Friends who were among the last to leave Palataki at New Year tell me there were stragglers waiting to be admitted, and this was as the sun was coming up on the first day of the year. My chalet, in other words, has become the last refuge of the desperate, or among those with twice as much serotonin in their blood who never give up. All I can remember is being on the top floor, and at my advanced age not using glasses, but drinking straight out of the vodka bottle. There is a portrait of my father by Dalì up there, and when in my cups I seem to become transfixed by it, a sort of Dorian Gray in reverse, my dad looking elegant and in control, me the exact opposite. Still, it was a hell of a party and both my children had a very good time with their friends. Which is obviously the only reason one still pays for them, the children, that is, because they have young friends.
Otherwise the news is not good. Glitz and the Russkies are coming to town, and the locals are bending over in order to accommodate them. Flattery is the main ingredient used by the money-hungry peasantry to induce the nouveaux riches to part with their ill-gotten moolah. It is the oldest trick in the Alps, when some people make themselves inferior to others, although I find it impossible to believe that anyone can fake being inferior to today’s new rich. A Hollywood screenwriter once wrote that the only interesting thing that can happen in a Swiss bedroom is suffocation by a feather pillow, but that was long ago, before the peasants woke up and got greedy. I have tried for years to tell the locals that if they give the nouveaux enough rope they will surely hang us, but it’s like speaking to the folk Plutarch was referring to when he said that the flatterer is born free but chooses to be a slave.
Flattery, of course, works best on those who already have a very high opinion of themselves. This is a chalet that only a person such as yourself deserves to live in, says the salesman to the rich vulgarian. The latter agrees wholeheartedly and pays the over-the-top price. In the meantime, chalet prices have exploded and they are now affordable only to the very few, most of whom are as disgusting as it’s possible to be. An old professor friend of mine used to tell me that Switzerland would become redundant once communism had collapsed. He saw good old Helvetia as a shelter against the reds, which shows how little professors know about real life. Twenty years and more after the collapse of the evil empire, Switzerland remains among the most expensive places to live, and rising. In fact, it’s becoming more like Hollywood every day. ‘Guten Morgen’ is no longer used. ‘You look great’ has replaced good morning as the universal greeting.
And speaking of Hollywood, we had a hell of a scare last week. Madonna was supposed to arrive and stay with a friend of mine. Fortunately, only Anne Hathaway did, and from what friends tell me she was as charming and unassuming as she is on screen. I wish there were more Hathaways around, but unfortunately the new Gilded Age seems to produce only horrors. And it has nothing to do with the one of 100 years ago, when the nouveaux aped their betters, and the old guard still commanded respect. Now it’s billionaire nerds that have the upper hand. Last week, two nerds made a remark about the bright-red trousers I was wearing, and when I answered them rather roughly, they were shocked. I suppose great new wealth now commands great fame, and that in turn commands obsequiousness. Billionaire nerds are now a dime a dozen, starting with that God-awful Facebook founder, who is as ugly as he’s rich, and he’s very, very rich.
‘He who dies with the most toys wins’ is a bumper sticker in America, one that fuels ambition and greed like no other. With it comes language inflation, every bald, fat nerd being described as a genius, as charismatic and as a non-pareil. What utter crap and bullshit. I’ve never met so many charm-free chumps, starting with London-based aristocrats such as Berezovsky and Abramovich.
All through last year there were rumours that the owner of Chelsea Football Club had bought a monstrosity of a chalet near me. The sellers were the ones spreading them in order to get other suckers interested. Just imagine. Being located near a Russian oligarch is now a selling point for a property. Uriah Heep lives and is doing well in Gstaad, of all places. Many people suffer from celebrophilia. They derive their self-esteem from their proximity to the rich and famous, even if they are crooks and criminals who have beaten the system. Personally, I prefer the Mark Twain way. He stood up to give a speech in front of a large audience, then sat down. After a while he dragged himself to the podium and told his fans that he was depressed because ‘Homer is dead, Shakespeare is dead, and I have the flu and feel as if I’m dying’. No nerd he.
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