I keep three wishes ready,
Lest I should chance to meet,
Any day a fairy,
Coming down the street
(1932 Annette Wynne)
Three things I would say if I met Sir Elton John.
First: Sincere flattery, but not from judging his musical ability, since I can’t tell good songs from bad, not as well as Sir Elton can.
“You’ve made a lot of people happy.”
Second: A simple truth.
“Everybody loves you; I like how there are never any scandals to your name.”
Too corny? No. Not unless you think it’s silly to say to a wife of thirty years, “I love you.” To put this in a form a husband would understand: Wouldn’t you like it if your dear old wife said, “I love you”? Then get going, and do likewise.
I was once in the store front of the School of Life, in London. The school founder, Alain de Botton, once wrote—and he may have referred to Elton John by name—that many people push themselves to be famous, not for the sake of becoming rich, but to be loved. And to be safe from rudeness.
Third: We both have respect for a rich lady with a first world problem, who never missed a meal and always had a roof over her head—but lived over a decade of feeling wretched and being despised…
“I love how you stuck up for Barbara Amiel, and put your blurb along the bottom of her book cover.” This when nearly all the media and beautiful people hated her. But not Sir Elton.
As for Barbara, her only (almost) refuge and self-worth in this world came, not from dinner parties and galas, but from her work. Besides some articles, she wrote regular magazine columns. Rather like my essays, only at a higher level.
I recently opened her book at page 146 and read on from there: She had married a millionaire and was now socializing with folks at a different awareness level. How to explain: These ladies personally knew big name clothing designers, and could tell the finest clothing from almost-as-fine; knew very expensive fine jewelry from slightly less fine. Had super-exquisite taste in colours, cuts and fabrics.
I once had a girlfriend with a trust fund. I knew table etiquette as one finds in a library book, while she was at a higher level of politely rearranging her remaining food on her plate—not in the book. And yes, she helped me shop for better clothing: Someone said, “You’re beautiful!”
I am saying that Barbara’s friends cared about their world of socialites, and had their hierarchy based on how well one managed to meet their expectations for taste. I am reminded of that television show last year where a young lady had a rich boyfriend, in a rich world, and she spent thousands, plural, on one hand bag, only to grossly lose status because her bag had a designer’s name on it. Or else it just looked too rich, I forget. The incident was front page news on the BBC culture web site.
As you might expect, Barbara’s husband, a self-made business-millionaire, wasn’t into fashion; his world was about quoting poetry and historical anecdotes while writing a tome about a US president. He valued being with smart people. The pair matched well because they were both educated; she respected his moral character.
Too bad in the socialite hierarchy nobody talked about ideas: Book smarts were irrelevant. As was character.
Barbara’s surprise was that when her husband, Conrad Black, was falsely accused and imprisoned—long story—he and she were despised by the media, dropped like a hot potato by Canadian members of parliament, and abandoned by Barbara’s socialite friends. The false tide went out, revealing only a few true friends… Sir Elton was one of them. At long last the courts exonerated Conrad—hurray!
I hate to say this, but Barbara’s book convinces me that the behaviours of the many, against her and her husband, were from malice.
In Sir Elton I see only goodness. Meanwhile, a single lady in my Toastmasters club reported trying to live in a small town in Ireland; while someone else married a rancher and tried to live in the “Palliser Triangle” of SouthEast Alberta. Both ladies found a problem: No way to help with the group’s common goal, because there was none, meaning: No way to improve one’s hierarchy position Imagine: Your social standing stuck in cement! Forever! Hence the lady returned from Ireland.
I think, in the end, Barbara Amiel realized something about her socialite peers with their wispy goals and wispy character: They were beneath her.
God bless Elton John.
… …
… …
Sean Crawford
May
2024
Footnotes:
I wrote an essay on the concepts of patriarchy and hierarchy,
Speaking of goodness, from The Epoch Times, here’s Conrad Black’s remembrance of Rex Murphy, in a way that reflects good light on both men. https://signup.morningbrief.ca/p/conrad-black-ambassador-unhurried-era-salute-brilliant-rex-murphy
Speaking of malice: A February 2024 interview by the Guardian contains some shocking malice as regards James Blunt, the ex-army officer with the hit music video “You’re Beautiful.”
QUOTE…still, it makes a pleasant change for Blunt who has not always been treated kindly by fellow musicians and the media. When he first came on the scene, his inescapably aristocratic background — Harrow; Sandhurst; officer in the Life Guards — made him an easy target. In the run-up to the 2006 Brits, where Blunt was nominated for five awards, two of which (best British pop act and British male solo artist) he would win, Paul Weller said that he would rather eat his own shit than work with Blunt. At the ceremony, Blunt was blanked by Mick Jagger when he tried to shake the Stone’s hand.
…Blunt says Damon Albarn refused to appear in a group photo with him. The NME gave Back to Bedlam 2006’s worst album of the year award…
The vitriol was extraordinary and, from a distance of nearly two decades, feels almost deranged…Back to Bedlam sold more copies than any other in the UK in the 2000s…UNQUOTE
Update, speaking of singers: Tonight I prayed for Elton’s long life, because tonight at the Open Mic, at Higher Ground coffee house, someone sang David Bowie: I miss that man.
