Magazine article The Spectator

Low Life: Jeremy Clarke

Magazine article The Spectator

Low Life: Jeremy Clarke

Article excerpt

On Monday night I went to a party at the Crazy Horse nightclub in Paris thrown by the oligarch Vitaly Malkin. He's written a 500-page philosophy book called Dangerous Illusions and threw the party to celebrate it's simultaneous publication in five European countries. Essentially the book is a polemic against religion. Enjoy life while you can is the message: there ain't no after-life. Why a Russian billionaire should go to the trouble of writing and publishing atheist polemic then invite me to the launch party, and pay for my travelling expenses and a hotel room, was mystifying, so I googled him. According to his Wikipedia profile, Vitaly Malkin is a living saint with a profound interest in female genital mutilation. In spite of this he has been unfortunately maligned over the years. None of the accusations have been proven in a court of law, however. A fair bit of his Wikipedia profile is taken up with blow-by-blow accounts of trials and legal wrangles. In spite of his clean record, Canada, the country he most wants to live in, has refused him a passport. It all seems terribly unfair.

The Crazy Horse is an old-fashioned burlesque club in the seedy Pigalle district of Paris -- all carpets and mirrors and swirling coloured lights. Normally it costs [euro]200 to get in and a bottle of champagne costs an arm and a leg. On Monday night Vitaly Malkin proved to me, at any rate, what a kind and uncomplicated man he must be by providing me and 300 of his friends a night of free champagne and strippers. The champagne was Perrier Jouet; the strippers were top drawer.

There were six of them. When they danced in a line on the stage they were an arresting sight, not least because they were identical in height and build and their breasts were all exactly the same size and shape. Although they did some good old-fashioned stripping, they mostly danced naked or semi-naked and they sang as they danced or writhed like injured snakes or jerked spastically as if electrocuted or swung around on silver poles. With six naked ladies to look at, in a line, on a stage, one cannot help choosing between them and my favourite was the second from the right as you looked at them. The Frenchman watching impassively next to me agreed afterwards that she was his favourite too. She was more flexible than the others, he thought. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.