Look at it this way: we’re all doing Desert Island Discs nowadays, and unless you’ve got the bug, it’s a damn good thing, too. I did the desert island bit around 30 years ago, when Sue Lawley was the presenter, and we got along fine, even after I commented on air that she had nice legs. I suspect it would have been a different story today, but another good thing about the virus is that it has knocked #MeToo off the front pages. For good, I hope, but I doubt it.
Among my desert island picks was a version of ‘Lili Marlene’ sung by an army choir that I first heard as a four-year-old in an Athens street sung by a group of marching German soldiers. I was with my adored Prussian nanny and looked on in awe as they marched past us, in impeccable step, singing the haunting song about a girl left behind. Childhood impressions stay with one, and 50 years later I fondly reminisced about that day with Sue.
But back to the present: this alpine village has apparently been hit quite hard by the you-know-what, but no one’s talking. Good old Helvetia, despite its size, is among the leading countries infected. All I know is that a good friend of ours whose chalet lies to the north of mine died from it last week, having been infected by his daughter whom I had kissed on the cheek two weeks before. (Poor thing must be feeling awful, but her dad was not in good health.)
Which brings to mind that drunken foul-mouthed Conor McGregor, who has just given €1 million to Ireland to combat the bug, which would be the equivalent to that Errol Flynn lookalike Jeff Bezos giving two billion to Uncle Sam.
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