The end of snow? Not in Gstaad

The winters are better now than they were 60 years ago

The end of snow? Not in Gstaad
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The American newspaper that prints only news it sees fit to poison good things recently announced ‘The end of snow’. ‘The planet has warmed 1.4 degrees Fahrenheit since the 1800s, and, as a result, snow is melting...’ Bring on the Pulitzers, snow melts! The Big Bagel Times also thundered that Europe has lost half its Alpine glacial ice since the 1850s — yes, the 1850s, when private jets ferried people such as Abe Lincoln around America, Otto von Bismarck polluted German resorts in his supercharged Mercedes-Benz, and young Taki steamed around the Med in a 100 mph speedboat powered by black slaves. Well, I for one don’t believe a word the Times writes, and, as I live in Gstaad, I have something of a first-hand knowledge of snow. (The type one skis on, for any of you drippy-nosed wise guys out there.)

Back in 1958, skiing stopped on 7 March because the white stuff had gone. In 1964, I played tennis with the ex-number one player in Europe, Philippe Washer, throughout the whole winter. Outdoors, that is. Irwin Shaw, that wonderful American novelist, came up to Gstaad to see his son Adam at the Rosey school and was delighted to practise with us. He lived in Klosters, loved tennis, and told us he would make a killing wagering on himself against his regular tennis opponents once the snows had melted over there. (No indoor crap courts back then, thank God.)

Fifty-six years later, on 15 March, I cannot see a single brown spot on the three surrounding mountains of Gstaad, just acres and acres of new, fresh Stalingrad-like snow, and with the sun having shone for the past two weeks without a single cloud, nothing has melted, so give back the Pulitzers, you filthy phonies. Would you like to read some more bullshit from the particular article I’m quoting? Yes, why not? ‘Artificial snow-making now helps to cover 88 per cent of American ski resorts.’ Sure, I believe it, but where are those ski resorts? If you turn Palm Beach into a ski resort you have to use snow-making machines. Like they do in ludicrous Dubai, where idiots actually go to ski indoors in an area as long as a football pitch. Vail and Aspen and Snow Valley need less snow at times, not more, but statistics are there to fool the people all the time with news that fits the agenda of the creeps that run that awful paper.

What I’d like to know is who pays for all these reports that announce non-stop that the end is nigh. Why can’t someone explain to me why I couldn’t ski back then when I was young and a very fast skier, and can ski right now age 77 and rather slow? It reminds me of a friend of mine, a titled Venetian, who used to have tremendous erections at times when he was alone, but failed miserably to get it up when he was with a girl. What is going on? I’ll tell you, but others have said it much better and with more facts. Moolah. The great Tim Rice wrote about it last week in these here pages.

The Peloponnese, one of the most beautiful spots on this earth, has been scarred by the wind machines greedy environmentalists have erected throughout, EU grey men and women arriving from Brussels and ordering those monsters to go up. They are as useful as my Venetian friend’s erections. Mind you, climate change has occurred, in the shape of extreme weather patterns that saw half of England and Brittany submerged last winter, and the Big Bagel under ten feet of snow one day and sweltering in Dubai-like furnace heat the next. What I am railing against is ski resorts in sauna-like places, and EU tinpot dictators erecting machines that only benefit the manufacturers of these monsters. Join the crowd that will help Taki ski in August right here in Gstaad, and swim in the Arctic Circle in January off his wind-powered mega-yacht. What a load of bullshit, if you pardon the expression, as the hawkers used to say in front of cheap girlie show nightclubs.

As The Spectator’s sainted editor wrote last week in the Telegraph: ‘God has played a great joke on mankind, granting the best fuel reserves to the worst places.’ The good news is that God is no fool, and two of the worst places God first played his joke on are fighting like the greedy little pigs they both are. Qatar and Saudi Arabia, the two countries that gave us Socrates and Shakespeare, Bach and Beethoven, Schubert and Schumann, and the custom of beating up hookers and underlings and leaving hotels without paying their bills, are at war with each other. Not that these camel-drivers posing as princes would ever actually fight; Wahhabis pay for others to do the dying, as do Qataris, but they’re having a hair-puller war, like hookers do on a hot day when the brothels are empty. Qatar uses Al Jazeera as its mouthpiece, masquerading as an independent news organisation. Al Jazeera covers up the horrendous war crimes perpetrated by the Al-Nusra and the Isis terrorist groups in Syria. The Saudis, more than likely behind the 9/11 Noo Yawk horror, have realised that they might be next, once Syria becomes just another failed state à la Somalia. So they want Qatar, whose migrant workers are virtual slaves and make up two million of the 2,225,000 Qatari population, to desist. The Qataris cannot because they will be next. I couldn’t give a you-know-what. I’m going skiing. On real snow.