Taki Taki

My password amnesia got me into hot water

I’m officially in Chelsea, but quarantining in Gstaad [Photo: undefined undefined]


Oh, to be in England! But let’s start at the beginning. I challenge any reader to claim they are more technologically disadvantaged than yours truly. Or anyone not suffering from Alzheimer’s, at least. I resisted getting a mobile telephone until my days on board a sailing boat became a nightmare. I missed get-togethers, lost friends, and finally gave in around ten years ago. More trouble followed. For example, I get pings all the time and can see on screen the names of Pugs members sending messages to each other. But I don’t know how to put in my five cents. Prince Pavlos of Greece set my phone up so that it rings, but in the meantime poor little Taki is voiceless.

And it gets better — or worse rather. My daughter once taught me how to retrieve a lost column on my word processor, but I have since forgotten how to do it. My son simply refuses to offer ‘technical help’, as he calls it, and I’m incapable of cutting the ingrate off for good because I’ve already handed it over. Last week, however, things got hotter by the minute. The wife, who generally doesn’t approve of flying private, advised me to do so from Gstaad to London because she knew things. But the airfield was closed, and going private from Geneva is a sucker’s game. You can land in some boondock after paying through the nose and then spend three hours getting to Chelsea. Good old Charlie the driver, who’s now speaking to me again, drove me to Geneva and I arrived at BA check-in, where a very nice hostess was all smiles. Then the trouble began.

I had papers with me stating that I had had two corona shots and had tested negative on the day before flying.

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