Weekly News: Around the world

This page takes on a truly international flavour today, as I attempt to whisk you round the world in 80 seconds... or a little longer, depending on how fast you read. In recent weeks my column has taken in South Korea, Switzerland, Washington DC and Aylesbury, but get ready for your ears to pop as I introduce you to Japanese hairdressers, Greek connoisseurs, Israeli designers, Russian models, Dutch photographers and Moroccan restaurateurs.

The odyssey starts in Selfridges, where I was mobbed by dozens of Japanese people, who recognised me and descended for autographs with a mass cry of “Yureegerra!” In seconds I was surrounded by immaculate coiffures. I could tell that every one of them had a thousand dollar haircut, because all of them were at least six inches shorter than me and I was staring at their scalps.

As they snapped away with mobile phone cameras, I learned they were all hairdressers, in London for a conference. Every time a camera clicked, they all grinned and chorused, “Yureegerra!” That took me back to Tokyo airport in 1973, when I arrived for my first tour of Japan.

There must have been a thousand screaming girls, all of them brandishing bouquets. I felt like a Beatle. Later that day I was at Gallery K in Hampstead, helping its Greek Cypriot owner, Ritsa Kyriacou, to prepare an exhibition for Ron Amir, a brilliant Israeli artist. Ron’s colossal canvases are dark, swirling and hypnotic — one will soon be on show at the Hague’s Royal Academy, and when his work comes to London I predict it will cause a stir.

Across the road from Gallery K is a hairdresser’s salon, and I wasn’t too surprised to see a Japanese man marching out of its doors towards me. These things usually follow a pattern — you can go for years without being mobbed by oriental hair stylists, but if it happens once during the morning, you can be sure it will keep happening all day.Shogo introduced himself as the salon’s owner, and declared that he remembered my 1973 Tokyo jaunt vividly.
“You bent a golf club with the power of your mind! I still dream about that — I am playing golf, and my putter goes floppy, and when I turn around you are staring at me.
The weirdest part is, I do not play golf when I am awake!”
He then insisted on cutting Hanna’s hair. No doubt about it, Japanese hairdressers are the best in the world.

We stopped at a Moroccan restaurant, where I told Ritsa about my latest TV show, Europe’s Richest. The producers wanted to shoot celebrity profiles of the wealthiest people from here to Moscow, and they started with George Soros and Roman Abramovitch. Then they added me to the list, demoting George and Roman to bit-parts.
No offence intended, boys. If you ever need to borrow a few billion, to purchase a football club or run a national currency into the ground,
I’ll be happy to help out.

The restaurant, Safir, like every Arabic eaterie in London, featured a huge hookah. The last time I tried smoking one, I was still living in
Israel, but if I want to have another try, I’d better hurry up — the anti-smoking legislation that will outlaw cigarettes and cigars in cafes and bars will also hit hookahs. I won’t miss the smoke.

Back to Ron Amir: he donated one of his paintings to raise funds for children with AIDS, and at the Sotheby’s auction I met Holland’s most
garlanded photographer, Eunice Lievald. Accliamed for her portraits and travel photography, she is also a writer, director and actress, and she is passionate about helping AIDS orphans and children with AIDS.

I listened with fascination to her plans for a school in Surinam, on the north coast of South America. Then I listened with my jaw on the floor as she described how she would like to photograph bent spoons — decorating the bodies of the Miss World contestants.
When I told her about the King James and King George spoons I recently won at auction, Eunice’s enthusiasm stepped up another gear. “The girls will wear only Royal spoons,” she insisted.
“And nothing else?” I asked, wanting to be quite sure in my own mind about this.
“Nothing else,” said Eunice.

Because this is a family newspaper, I’m afraid I won’t be able to show you the photos, even though Eunice is definitely an artist and not a Page Three snapper. I also won’t be able to make risque jokes about the spoons straightening themselves out. I promised to find the name of the beautiful Russian girl who modelled my Uri Geller Collection of clothes in Israel earlier this year. She’s an orphan who served in the army, and she showed off my designs to perfection. The clothes are all made in Gaza by Palestinians, because I feel strongly that Israel has a duty to help everyone in the Holy Land, of whatever race or religion, to find work.