Happy survivor

Gstaad

After the heat of the French Riviera and of the birthplace of selective democracy, the Alps are a welcome relief – up to a point. I am here on a family holiday, family being the operative word. Which means that neither my daughter nor son tolerates any hanky-panky, if you know what I mean. Not that I’m complaining. Throughout my life I’ve looked for action and thrills, and now all of a sudden I’m content to sit in my garden, look at the incredible, straight out of The Sound of Music mountain views, and … dine with the family. And be very happy to boot. It is, of course, a bit of a shame, the end of an era and all that, but it happens to everyone, anyone that is who survives into his sixties. The great Porfirio Rubirosa was restless to the end because he died aged 57 in an automobile accident, ditto Aly Khan – very restless and chasing women non-stop – aged 49.

Which brings me to Lord Archer. The Daily Telegraph very correctly opined that he should remain in the Lords. Banana republics practise retrospective legislation, proper European democracies do not. Who in hell is this guy Falconer to change laws which go back hundreds of years because he doesn’t like Jeffrey Archer? The Karamanlis and Papandreou governments pulled such stunts after the fall of the colonels in my country, but here we’re talking about Britain, not the kleptocracy that was and, alas, partially still is Greece. (More about these bums later.) Lord Archer is now in his sixties, has paid his dues and people should leave him alone. I never understood kicking someone who has suffered, but this seems to be a specialty of Britain’s Fourth Estate.