SEX , MONEY, POWER = DIVORCE, PRENUPS, POSTNUPS

Rupert Murdoch divorces Wendi Deng.   Did she not see it coming?  

 What has caused Rupert to strike first?

The first shot, in anger, fired by Murdoch himself, in a sudden filing of divorce action against his third wife may have been a reflex reaction to the releasing of rumors of Wendi’s friendship with former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. 

Blair Murdoch & Deng Triangle

Murdoch known for striking first, punches harder after being struck, apparently had a black eye the day before the filing.  Wendi, notorious for her famous left hook to a pie thrower two years ago could have been the cause, for she has been known as a home-wrecker.

Wendi, a fast learner had become more competent, perhaps more than he bargained for.  Upstaged by her, he regarded her as a hyper-social irritation with a challenging Chinese accent.  Murdoch grew tired of hearing how Wendi is an excellent networker.

This is a story about a man, while devoting his life to being indestructible, seems to be more beset by emotional turmoil and confusion with great angst and an unrequited quest for happiness.  Murdoch’s first wife, Patricia Booker, a flight attendant were married for 11 years and had a daughter Prudence.   He divorced Booker in 1967 and within months Murdoch married his second wife Anna Murdoch, a journalist working in his Sydney  newspaper, The Daily Telegraph.

Murdoch with Anna

Now tired of Anna after 34 years, mother to his three children, who had been ill for several years.   They lived in this big house in Hollywood.  Lonely, he was known to have wandered down Fox offices in Los Angeles, every night desperately looking for people to have dinner with, Murdoch executives learned to have the excuses ready. He promised to retire but what he was really looking for was to up his game

Murdoch has always put his business interests first and has taken huge gambles and created whole new industries.  In the process, his opponents claimed, he manipulated governments, lowered standards and sidestepped regulations, to become the world's first truly global media mogul.

Then, on a trip to Star TV, his Hong Kong based television company, he met Wendi Deng 28, a graduate of Yale business school and already the mascot and heartthrob of the Star office.  Patterns in life are a key to understanding a man’s regular manner of performance.  It seems he mixes staff with pleasure.

His marriage to Wendi within months of divorcing Anna celebrated in his yacht “Morning Glory” in New York, invigorated him.  At 68 when they got married, he felt rejuvenated by the youthfulness, the freshness and energy plus the excitement perhaps turned him on. And of course she became an adoring audience that could spar with him on an equal basis.   Besides the fact that he was pushing business in China, he needed her connections.

Her hyper neurotic personality of fast talking, fast acting with her strong Chinese accent in broken sentences were hard to follow but captivating.  Murdoch allegedly told a friend in 2009, “I don’t understand a word she says”. 

Born with a fiery ambition, cunning mind, a home wrecker, brash, and like a tigress who snares her prey with great executional skills.  She has been branded as a “gold digger” “trophy wife” and lately “tiger wife”.  Whatever that has been thrown at Wendi Deng Murdoch, she has shown exceptional skills at leapfrogging when cornered. 

In contrast, Murdoch inherited his newspaper business from his father, the Sunday Mail and the News and continued to purchase other media outlets over the years.   He bought The Sun and News of the World in the UK and prior to his election invited Tony Blair to Australia. The Sun to the surprise of many, endorsed Blair at the 1997 election. Murdoch only backed winners and made it ruthlessly clear that once the Labour Party's fortunes declined, it would switch allegiance.

He had a tendency to fall out with his editors and interfered too much.  His papers have been frequently accused of political manipulation, distorting news to ensure his political allies won elections.   He has been called vulgar and a cynic who has degraded standards of journalism by pandering to a sensation seeking public.

But his papers were frequently accused of political manipulation, distorting the news to ensure his political allies won elections.

Wendi Deng circled in red

Whereas Wendi, the low level factory worker’s daughter, had her beginnings in Shandong, China as a Subei ren, a vernacular term for the robust, rosy cheeked folk of northern Jiangsu, known for being blunt, blithe and uncouth. These traits are still there, just polished by beautiful homes, fine clothes and her powerful and jet set friends, which mask the true motivation lurking behind her personality make-up.

“Emotional sadness builds character.”  She was quoted about the trying times the family are going through right now with Murdoch’ s  News Corp phone hacking scandal involving top echelons of parliament, the police and the newspaper industry.   Those words are very telling of her own childhood.   Being the youngest of three girls, her family was very tough on her.  Rigorously disciplined, her parents made her study a whole textbook during the summer holidays so that she would be ahead in class for the following school year.   They pushed her very hard to work both at home doing chores and at school.  The oppression, the strictness and harsh enforcement on girls in China and at home, is the key to her consuming desire to claw to the top.

Wendi Deng’s arrival in the US in 1988 was carefully orchestrated.  Initially wanting to improve her English, she attached herself to the Cherry family.  Jake Cherry, then 50, was an engineer for a Sino-American joint venture in Guangzhou.  His wife Joyce at 42, tutored Wendi before returning to Los Angeles with the couple’s two children.  Jake stayed on to finish his contract.   Wendi, as Jake’s interpreter became close and as 19 year olds do, leveraged her youth on an unsuspecting lonely older married man.  She abandoned her medical studies and seized the opportunity by asking Joyce to apply to local US colleges on her behalf.   The Cherry’s sponsored her student visa and  upon arrival shared a room with their daughter in California.    Two years down the line Joyce discovered that Jake and Wendi were having an affair so she kicked them both out of the house.  In 1990, the two got married.  Two years seven months into the marriage, Jake turfed her out when he discovered Wendi was having an affair with a younger David Wolf. Jake became disposable after having obtained her a Green Card seven months earlier.

Just like a predator waiting patiently for the kill, she goes about finding the most susceptible areas in high-powered men, generally despised by others.  Much like the qualities of a Honey Badger, that has a ferocious reputation reflecting its tendency to attack animals larger than itself and is seldom preyed upon.

As an intern at Sky News in Hong Kong, she took advantage of people’s naiveté and niceness.  Her English was limited so she schmoozed off colleagues playing up the unworldly mainlander making her way up .  To get noticed, she needed a way in, and would poke her head at Management doors, and say “Hi., I’m Wendi, who are you?”  It was excruciating, it made some people uncomfortable but she would get away with it, in fact she perfected it. Before long, she figured that her target was now Murdoch.  Wendi wormed her way in by showing her capabilities in interpreting China. 

The country and culture intrigued him and in the process he fell in love with her.  Murdoch needed her straightforwardness, her daring and challenging business savvy ways.   Courtship ensued and within a few weeks divorced Anna.

Wedding aboard "The Morning Glory" with Charlotte Church

Their wedding ceremony aboard the “Morning Glory” his yacht in New York harbor was performed  by Jacqueline Silbermann then New York’s Supreme Court Justice  attended by 82 guests including singer Charlotte Church who performed three ballads for the couple. 

An insight to his media-might behavior over a 13 year old upcoming singer. Over the Leveson Inquiry into press standards, it revealed that Murdoch unbelievably offered a fee of £100,000 for Charlotte Church to sing at his wedding,  then said, if she waived it, his newspapers would look upon her favourably.  She took the favour under duress of her Manager.  Murdoch insisted she sang his favorite, Pie Jesu, regardless of its funereal overtures, because he liked it. She felt betrayed when the press later printed unfavorable stories about her.

To find another dimension of this tigress, Wendi is known to protect her family fiercely, and takes parenting her two daughters Grace and Chloe seriously. Wendi and Rupert are incredibly family orientated, a strict mother, she brings them up to take nothing for granted.  She wants them to have a spiritual life, insomuch as Blair became Grace’s Godfather, she takes them to Church and Sunday school regularly, some thing she did not have in her early childhood.     On weekends she makes dumplings with her girls, they way she was taught to make them as a child.

She has said, “Rupert did such a good job with his big children, I really make sure that my girls understand the importance of education.   I don’t want them to be spoilt, I want them to behave well by example.  I believe if you are nice to people, children will follow.”

Interviewed together on TV Wendi admitted to being very strict at home. "In Chinese culture, if I am strict to you and criticise you, it means I love you."

To which Murdoch replied: "Oh yes, she is very tough, very tough, she has taught our two little girls to speak perfect mandarin, everybody at home speaks mandarin except me. So they only tell me what they think I need to know."

With the pre-nup and post nup, and the addition of two children, a deal was struck between his other children in exchange for cash to divide the trust six ways instead of four but refused Wendi’s two children to vote.   Scared of Wendi’s uproar, he kept silent and only mentioned it during an interview on Charlie Rose, provoking an expulsion from his house with a domestic row. Returned home pleading this was not the case, and now has a new plan for Grace and Chloe to inherit power in the company. It seems that both Wendi and Murdoch are two nasty people incapable of niceness in their marriage.

Marriages are doomed when the very core ingredient of love and respect gets damaged.   Love can re-appear but respect once trampled on, can never be retrieved.  Playing with his ageing vanity, dyeing his orange hair, new Prada suits promising youthfulness, she also put him on kooky diets, and mocked Rupert’s Viagra in Vanity Fair. Her mimicry, albeit with a Chinese accent at other Murdoch family members, is testament to impertinency that has crept into their relationship.   Murdoch did not want to appear that his marriage was falling apart, it was an issue of pride, and also important for him not to fail at what everyone said would fail.

What's more, the most damaging results of the hacking scandal for Murdoch had been an increasing breach with his children and an urgency, on his part, to calm the internecine feuding. Wendi, again, was the odd person out, even the expendable one in the Murdoch clan.

With his media empire under siege from the phone bugging scandal, one can only add to the cantankerous, irritating, argumentative and difficult octogenarian having to come out with  “We are Sorry” Ad campaign,  “for the serious wrongdoing that occurred." 

One critic said, “Remorse and repentance are not the same thing and there is not much sign of the latter”

The satirical magazine Private Eye predicts the likely scenario of  Wendi screaming “What plee-nup? I don't lemember anything. Just like you, Lupert, I lemember nothing!' Her ironic cackle of laughter resounded around the panelled walls like the cry of a triumphant banshee across the wild Mongolian plains.'"

The Honey Badger Queen has just devoured her victim, spat out the bones, and is now on to her next bigger prey.  

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VIRGIN TERRITORY

                                                           UNTOUCHED, UNTRIED, UNTAINTED

THE BLUE LAGOON - BROOKE SHIELDS & CHRISTOPHER ATKINS

The title already shows the reader I am not messing about with the subject matter.  These are things I do for the first time, probably the only time for the indulgence of having tried.  It is a complex challenge with opposite mixed sensations of pleasure and triumph, disgust and triumph or all three together.   It is most definitely “virgin territory” for me.

Ingesting lambs eye, chewing on bat stew, and drinking cow’s blood is virginal territory for me. Driving on a racetrack at 200mph in a Porche, or becoming the member of the Mile High Club just pumps up more adrenalin than my body has ever produced in anyone’s lifetime.

THE HANGING GARDENS OF BABYLON

Culinary speaking, I am very shy and reticent in being courageous at different foods. So when faced with a situation in the deepest and darkest of Baghdad  of being honored with lambs eye, the squeamishness was not the factor, but the excitement of taste and texture. If you studied biology, the whole optic nerve is part of the brain that protrudes outside the skull. In some beliefs, it is the key to the soul.  There was no avoiding this delicacy as there was only two eyes, one for my father, the guest of honor, and one for me. Our hosts had the delight of testing our resolve.  The two of us were visiting the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in Hillah, 100 km south of Baghdad.  One of the seven wonders of the world, I was standing in this dusty area described as the so-called “Hanging Gardens.”   Plants are grown above ground, and are cultivated in the air, with the roots of the trees above the (normal) tilled earth, forming a roof. To date, no archaeological evidence has been found at Babylon for the Hanging Gardens. It is possible that evidence exists beneath the Euphrates, which cannot be excavated safely at present.  

Back to the banquet dinner by the Euphrates River, I was served boiled sheep’s eye. It was smaller than I had imagined and black.  Gelatinous and chewy, the centre was distinctly creamy.  A hint of cumin masked the dank aroma.  Heart pounding, I was unsure and fantasizing if I didn’t chew it completely, the  eye would find its way through my alimentary canal peeking into my every orifice and capturing my soul.  (The vivid imagination I possess – no one should wonder why I write.) I decided that gulping down the bitter Iraqi tea would wash any lingering after-taste that had begun to clog my tongue.   Every gland I possessed went into alert mode.  All black beady Iraqi eyes waiting for any reaction.   I made it and so did my alliance increase with these Iraqis. Strange what constitutes friendship bonding. 

Ornithophobia, the fear of birds alive and flapping extends to even dead ones.  I suffer from this phobia and the thought of  swallowing bat stew just gives me anxiety, and shake with the flight or fight syndrome.   Any psychiatrist would say to alleviate phobias is to jump right in and face the fear.  I cajole myself that at worst I would upchuck, but that thought was not pleasant.  So logic has it, that if you are hungry enough, gratifying the stomach would alleviate the pain of starvation.  Therefore whatever the gratification, it would satisfy the frontal lobe that connects to the stomach.     I decided not to eat for 2 days prior to this feast.

FRUIT BAT SOUP

Pacific islanders generally eat whatever they can capture.  And bats do circle caves rising above the ocean.  The dish has a strong aroma and flavor influenced by whatever the bats had been eating.  Hungry and actually ravenous, I took a spoonful and was pleasantly surprised.   It did not taste like chicken, it was gamey, different and oddly fragrant, perhaps my bat was a fruit bat and possibly ingested some guava.  The wing still intact in the stew has given a gelatinous texture but I couldn’t quite bring it up to suck on the meat as my dining mates were deliciously pulling it from the wings. And triumphantly my anxiety, surge of adrenalin, overcame the fear and was able to finish what was on my plate. 

Blood drinking is not a usual cuisine.   Generally used in cooking with other meats to make sausages, or congealed and put into soups. But I am looking at slurping some hemoglobin sans HIV positive!  I am in Nairobi visiting my English aunt-in-law, whose life spans nine decades.  She reprimands me for not being as adventurous and suggests that I follow the Maasai tribe in the Tanzanian dessert doing what they do, eat what they eat….. basically living like a nomad for a spell.  Real virgin territory.

THE MAASAI TRIBE

The 30 year old Land Rover jeep with my reliable Kenyan guide, trusted bodyguard, friend and mentor called Kafil.  His name in Arabic means Protector, in Swahili means Responsible, he’s definitely the perfect person taking me on this odyssey.  A noble and dignified people, the Maasai have proudly maintained their traditional lifestyle and cultural identity despite pressures of the modern world.  I caught up with them in the depth of Tanzania.  Among the Maasai people, drinking blood from cattle is a part of the traditional diet, especially after special occasions such as a ritual circumcision or birth of a child.  My worry was whether it would be a thimble slug, or a pint size drinking session.     It is the celebration of  Emuratare, the circumcision of Meejoli, a strong tall boy of 15.   As I talked to Meejoli, his father Obie is giving Meejoli a speech on how to be a Maasai before the circumcision ceremony.

"Meejoli, circumcision means a sharp knife cutting into the skin of the most sensitive part of your body. You must not budge; don' t move a muscle or even blink. The slightest movement on your part will mean you are a coward, incompetent and unworthy to be a Maasai man. Ours has always been a proud family and we will not tolerate unnecessary embarrassment, so you had better be ready. Imagine yourself alone remaining uncircumcised like the water youth (white man). I hear they are not circumcised. Such a thing is not known in Maasailand."

After that very somber and scary speech, you can be sure that the cow’s blood drink (champagne to them) thimble size or pint size seems a lot easier to down after that lecture.

I’m digressing because describing the drink in its horror is difficult enough. Finding the words, even for a blogger, so you could envisage the memory of the taste,  would be a triumph for me as a writer.  Warm, fresh straight from the cow, the blood is mixed with equal parts of milk, reminiscence of a strawberry milkshake.  I was given a 4oz cup.  In the cold dessert night, any warming drink was welcoming.   The smell reeked of raw, iron or cooper like taste.  A very slight hint of saltiness, and reminds me of medium rare veal’s liver with a creamed sauce.   With that in mind, I downed it one go.  There was a moment where I thought it would come up, but I want that pride Obei was talking about, no flinching no blinking and certainly no regurgitating. I felt rejuvenated and energized as the elixir filled me up for days.

PORCHE 911 TURBO

In my driving span of a few decades, I have always driven according to the law of the land.  I pride in my chauffeur-like smooth ride, never jerking at stops or whizzing to overtake on the inside; always leaving at least three car lengths in between me the guy in front.  In other words, I am a safe driver but incredibly boring.   So to ante up my life a notch or two, going on a circuit in a Porche 911 Turbo would just  bring on the wobbly knees, the shakes, with a lurch of my heart into my mouth.   The Porche, kindly loaned to me by an admirer in the car business, does things no other car, man, alien can do.   The roar of power behind the wheel, within seconds I was doing 120mph round the Abingdon circuit in Oxfordshire.  It is fast.  The rear wheel steering is phenomenal and it revs up to 7000 rpm.  After half an hour, I am soaking in sweat, and the outside temperature was 10°C in mid February.   The steering was so agile, I just let go.  The surge of adrenalin rushed into my system, keeping me alert and all the while focused but then I went round the corner too fast and almost doubled on myself.   When I returned to the start of the track, my nerves cracked and shook all over from sheer fright.  What a machine, the engineering is impressive but can’t wait for the GT3 to come out.  

THE MILE HIGH CLUB

Now we come to the virgin territory of the High Mile Club.  We won’t mention airline and we won’t mention route but it was a long haul trip.  It involved the upper deck of a 747 with my long time partner.  Let me add that the plane was reasonably empty as it was New Year’s eve, and any sensible human being was out partying and celebrating 2010 down below ground.  Food service done, drink service done, lights dimmed, fellow passengers donned sleeping masks and the cabin went into sleep mode.  Nothing moved other than the slight motion of the plane. 

THE MANUAL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

As New Year followed the plane en route, we celebrated in our own way, in our own time within the constraints of limited privacy, limited space, limiting our pleasurable noise and lowering our speed, maintaining pace so that when we both culminated at our highest peak, it warmly enveloped us quietly and as gracefully as possible. The New Year’s revelry sipping Veuve Clicquot was most special after our own private yet very public celebration.

Cheers!

SIZE MATTERS

I FEEL THE NEED, THE NEED FOR SPEED

All things being equal, (and nothing ever is) I have reached in life where being non-judgmental is an everyday exercise.  I pinch myself every time I stumble over a moment requiring an evaluation of my principles or morals.   Dare I – dare I not?  Should I - shouldn’t I?  Could I, couldn’t I?   Will I – will I not?  

Oh but its so tempting.

This is all about acquiring a suitable ride – in this case – a car .  

The purchasing logic dictated by advertising gurus now come into play.  Performance versus style, style versus price.   My poor man’s gut tells me “its only a vehicle that takes me from A to B”.  My illogical stylish head tells me “200 mph in 6 seconds, it’s got my name on it”. 

Whatever the logic, I judge these four-wheeled motors as if they were my legs.  They belong to me, the equivalent to the shoes that I wear.  Nobody should fit into them, anyone can try to put them on, dare to change mirrors, seat levers and they’re banned for life.   I know when someone else has driven my car – the engine speaks differently and I have to cajole it back to my way of driving. 

I like to look at a car as if I was judging the potential of a date.  It has to  be “eye-candy’.   It has to perform.  It has to start every time, in whatever weather.   It needs zero looking after except the occasional engine service.   Neat and tidy it has to have the ability to “house” my shoes and paraphernalia.   Self cleaning is problematical so it’s my pleasure to get down and dirty, splash sudsy soap, hose down and wax it, , all the while appropriately wearing a color coordinated bikini on a hot scorching day.

So, should I splash out on something sexy, outrageously expensive, stylish and workable, cheap and cheerful or something that out performs every one  that nobody’s ever heard of?  

JAGUAR - Just A Guess U Are Rich

A quaint Englishman of a certain age would never drive anything else.  Speaks volumes of class, style, old money, and yet not flashy.  My Bank Balance doesn’t quite match the price tag and the roads I plan to drive on, tend to have holes, and floods.  But it does have that vintage feel – like an Englishman in a double-breasted blazer, smelling of Old Spice, perhaps an Etonian alumnai.  Ageing with it would be quite charming. 

Mercedes 

Most Expensive Road Car Everyone 

Drives Except Some

Everyone who has made it, seem to want it in their garage.  German precision performs meticulously.  Crisp and effective, it does achieve reliability matching no other.   German engineers occupy a high pedestal in a country that prizes technology and craftsmanship.   Like their men, they are strict, exacting, exhausting and disciplined – romanticism not reflected in their persona. 

Ferrari  

Fabulously Egocentric, Ridiculously Rich, 

Awfully Redundant Italians.

All males who drive this beautifully sculptured vehicle  display their sexuality in the only way they know how – physically roaring the engine mirrors the pelvis thrust.  The showing of their prowess, it is merely an extension of their penis.   The redder the color, the hotter they are; the longer the frontage, the more promise of heaven, the noisy roar of the engine; the deafening the bang.   Deliciously worth a ride,  but impractical to own.

 And now we have to give way to the Land of the Rising Sun:

TOYOTA   

The One You Only Trust Always

My affair with Toyota cars has been long and faithful.  It started out with the white Celica, then the red Tercel,  the gold Vios Soluna, the Black Vios Soluna, and the red Solara ending with the dark black menacing Fortuner.   They have all performed splendidly, never failing in their duty.  Flashy they are not.  Sexy they are not.  Not to forget Honda, Nissan, and the beautiful Lexus, Nippon’s are known to value civility, harmony, conformity integrity, persistence and industriousness.   All very reliable virtues that one should find in a man, is transported to a car.  Japan has much to offer, Sushi, Mikimoto pearls, Tempura, Sake, Sumo wrestling,  Judo, with an infinite and impressive list.  A male driven society, they think not to pander to their women. Unfortunately the art of flirtatious dance is all but forgotten in the march to economically succeed.

 Volvo    

Very Old Looking Vehicle Objects

Once owned a Volvo, built to last a century.   With 200,000 miles on the clock it still performs, even after many crashes, the chassis is still intact.  Like Vikings, brute strength, cave man like behavior, sums it up. 

Range Rover       

Royal and Noble Gentleman’s Engine  Rides Over Virtually Every Road

The British Royals love it. Seen at country house events, or even deer hunting or grouse shoots.   Top of the line, it smacks of English country squires, product placement in most James Bond movies.  Rugged but shaven, shaken not stirred, the Daniel Craig performance yields permanence in my garage.

Oldsmobile   

Overpriced, Leisurely Driven Sedan Made Of Buick's

                Irregular Leftover Equipment

Everything in America is big.  Size on that continent in everything matters.  The bigger the man, the bulkier his car.  The larger his house, the vastness of his bed.   I could go on but perhaps painting the imagination is always more exciting than reality. This acronym for the Oldsmobile does say it all.   Driving on the I90, a huge clunky sedan  can be a great  buffer against other cars whizzing down the eight lane freeway that stretches beyond infinity.  

Lets just try to fix my garage the way I like it.   Monday to Thursday the ever efficient Toyota.  Friday, date night with the mean Ferrari that roars and promises to deliver.  Saturday Mr. Jaquar comes out for a picnic in Hyde Park and my Range Rover is reserved for Ascot.  

And I leave the Oldsmobile as a rental when the I90 stretches beyond the horizon.  Indulging in size when Europe and Asia leaves me unsatisfied.