A similar line was used, hilariously, by the late comedienne Caroline Aherne. The target couple were Debbie McGee (young and good-looking) and the popular conjurer Paul Daniels (neither).
Gossip columnists had a field day. And they’re having one now, after Murdoch’s top employee revealed that his boss was ‘devastated’ by the alleged affair between his wife Wendi Deng and Tony Blair.
There are all sorts of lessons in this, personal, political and moral:
LESSON 1. When a rich and powerful man marries a woman 37 years his junior, he must suspect she isn’t driven solely by romance. When the woman in question is Miss Deng, a suspicion should become a certainty, and in fact Mr Murdoch’s family instantly branded Wendi a ‘gold-digger’.
Miss Deng became Wendi upon moving to the US from her native China. Her original name, Wenge, means ‘Cultural Revolution’, reflecting communist slaves’ imperative of communicating loyalty through their children’s names.
Russia led the way, with portmanteau names like Vladlen (Vladimir + Lenin), Vilen (V. I. Lenin), Stalina and so forth. The Soviet journalist Sturua’s name was Melor (Marx + Engels + Lenin + October Revolution), and even my good friend is named Lenar (Lenin’s Army).
Wendi isn’t to blame for her parent’s quirks, but she’s definitely to blame for the way she became Wendi. When in China, she ingratiated herself to an American businessman and his wife, Jake and Joyce Cherry. Joyce taught Wenge English, and the couple sponsored her US student visa.
By way of gratitude, Wendi seduced and subsequently married Jake, 30 years her senior. Once the student visa became a Green Card, she dumped him for a younger man.
This was the sort of CV Wendi brought to Rupert. Now Mr Murdoch didn’t get where he is by having an exaggerated trust in human virtue. Surely he didn’t believe his bride was smitten by his good looks and youthful vigour.
That story was quite banal: girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy’s billions, girl collects and moves on. But Rupert didn’t care, not until the last part. He didn’t have much trust in virtue, but he had in spades the arrogance of money and power. If he could make kings, surely he could make his wife toe the line.
There endeth the first lesson, from which Rupert learned nothing. Shortly after his divorce from Wendi, he married the model Jerry Hall, who has four children by Mick Jagger. Miss Hall, a mere 27 years Rupert’s junior, thus bridged the already minuscule gap between the media and show business.
LESSON 2. One of the kings Rupert made was Tony Blair: without the weight of the Murdoch empire thrown behind him, Blair would have remained an obscure backbencher of dubious moral character.
According to the same whistleblower, Murdoch was also “financially generous” to Blair, not just “politically”. Much as one would like to believe that the reasons for his generosity were selfless, Rupert probably felt that having a British PM in his pocket wouldn’t hurt his business interests. One can sympathise: it’s hard to get around all those press regulations and anti-monopoly laws without help from a well-placed friend.
Yet again Murdoch misjudged human character. His affection for Blair was utilitarian, but, blinded by his gold’s glitter, he arrogantly felt that Blair’s affection for him was real.
Predictably, like the Creature concocted by Dr Frankenstein, Blair eventually became too big to control. If the Creature ended up strangling Dr Frankenstein’s bride, Tony found a better use for Rupert’s. However, in both cases the Creature escaped unscathed, leaving his creator ‘devastated’.
There endeth the second lesson. Trusting modern politicians, especially those with Blair’s well-documented history of backstabbing, is a losing wicket. Even owing his whole career, crowned with all those billions, to Murdoch didn’t imbue Blair with gratitude. The hand that feeds him only means a hand close enough to bite.
LESSON 3. Both politicians and press moguls have always been arrogant and cynical to some extent. But at least some used to have compensating qualities in the past. They don’t now.
Both professions these days attract immoral egomaniacs to the exclusion of other human types. These birds of a feather flock together to form our ruling elite.
Forget about the military-industrial complex: Britain is more or less run by an elite made up of journalists and politicians, those who manipulate public opinion and those who stand to gain from it.
The membership in this elite seems to be fluid to the point of being interchangeable: journalists effortlessly become politicians (William Rees-Mogg, Nigel Lawson, Johnson, Gove), vice versa (Parris), then back again. This is reminiscent of the Soviet nomenklatura, with, say, a deputy minister of fisheries drifting on to become a magazine editor, then an ambassador, then chairman of the football association.
The morality of our ruling elite is also catching up with the Soviet version, and the sleazy story of Wendi, Rupert and Tony provides a useful reminder.
All three are survivors: Rupert keeps his billions and, for the time being, Mick Jagger’s ex. Tony is making millions. And Wendi is reportedly having a fling with Putin. Well, more power to her.