell out. (Memo to self: remove name and face from books and posters in order to increase sales.)
The other hot ticket was a session that featured Sean Connery, better known as James Bond. The local listings magazine put on its cover a slightly dated (okay, 40 years old) picture of him. This was a bad idea, since it accentuated just how much 007 has changed. Sir Sean’s neighbour last month said he looked like “a rude, foul-mouthed, fat old man”. However, this description could apply to almost everyone I know in their late 70s, and not just the men.
Sadly, Sir Sean’s autobiography skims over his past. His family was so poor when he was born that his mother, whose name was Euphemia (not a joke), put him to bed in a drawer.
Now fabulously wealthy, he talks endlessly about how enthusiastic he is about his glorious motherland Scotland, although his bottomless love for the place doesn’t stretch as far as persuading him to live in it.
Sir Sean also tells people he doesn’t know where tales of his stinginess come from, but also tells folk he won’t sign autographs because he doesn’t get paid for it.
Former James Bond girl Britt Eckland was also present, promoting her new book Britt on Britt by Britt Eckland (no egotism there). She was suitably eccentric, as is expected of movie stars. When not talking about herself, she and her dog Tequila ran backwards around the park. Running backwards “is better for health” she explained. (Clearly, she meant her health, not the health of people who had to get out of their way.)
When the session featuring the mystery guest opened, I was intrigued to see that it turned out to be Gordon Brown, Prime Minister of Britain. He had decided that instead of partying with George W Bush and other bigwigs at the Beijing Olympics he would instead hang out with a load of bookish types and watch it on television, like me. A wise man. I wonder if he enjoys sleep-ins, too?
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