So, The Maxwells. And not the coffee people either, although I never did get invited to a Maxwell House. Their office, once, yes and that was an experience in itself. I may not have got the correct sequence of events, but he’s not around to dispute it and Ghislaine has some more pressing issues on her mind than to worry about any inaccurate chronology in a blog.
It was about the time that Robert was looking to buy Spurs. And I was looking to sell Gazza (please note the spelling…. it’s highly relevant to the story ) to Lazio in Italy. Everybody was calling me. Journalists, club owners, other agents trying to muscle in on the deal, but almost nobody had my home phone number. Unfortunately, everybody had my mobile. That’s how I came to be hacked years later by a couple of rogue journalists. I was quite pleased about that, if truth be told, as there were people less high profile than me getting hacked and I was wondering what I had done to be ignored. I never had a stalker either, which was also a tad disappointing. I mean, everybody should have their own personal stalker as that’s a status symbol as good as having your own chauffeur, butler or pilot. All of which Robert Maxwell possessed.
So, I digress. I mean, I’ve kept you waiting the whole weekend so you deserve better from me. My phone rang at home. I think my missus answered it first time. A loud booming voice rang out in the kitchen. I took over the call.
“ Maxwell here. Robert Maxwell. I want to talk about Gaza .” ( note the spelling and that’s how he pronounced it.
I was a bit at a loss to understand why the proprietor of the Mirror Group of newspapers should want to discuss Middle Eastern politics with me, but you know me. Even then I was prepared to give anything a whirl and I thought maybe, just maybe, there might be a regular column in ‘The Mirror’ in it for me. Gradually, the penny clicked. He was looking to buy Spurs and if he did he wanted me to persuade Gazza to stay, as he was intending him to be the jewel in the crown. He genuinely thought that he could make the Spurs fans love him as the man who kept the best player in the world at the club.
I was invited to a meeting at the ‘ Mirror ‘ building as I recall near Ludgate Circus. They put out the red carpet for me and I was whisked up to the penthouse suite in his private lift and was then disappointed to find I was meeting only his son Kevin. Who, was actually very pleasant, although clearly so terrified of his tyrannical father that he was practically begging me to agree that I would forget all about Italy for Paul and settle for North London under King Robert.
It was the strangest of meetings, as I say I was “ only “ meeting the son; but the father was there, although not in the room. Now, I don’t mean that in some kind of allegorical way. He was really there, but in his own office with the door ajar. But, he didn’t come out because he was on the loo the whole of the meeting ( with the toilet door open ) barking instructions.
As it happened he never bought Spurs so I didn’t get the opportunity of declining his overtures, but he did buy Oxford United. We didn’t really stay in touch as he wasn’t my kind of guy and even in those days I felt I had enough friends not to look to add him to my circle. But, I did visit Oxford United when they played Newcastle in a cup game and it didn’t go well. Newcastle were 3-0 down with about twenty minutes to go and I just wanted to leave, walk back to my car and make the lonely drive home. Then came an announcement. The visiting fans ( including me ) would not be allowed to leave the ground until half an hour after the final whistle. I sort of got that. The travelling Toon Army who’s schlepped down from the North East mid-week to see their team thumped by a bunch from a lower division were not a collection of happy bunnies. They were looking for trouble and I could see why Oxford wanted to get their fans out and home in one piece. But, I also wanted to get home and I didn’t want to wait for another hour to start my journey.
I tried to reason with a steward. I told him I was a lawyer from London and that if he just opened a gate a teensy-weensy bit I would not only sneak out without looking back, but I also wouldn’t publicise my escape to any of the enraged Geordies who were quite literally trying to scale walls to get out. It was like “ The Great Escape “ all over again. I swear that some of the fans were tunneling.
The steward wasn’t at all moved. So, I looked in my phone and found Robert’s number and called him. From where I was sitting I could see his ample frame in the Director’s Box, puffing on a cigar and putting an arm around his daughter Ghislaine for whom he had bought the club as a plaything. Me, I bought my kids Subbuteo sets of little plastic men . Maxwell went for the real thing.
To my astonishment he did answer the phone in the middle of the match ( well, towards the end, if I am to be totally accurate ) and remembered me. I told him that I was being unlawfully imprisoned in the stand opposite him and I could almost see him smile down the phone. I think he had a sort of regard for those that stood up to him, which his children never did ( apart from Ghislaine, I believe, whom he adored ) The walkie talkie held by my stubborn steward rang and he looked around searching for me, found me and signaled me to leave my seat. I was duly escorted from the ground and missed the fourth goal that Oxford scored. I could not begrudge them .
Now, I’ve done some tortuous and some brilliant links over the last few months, so I will leave you to judge into which category this one falls. What do Ghislaine Maxwell and the people of Taiwan have in common? Well, neither of them are going anywhere any time soon, for starters. However, the Taiwanese do have an advantage over the unfortunate Ms Maxwell. There is an airport in Taiwan which is offering those who are desperate to fly the opportunity to check in, board a plane and then…. go absolutely nowhere.
Songshan airport in Taipei is offering a fake flying experience which really is fake news. Seems you pack a bag, take a taxi to the airport, queue up to check in and hand your bag over, then go through security and immigration and actually board an Airbus 330. Not sure if you get offered a drink or even the chance to buy duty free, because you then disembark, go to a carousel to get your bag back ( if it’s not been lost or sent to Atlanta by mistake ) and then …. Well, then, you go home. Which is another option not going to be open to the lovely Ghislaine for the forseeable future.
Anyway, my forseeable future ( I hope ) is tomorrow, if we are spared, so stay safe and see you all then.