Switzerland is now an enemy of the rich

The staff are back and all is well, as they used to say long ago in faraway places. The gardener and the cleaner are Portuguese, and they greet me, with their inherent dignity, from afar. The Filipina maid and cook almost gets me in a headlock trying to thank me for keeping her on salary while she rested at home. I shoo her away. Who does she take me for, a lowlife cheapskate like Philip Green? I didn’t hesitate to send them all home.

Mind you, I’ve taken such a shellacking on the stock market that I’ll soon be applying for a job myself, perhaps as an ageing gigolo to some fat old tart from Marienbad. I tango well and can waltz, so all I need to do is grow a pencil-thin moustache.

But I’ll start with the bad news. Michael Watts, the gentleman who brought close to 40 loyal Spectator readers up to Gstaad last winter to meet me, has died.