High life
Play it again Meryl
Taki
Gstaad In F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story BabY- Ion Revisited, the hero, Charlie Wales' returns to Paris, the city of his youth, after a long hiatus. Things, however, are not the way he left them. The old gang dispersed, and the ones that are stla around are suffering from the debilitating effects of too much booze, and far t°° much trust in the New York stock market. For the first time in the thirty years that I've been coming to Gstaad, I feel a bit like Charlie Wales. Looking around the Palace Hotel lobby is a constant reminder that the Barbarians are not at the gates, but Well inside them, and that the rape and the looting are about to begin. Mind you, the ghosts are still there. TO,t of Bobby Sweeny reminding us time all,' time again that 'It's a dice game boys, it s purely a dice game.' Or that of Ted.clY Bassett, shaking his cup, moving his 011 from one side of his mouth to the other aa° saying, 'Well, I think I'm behind, but what, the hell, I think I'll double.' Or that 0' Oakley Thorn, winning a game and orde.r- ing champagne for everyone within cps' tance. The one I miss the most, of course, is the backgammon game itself, which ra°, for some 20 odd years, and which die° prematurely when the modern day hustlers were allowed to join in. In a small village like Gstaad, the ell, croachment of the new tends to be almos` painful. Worse, it serves as a constant reminder of past good times. The fact that, those times were spent in the company °1 my wife and children doesn't help. The' f presence seems to be everywhere. Everici the Eagle Club has changed. All the go° tables are now taken by ladies of a certain age that do not ski, but make sure they get Up the mountain early enough to see that no skier lands a choice location during lunch- time ingestion. But it has not been all sad memories and bad surprises. Far from it. Even the weath- er has suddenly come around. In fact, it has been perfect, and I now have a suntan SO deep that a Hollywood type would give up name-dropping for a day in exchange. Just as the sun came out, the temperature dropped, and the snow conditions turned excellent. I do my cross-country skiing in the morning, and downhill in the after- noon. The evenings have been mostly quiet, with the exception of one good party given by Mario Ruspoli, a man who hates the modern world even more than I do, and then some, as they say. Mario had a Fifties orchestra which played the kind of Music that encourages contact between the sexes, and we danced far into the night. The guest d'honneur was Vittorio- Ernmanuele, the pretender to the throne of Italy, and son of the last king. As some of You may have heard, Victor, as he's known among us old timers, got into a spot of bother seven years ago. He fired a warning Shot over the heads of some intruders, and killed an innocent man who was sleeping in his bunk in a boat anchored nearby. There was an investigation and Victor was jailed for a while, but nothing much ever trans- Pired. The case I believe was squashed, and there are rumours that the family of the victim not only got rich overnight, but May even end up with an Italian title. Victor and I used to be on friendly ,tenns, but because I commented — almost tavourably, mind you — on the shooting, tile Savoy clan has stopped speaking to me. Well, there are worse things that can befall a skier. One that comes to mind is to have to read Victor's open letter to the Italian Communist Party asking for its help in order for him to be allowed to return to italY. Needless to say, it is a naive letter, almost as naive as Corazon Aquino believ- ing that if she lets out all the commies from Prison, their buddies will lay down their arms. In fact the letter was so naive, the rierald Tribune chose to run it on its front Page, which is where I read it.
And speaking of royalty, here is a story about the British one, a story I got straight from the horse's mouth, although I will never tell you which horse. It took place Christmas day, at Windsor Castle. The Whole clan was present, including nephews and nieces. The Queen had requested to see the film Plenty, starring Meryl Streep. I have not seen it, but apparently there is a scene in it that takes place during Her Majesty's 1953 Coronation. While the tele- vision is showing Prince Philip and the Monarch being driven through the London crowds, Streep is making love behind a sofa. The TV is silent, and all one can hear are the moans of Ms Streep. According to my source, the Queen, the Queen Mother and Prince Philip all got up en masse and left the room. The only ones that stayed behind were the youngsters, and Princess Margaret, who laughed out loud, and said, 'Play it again, Sam.'
Well, if you don't hear from me again, it will not be an avalanche that's got me. It will be the royal connection.
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