Six decades and two chat-up lines

 Gstaad

In this freewheeling Swiss village of the 1950s, the unconventional was the norm and monumental drinking commonplace, but the manners of the players were always impeccable. Yes, there were ladies of lower-class parentage and with a dubious past, but they covered it up with a grand manner and an affected aristocratic confidence they had learned through experience. That’s how things were back then. The slags that pass as celebrities today would not have lasted a minute. Some might think it snobby, but it was nothing of the kind. One just had to act in a certain manner and that is all. Everyone knew where everyone else came from, so it wasn’t even a pretence. It was just a disciplined way of living that had nothing to do with whether one lived within or outside the rules. Men remained married whether they had mistresses or not — as did women, even if they took lovers. Divorce was as much of a no-no as swearing in public or calling a lady of easy virtue a tart. Am I being too idealistic about a period that was so long ago? Of course I am, but then one always remembers the good and tends to forget the bad. Aged 22 or even younger, I hung out at the Palace Hotel’s grill every night. That’s where it all took place. There was a bar and a tiny dance area and a large dining room, and that was that. There was no nightclub, and the music was soft and only for dancing — dancing up close, that is. Which means the Palace grill was the perfect place to pick up women. One such lady and I hooked up back in 1958 for a very brief and innocent romance. And now I’ll move to the present. Maya Schoenburg, ex-Flick, has the same birthday as Napoleon, 15 August, so we all gathered at Mick Flick’s chalet for a party.