Some may have noticed internet shock-horror stuff about a guy called Durst, very rich from a New York real-estate fortune, who is alleged to have committed several murders and a dismemberment or two just beecause he felt like it.
A relation of his, perhaps a first cousin, was a lodger with Herself and me in a couple of London pads, and I saw him again in the US, latterly in Berkeley, California, in the early seventies.
I remember him as being a bit mean considering, but Herself says that's wrong and he more than paid his way. Perhaps what I remember wasn't meanness but paranoia about being rich, the weary unspoken, that the rich person could just pick up the bill and not feel a thing. But why should they indeed? I've been on both sides of that divide and we're a cartload of monkeys both sides.
Hundreds of millions in trust though, constantly rustled by battalions of lawyers... Enough to make anyone feel a bit oppressed, like our poor lodger.
|
>> Hundreds of millions in trust though, constantly rustled by battalions of lawyers... Enough to make anyone feel a bit oppressed, like our poor lodger.
Not that I would know, or have a clue about anything of that sort.
No such luck.
|
He took a very curmudgeonly view of my modest Plymouth slant six for example. I was in the land of the cheap snorting monster, but he thought the car was frightful and hellish. He had a horrid little Toyota hatchback with a crunched hatch, carbon monoxide poisoning from sucked in exhaust, oooh yeah...
God's own country in those days if you didn't tangle with stone rich Maoists (did I forget that bit? Oh dear).
|
Rich Americans - Dog
