Gstaad
These are quiet days and nights here, the noisy mobile telephone brigades having left immediately after the New Year. It is a sign of the times, the mobile telephone, that is. One used to be able to tell where a person came from by their manners, their dress, even their looks. Not to mention their accent. No longer. Everything is so dumbed down, everyone so common, one has trouble distinguishing the scion of an old noble family from a coke dealer. Both use the mobile pest non-stop, the former to gossip, the latter for business. Something must be done, but what? The thing is too far gone. I know a young woman in New York who walks around with two telephones, and talks into both of them simultaneously. They say she also uses them while screwing, but this I don’t believe.
What I do believe is that life’s absurd.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in