Branson, a pillow and some glitter
· Citizen
As Richard Branson was opening a gym in Cape Town last week – no mention of the Epstein files in the news reports, though, presumably after some publicity person broke a few fingers – I had to chuckle.
I remember Richard well. I doubt he remembers me, but he might remember waking up in Cape Town many years ago, wondering why there was glitter in his eyes and on his pillowcase.
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That was my doing. I met him at one of his parties – back when I was younger, thinner, blonder, probably more to his taste – and we had a good giggle together, just he and I.
He did a magic trick that meant my watch suddenly was on his wrist; I put glitter eyeshadow on his eyelids; he spilt ketchup on my book; we chatted about his island.
Flirted? Maybe a little, butthen I said goodbye and left. Yes, Richard was charismatic and charming (and rich), but everyone knew he had a wife and kids and was an incorrigible flirt.
If there were notches on his bedpost, I wasn’t going to be one, butI was amused to be the inevitableglitter on his pillow.
The Epstein shadow
Search “Richard Branson” in the Epstein files released to date, and you get 665 results.
The men had neighbouring islands, and many of the e-mails appear to be Epstein’s assistant arranging lunch on Richard’s island, and Richard making light excuses not to meet up.
Hardly a smoking gun. I also met Epstein’s great buddy Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor back in the day, with conversation along the lines of “Phnarr-phnarr, hooray, and what do you do?”
But the Epstein files’ release took me back sharply to anothertime where people acted differently, men mostly, but women too.
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The way things were
We went to parties and clubswhere we were sometimestouched casually, inappropriately, without consent, and we tookit on the chin (or wherever else onour bodies it landed) as collateraldamage for being female.
At work, it was the same. I was a barmaid who had tofend off handsy men, once bybrandishing a beer bottle.
My first interview for The Citizen in the early ’90s had the then-editor asking how I’d cope in the blokey newsroom, with men saying things, doing things… mostly him.
These things happened, but not because anyone thought it was right or acceptable – we just thought it was inevitable. They did itbecause they could.
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