Issuu on Google+

Issue 1: Summer 2008 $10/€10 Finch’s visio is, suus a spurcus uarterly Review foetidus universitas, tamen illic es nonnullus smashing res in is Welcome to Our World Nick Broomfield Emma Thompson Tim Jefferies Dylan Jones John Malkovich Matthew Modine Kevin Spacey on lying on eggs on living on fashion on books on his bike on theatre A view of Positano from a Riva Aquarama (for bookings, ring Lucibello on +39 089 875032) Lunch at Lo Scoglio and a fitting with the tailor, The rumble of the engine as I rev up the Riva, The warm, leathery smell of a Bentley Azure, The fragrant blue smoke of my favourite cigar… T hese, rather than copper kettles, woollen mittens, raindrops and whiskers, are a few of my favourite summer things, and the image above reminds me that I should really spend more of my time experiencing them. In our lives that are so full of important jobs to be done, meetings to be taken, targets to be met, earn-outs to be, well, earned out, we often lose track of the things that make our lives what they are. The truth is that often we are so busy chasing the deal that will bring us all we want that we forget to enjoy what we already have (yes, there is a touch of Hallmark greeting-card morality about that, and it is a cliché, but then clichés have a disconcerting habit of being accurate). The Mediterranean sun on your back; the teak deck of summer 2008 a yacht (preferably someone else’s) beneath your feet; a dive into invigorating waters; the comforting bulk of a Girard-Perregaux Sea Hawk II Pro 3000 Metres on your wrist… Not that you really need a watch to tell you if it is time for a long lunch at the Hôtel du Cap, and a large cigar afterwards. Of course I take it for granted that you are the sort of enlightened individual who knows that true love is the greatest of all these blessings. But while we are waiting for love, summer offers so many compensations—the chance to be fitted for voile shirts and linen suits; the opportunity to wear a pair of Tod’s in an almost ecclesiastical shade of purple; or the excuse, if one were needed, to get the bewitching Shiel Davidson-Lungley at Meyrowitz to make you yet another pair of sunglasses. The truth is that I would love to have been born with, or even have been able to earn the money to indulge my aesthete tendencies, but I wasn’t and I haven’t. However, from time to time I snatch consoling moments from such a life, whether it is a long, sun-drenched lunch; or a great cigar and cup of tea on a pavement table in Jermyn Street in the company of the world’s finest cigar merchant, Edward Sahakian; or an afternoon savouring the rattle of dice as I face art dealer Fabien Fryns over a Max Parker backgammon board at the upper (not the lower) pool of the Marbella Club. I was at a seated dinner the other day (a ridiculous term—after all, I tend not to eat dinner in places without chairs) when a man told me his plans to make a fortune by buying a venerable apparel name and turning it into a brand making mass-produced tat in China. Just what the world needs. A little bit of me died, just as it did when I heard that Association footballer and paragon of male elegance Mr Wayne Rooney wed his fiancée in Portofino. I have nothing against the Rooneys—far from it. Their cheerful vulgarity is 1 oddly endearing; it is just that my own personal fantasy view of life from the terrace restaurant of the Splendido as a part of the jet-set pageant circa Julie Christie in Darling (a belief I cling to along with the existence of Santa Claus) took another dent. But at least the Rooneys are enjoying themselves. There is a life of lotus-eating ease and (a dirty word, this) luxury to be enjoyed, so why spend the summer thumbing away at the BlackBerry working out how to leverage your non-share capital while spreadsheeting your MBA into yearon-year core competency? I felt like telling my branded-tat-focused dinner companion to relax a little. After all, the graveyards are full of indispensable people and I have always thought the graveyards of the Mediterranean, with their cypresses, are better than most. In the meantime, look at the picture at the top of this page and remember that living well is the best revenge. —Nick Foulkes

Finch's Quarterly Review Issue 1

Related publications