Alexandra Polier says that all that nonsense about her having an affair with John Kerry is wrong in today’s Guardian.
I met Kerry for the first time in January 2001, in Davos, Switzerland. I was living in Manhattan, stop-gapping at a public-relations firm and wondering if my application to the Columbia University graduate school of journalism was going to be accepted. At heart, I was a politics junkie. I would scour the Economist, cutting out articles for my “current affairs” scrapbook. I had also spent several months distributing emergency supplies in Kosovo and a year working as a researcher in the House of Commons. (In an ironic nod to Lewinsky, my boss, Nick Harvey, a Liberal MP, cheerfully referred to me as “the American intern”.) I recall one Wednesday afternoon stumbling across Tony Blair and a minister chatting quietly down an obscure corridor. “Hello,” Blair said, smiling. It was more exciting than meeting Brad Pitt. To me, politicians were the ultimate celebrities.
In January 2001, I cadged a ticket to the World Economic Forum in Davos. I was wandering around the main complex during a gala event when I spotted Kerry at the bar. I had just read an article about potential Democratic candidates for 2004, which concluded that Kerry stood a chance of beating Bush. I walked over and introduced myself.
I just have one question: I got into Columbia, and I’ve shaken hands with John Kerry — how do I get a ticket to Davos?
