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Already a subscriber? Log in. Text settings Text size. Copy link Copied. Linkedin Messenger Email. Unlimited access to our website and app Enjoy Spectator newsletters and podcasts Explore our online archive, going back to Read next From Spectator Life. Across vineyards in England and Wales, secateurs are being sharpened and buckets are at the ready as owners prepare for harvest. October is usually the month commercial vines give up their fruit before being whisked away to the winemaker—cum—alchemist who turns the juice into wine. As a former vineyard owner I sold up in January. From the magazine.

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As everyone knows, snobbery is nothing but bad manners passing itself off as good taste. Past American society dames were terrible snobs, until they met their French and British counterparts, who put them in their place. This is good old Helvetia, where a farmer is more appreciated than a banker, and I particularly like it in the summer when the wife cuts the grass while the hubby rides the tractor. The richest local is a friend of mine, and he got started as a ski instructor. He also conquered Everest, but has remained the same — unassuming as hell and as pleasant as he was when he was teaching spoiled brats how to turn around a mogul. He also got me out of a jam when, thirty years ago, I decided to build the largest chalet in the region and had the architects drill a hole on a mountainside that could fit the village of Gstaad inside it. Then Marcel Bach came to the rescue. He built an enormous apartment complex and sold every inch of it to eager newcomers to the region, while simultaneously flogging a brand-new chalet in the Oberport, the hill above the Palace Hotel, to yours truly. The Oberport may have been very chic, but some of the people who moved in after me were more cesspool than class. Yet again, Marcel came to the rescue. He sold my place for an enormous sum by splitting it into three apartments and selling it to a man from Monte Carlo whose name could not appear anywhere, especially on a legal document. I took the moolah and ran. Mind you, this is Switzerland, and real estate speculation is a no-no. Yes, Gstaad is now overbuilt and at times overcrowded, and yes, some of the people here belong behind bars — the principal behind a new club is a sociopath who was a prime feeder for Bernie Madoff — and yet the place works, especially off-season. It works because of the locals. Unlike their British cousins, Swiss people work hard and do not needlessly go on strike for higher wages. There are no politically motivated strikes, and Swiss workers, especially civil servants, do not work from home. And another thing. One does not get the feeling here that one gets in Britain, of envy mixed with loathing for someone better off. Well, uncontrolled immigration has turned Americans into a people with nothing in common with one another — not history, language, culture, faith or ancestors. But the Swiss have three to four different languages, and certainly different backgrounds, and it somehow works. It is almost like a giant Stasi that ensures conformity to wokeness and to the power elite in DC. A one-party press does not a happy people make. The Swiss are not right-wingers, but neither are they, after years, about to lose their independence to extreme left-wing ideologues. The unelected commissars of the EU have been pressuring the Swiss for years, trying to tie them down with treaties that would deprive them of their liberties. The Swiss are resisting. The only Swiss law I disagree with is the one that applies only in crowded apartment buildings and punishes with a fine loud cries of sexual ecstasy after p. It is the outcome of the vindictive actions of a politician wielding the law enforcement power of the state to destroy her enemy. The CCP appears set to kill off its largest economic zombie, while gambling that it can control the fallout. As a believer, I see signs that Christ is moving in the minds and hearts of secular intellectuals. Justin Brierley. Grace Curley. The happiness business is just the newest incarnation of a decades-old western addiction to self-care. Max Jeffery. She manages to pack in more drama and nuance into pages than other authors manage in novels twice that length. Alex Peake-Tomkinson. It was clearly inspired by satirical American and British shows about politics. Will Collins. The Spectator. Subscribe today. By Taki. Monday, March 27, By Owen Matthews. DC Diary. House report blasts Secret Service failures. By The Spectator. The new worst team in baseball. By Ryan Spaeder. For you. Next reads. In praise of Swiss Army knives. Andrew Watts. The ruling against Trump is perverse in true New York fashion. Joseph Moreno. How to train like Taki. Ian Williams. Pre-traumatic Uncle Sam-induced stress disorder and Chino-melancholia below deck. With family on board, I decided to act responsibly and in a dignified manner. Is a Christian revival underway? Biden uses the gilded cage of the White House to his advantage. The Regime is bad eastern European pastiche. Who thinks Biden is a bigger threat to democracy than Trump? Facebook Link Twitter.

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