High Life | 10 January 2013

Friends who were among the last to leave Palataki at New Year tell me there were stragglers waiting to be admitted, and this was as the sun was coming up on the first day of the year. My chalet, in other words, has become the last refuge of the desperate, or among those with twice as much serotonin in their blood who never give up. All I can remember is being on the top floor, and at my advanced age not using glasses, but drinking straight out of the vodka bottle. There is a portrait of my father by Dalì up there, and when in my cups I seem to become transfixed by it, a sort of Dorian Gray in reverse, my dad looking elegant and in control, me the exact opposite. Still, it was a hell of a party and both my children had a very good time with their friends.