“Security” is a slippery term. At one end of the scale, it applies to solid looking radio-controlled spooks in sober JC Penny suits, sporting what looked like hearing aids and who are much given to muttering darkly into their lapels. Well, Bill Clinton was about and some kind of show had to be put on.
The other extreme has a few guys in khaki fatigues who man X-ray machines as delegates shovel all sorts of hardware over a table to them, while they exchange news about Ittihad’s latest win; about as secure as a sneeze in a string bag.
One specimen of the latter, sporting a gaudy rainbow of chest medal-ribbons and a rather louche black beret, strode proudly ahead of the presidential party. A moment later, he was seen physically to push out of Clinton’s path a Saudi photographer, desperate to get a decent shot of the great man, sending him reeling into the crowd. Clinton spotted this and expostulated, “Hold it!” and immediately cleared a space in the crush of fawning dignitaries and posed exclusively for the photographer.
Right on, Bill! That says more about Clinton — the man — than reams of “insider” commentary.
***
Talking about security, what was the point of that area roped off at the very back of the hall? A notice said “Press Pen”. Apparently Clinton’s security boys had insisted that that was where the press were to be herded — right at the back, where no one could see or hear anything. And with no chairs or tables. What on earth were they thinking? They must hate the media. Of course we all flocked straight to the very front. The press stopped being sheep years ago.
***
“He’s very well preserved,” one journalist was heard to comment as Clinton walked on to the podium. The poor person was immediately handbagged and told off in no uncertain terms by one of the Clinton groupies, who there and then decided that the former president should receive a standing ovation before he had even said a word. “He’s only 56,” she said tartly. One standing ovation was not enough. At the end, she led her small group of American groupies who rose as a single person to cheer on their hero. They were the only ones standing.
***
Security again. Surely that was not the German consul I saw being ordered by a very officious policeman to move his car from where he had parked it across the road to the Hilton, or else? What on earth has happened to diplomatic immunity? And why was it that when I drove past again an hour or so later, plenty of other cars had been allowed to park in the very same place, with the same policeman doing nothing at all about it?
***
The forum was by general consensus much better than the one last year. Far more interesting. But the food! Oh dear! Disappointing is an understatement. Unlike last year, when the Hilton’s conference fare was truly delicious, this year, it was canteen meals, Arabian style — more suited to a tiffin tin than a top table. I had to hunt for pieces of meat in the mounds of rice that constituted several of the dishes, and pretty tasteless it all was too. Several delegates had by yesterday decided to miss out on lunch altogether.
— Mountebank
