So Heather Mills has claimed that “some of my best friends are Jewish”.
You want to believe her, don’t you? If ever anyone could benefit from the warm hearts and cool judgement of my favourite ethnic stereotypes, it’s poor old Heather, who makes the Whore of Babylon look like Aung San Suu Kyi when it comes to securing a place in public esteem.
The problem is, this claim is on the same level of credibility as it might be if she had stated: “I taught Susan Boyle how to sing” or “I invented toast.”
Yes, our Brighton correspondent — not me! — recently went to take a peek at the new vegan cafe she’s started up down here in Sodom-on-Sea and, on mentioning that she was Jewish, was surprised to be told by Miss Mills that — literally! — some of her best friends were Jewish.
And that she had applied to have some of the food sold at the joint approved by the Beth Din.
Even though it’s going to be open on a Saturday…
Opinion in some quarters is that the very Gentile Mills has finally twigged that her ex has a thing for Jewish chicks — Linda Eastman, Nancy Shevell — and is doing the next best thing to converting — going kosher by association — in an effort to tempt him back.
Do me a favour! Why in the name of heck would a semi-fit woman of 41 (or is it 21 this week? — I can never keep up) in possession of a sizeable fortune want to set her cap — kippah, even! — at a 67-year-old geezer? She’s got what she wanted!
I hate to say it, but it’s creepy how much Sir Paul and I have in common. We’re both old, rich, live in Brighton and Hove, dye our hair, have somewhat eccentric exes — and like Jews! And when I say “like”, I mean it in the biblical sense — as in “begat”. Except, hopefully, without the actual begatting. At Sir Paul’s age, or even mine, that would tip the inclination from quirky to just plain weird.
Some people — and wouldn’t THEY be a whole bunch of fun at a house party! — think it’s bad to fancy one ethnic group more than another.
But presumably they don’t think it’s bad for straight people to just fancy the opposite sex, or for gay people to just fancy the same one.
If that isn’t discrimination —writing off half the human race as a lousy lay — then what is?!
Leave us challah-chasers to our innocent appreciation of an ancient and noble people, I say. At a time when Islam-licking on the part of oddball infidels is rife, I’m damned if I’m going to apologise for fancying Sacha Baron Cohen or Scarlett Johansson. We all make choices every day —and I choose the Chosen.
‘Not In My Name: A Compendium of Modern Hypocrisy’, by Julie Burchill and Chas Newkey-Burden, is published by Virgin Books
