"They simply hate the winter weather, which makes them shiver even in their warm beds and turns a short walk into a Siberian nightmare. The gay capital they so eagerly looked forward to discovering seems so sullen and gloomy that they hardly venture from their hotel. They have so much to do, and the working conditions are so bad, that they are tired out in the evening and aspire only for the comfort of their lonely rooms. The local food they soon found tasteless, and the restaurants run by their own countrymen are too expensive." Murmansk in midwinter? Hibbing, Minn.? Or maybe Skagway, Alaska? No. Paris, as seen in a column in the Saigon Daily News noting the woes of South Viet Nam's delegation to the peace talks, led by Vice President Nguyen Cao Ky. The paper conceded, though, that plenty of people in Saigon would be willing to replace the suffering delegates.

Self-explanatory item of the week "Las Vegas. A.P. Dec. 24: Howard R. Hughes celebrates his 63rd birthday today. The elusive billionaire industrialist's personal secretary and chief aides were unavailable for comment on his birthday plans."

She is a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire and is famed as an actress for her performance of Greek and Shakespearean drama. Now 70 and living in Southern California, Dame Judith Anderson has decided to take a fling at a slightly different role. In A Man Called Horse, she plays a Sioux squaw--even speaks her lines in the Indian language. The film stars Richard Harris as a British nobleman who is captured by the Sioux and given to Dame Judith as a beast of burden. "I shouldn't call it a Western," she explained. "Dramatically, it is reminiscent of Homer. His Greeks were savages too, you know."

After retiring two years ago as political columnist for the New York Times, Arthur Krock, 82, found himself, well--not quite the center of attention as before. Then, while recovering from an ulcer attack last winter, he began to rap out a volume about his experiences on the Washington scene. Memoirs: Sixty Years on the Firing Line quickly became a bestseller. "Suddenly, I'm a celebrity again," says Krock happily. He can hardly keep up with all the speeches and TV appearances that he's been offered. What's more, he says, "I am thinking of doing another book which is entirely on the light side of life."

Never let it be said that Boston Millionaire Peter Fuller, 46, is not a horse's best buddy. When his great colt, Dancer's Image, was apparently disqualified as winner of the 1968 Kentucky Derby on illegal-drug charges, Fuller angrily launched a right to clear his horse's name --and incidentally that of his stable. Now, after weeks of hearings, Fuller has won a victory of sorts. The Kentucky Racing Commission has declared Dancer's Image the official record-book winner of the 1968 Derby. But the commission for some unexplained reason still refuses to award Dancer's Image the $122,600 first-prize purse; that goes to Forward Pass, the second-place finisher. So on with the battle, says Fuller, planning yet another appeal. "I'm going to do all I can for my horse, whom I view as a friend."

When James Pike, former Episcopal Bishop of California, married for the third time two weeks ago, he was well aware that he risked the wrath of his church. So be it. His successor, Bishop C. Kilmer Myers, requested that his clergy not allow Pike to perform any priestly functions in the diocese. Taking up the gauntlet, Pike responded by celebrating Holy Communion at St. Aidan's Church in San Francisco on Christmas Eve. And when he introduced his 30-year-old bride, the congregation burst into applause. Said Pike: "Bishop Myers has no canonical authority to suspend me. I'm as much a member of the diocese as he is."

All she needed to complete the scene was for Fred Astaire to appear at dockside, and off they would dance to Oh, You Beautiful Doll while the RKO studio orchestra played on. Yet even without old Fred, Ginger Rogers, 57, landed in Southampton just as a superstar should--still looking beautiful in a fur-hooded ensemble, waving and blowing kisses to scores of worshipful fans while a 55-piece band blasted out greetings. Ginger was en route to London for a year's run in Mame. When someone mentioned her $600,000 contract to play Auntie, she sounded as if she already had the part down pat. "My attitude is somewhat callous to the sound of large amounts."

Today's youthful dissenters are accustomed to brickbats from the older generation. Imagine their surprise at receiving a bouquet from the Establishment. Wrote John D. Rockefeller 3rd, 62, chairman of the Rockefeller Foundation, in a recent article for the Saturday Review: "There is much to irritate and disturb the older generation. But there is also great potential for good. Instead of worrying about how to suppress the youth revolution, we of the older generation should be worrying about how to sustain it."

The four-day conference was billed as a "creative dialogue between sportsmen and scientists who share a deep and growing concern for vanishing wildlife species." Into Monte Carlo winged 300 of the world's leading sportsmen, wildlife scientists, game biologists, conservationists and professional hunters to demonstrate their concern by feasting, first off, at a sumptuous banquet on wild boar, pheasant, partridge and turkey. And on to the dialogue. One speaker, lamenting the wanton slaying of alligators, apologized profusely for the belt he was wearing. Alligator, of course. Equally well made was a point about the dangers that the fur trade poses to the world's great cats; on view among the ladies were eight leopard coats, two ocelot coats, a cheetah suit and a tiger jacket with matching handbag. Their hostess, Princess Grace of Monaco, even showed up splendidly attired in a coat made of wild mink with matching turban.

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