Gstaad
Talismans from the past are rare but still to be found, especially at the old Posthotel. Faded bleached photographs of horse-drawn sleds on Main Street, long-bearded peasants chopping wood on the Eggli, even skiers walking up mountains in knee-deep snow before ski lifts were invented. Is there anything more precious than old photographs?
Killjoy conversation topics such as the size of chalet indoor swimming pools, botulinum toxin fillers, even discussions about gender are now registered on those horrible modern contraptions called smart phones. It is the new reality and there’s nothing one can do about it. Mind you, there are worse things in life than discussing fillers, facelifts and detransitioning, and I have recently experienced them by having spent three months in the Bagel.
Never mind. Solipsism-à-la-Meghan is now the American way, oscillating between narcissism and self-interest. Everyone’s on the make over there, and if one’s dumb enough to read the Bagel Times, Britain and her royals are responsible for all the horrors of the past.
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