High life
Missing Larry
Taki
TGstaad he snow has finally come to Gstaad, Stalingrad-like, and old Bernese Oberland hands like yours truly haven't seen anything like it in 20 years or so. It really began to come down on Sunday night, and as I write on Tuesday afternoon it hasn't stopped. Until last Sunday everything was depress- ingly brown, with only a few northern-fac- ing runs of sheer ice open to the overpaying public.
This was the bad news. The good was that the lack of snow and stratospheric Swiss franc had kept everyone away except for the chalet crowd and, of course, the locals. The one I miss is Larry the lorry driver. I used occasionally to see him drive by my place, always bundled up as if at the North Pole, always looking uneasy as if out of place. Larry the lorry driver never walked. He took to his car even when crossing the street. Now that Liz Taylor's eighth hubby has become her seventh ex, chances are we will not be seeing his likes again. Not in Gstaad, anyway.
This is too bad because I liked Larry the lorry driver. Unlike a lot of nouveaux riches phoneys around here, Larry kept to him- self. I was once at a lunch he was at and he never opened his mouth. If more 'socialites' followed his example, Gstaad would be an even better place than it already is. My favourite story about Larry was when the secret service ran security checks on 75 or so of his relatives who were invited to his wedding with la Taylor — Ronald Reagan was to attend — and dis- covered that more than half of them were in jail. Quite an achievement for a white man in America.
His serial polyandrist ex has also stayed away. Never much of a downhiller, Eliza- beth Taylor has nothing on our latest local hero, Michael von Gruenigen. Michael just pocketed the World Cup giant slalom sea- son title, and is the favourite for a gold medal at the world championships in Sierra Nevada this week. 'Bravo Michael von Gruenigen' read signs all over Schoenried, the neighbouring village and his birthplace.
And speaking of ski racing, my own little John-Taki has been up there among the first five in the Rosey races. Le Rosey is the only school I know with two campuses, one for spring and autumn in Rolle, the other up here in Gstaad for winter. Although severely dyslexic, JT is doing well. He has a special tutor, the masters have been wonderful with him, plus he's mad about skiing and girls, not necessarily in that order, and Le Rosey has both.
One of the most fun evenings I had late last year was the Rosey Christmas concert in which the musical production of Mrs Berube was the highlight. Mrs Berube is one of the most popular teachers, and her musicals are eagerly awaited even by rather jaded folk like yours truly.
Needless to say, this is the first time in 40 years of coming to Gstaad that my friend Zographos is absent. He is skiing in those vastly superior slopes up above. But William Buckley and I are hitting the slopes, and last week there was a grand Greek reunion for Professor Johannes Goulandris's 69th birthday. Alas, I stood up to toast the prof, but was shouted down for politically incorrect remarks regarding the snow and how gallant Panzers got stuck in it in Stalingrad long ago.
Oh well, next month is Herr Doctor Aleco Goulandris's 69th birthday, and I shall try it once again. The speech, that is. In the meantime, I am preparing a counter-attack to Petronella Wyatt's vicious charge in last week's Speccie that Italian men are finito. That's like saying Gstaad is expensive. So what else is new? But I will defend the heirs of Caligula come what may.
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