Swiss sense
Taki
HRougemont
appiness is waking up in the country which Papa Hemingway called more upside down than sideways and reading that Swiss voters had sent a message to Brussels to take the EU and shove it. Even in Frenchspeaking cantons like Geneva, considered euro-friendly, the message to Romano Prodi was to drop dead: 59 per cent of Frog-speakers said non to the corrupt dictators of Brussels, while 85 per cent of German speakers thundered a resounding nein.
This is the beauty of Swiss direct democracy. The government tried its best to hoodwink the people, but, unlike Blair and Clinton, they didn't manage to. In reality, it was not that difficult. Concepts such as freedom, independence, direct democracy, armed neutrality and prosperity are as prized by the Swiss as they are loathed by the busybodies of Brussels. The outrageous treatment of Austria by the unelected bureaucrooks of Brussels last year did not help. The Swiss may be a slow and not very exciting people, but they recognise a threat to their freedom quicker than one can say cuckoo clock. The EU lost all credibility with the freedom-loving Helvetians during the Haider affair.
Just as the Swiss went to the polls on Sunday a week ago, the blood-stained gangster Robert Mugabe was making a triumphal tour of Europe, with the French President and the Belgian Prime Minister publicly kissing his arse. Needless to say, the state kidnapping of General Pinochet did not help Prodi's cause.
The Swiss have managed to remain unaligned and doggedly neutral for centuries. The trick is armed neutrality, and that includes staying out of the UN. The central government in Berne is as unobtrusive as it's possible to be and still be called a government. Very few know the name of the President of the Swiss Confederation, and the capital never, but never interferes on the local level. National decisions are taken more often than not after a national referendum. Every Swiss citizen has the right to bear arms, yet crime is almost nonexistent, and violent crime extremely rare. Talk about utopia.
The irony is that you British are forever being told that you are too small to survive in Europe unless you lose your freedoms to Brussels. Now that's a crock of you know what if there ever was one. Switzerland, with a population of 6.4 million, has never been more prosperous, its economy booming, with comfortable surpluses and plenty of jobs. The currency is strong, based on low taxes and global commerce. Like Norway, another tiny country that has rebuffed the EU bully, Switzerland trades freely with its European neighbours, and has as much intention of abandoning the Swiss franc in favour of the euro as I have of performing cunnilingus on Hillary Clinton.
And speaking of not performing such vile acts, I woke up the day of the referendum in Paris of all places. I'd gone there for Charles Price's wonderful party for his 30th birthday. Chaz, as his friends call him, is the son of one of America's best and most popular ambassadors to London during the Reagan years. He was top boy at Eton, kept his American accent and — most important of all — was the first winner of the Taki Cup, climbing the Wassengrat in 59 minutes, two minutes quicker than yours truly. Mind you, he graciously conceded that 35 years from now he is as likely to equal my time as I am to perform — on Monica Lewinsky.
The dinner was at L'Ami Louis, one of Paris's best bistros and full of memories for the poor little Greek boy. Nostalgia and memories aside, Paris is still Paris, the world's greatest city for fun and games. In no time I was blotto, and poor Jessica de Rothschild sitting next to me had to call on all her impeccable upbringing to get through her dinner without an incident.
The good news is that the French remain civilised when it comes to l'amour. Late, very late that evening, a kind soul of the female persuasion dropped me off at my hotel. The two night porters know me and came out to assist me. I asked the sweet young thing to come up. I only just met you,' she kindly lied. 'You're too bloody old' was what she was really thinking. Allez, mademoiselle, montez, il est brave,' echoed the two Frenchmen, proving yet again that in the land of cheese sex is king. Yes, she got away, but then I woke up, heard the good news about Switzerland, and proceeded to get drunk once again with my friend Chaz, this time at the Ritz. Life can be beautiful.
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