I never wish I had tuberculosis. But a stint in a sanatorium in Davos/Switzerland wouldn’t go amiss. No, forget the sanatorium. A hotel will do. Make that a chalet.
Now I know the English think mentioning one’s nerves pretentious. Never mind. I am not English. And my nerves are so frazzled round the edges I don’t need all that bloody sea air around me. I need a mountain. Drawback being that one has to climb a mountain. Which is fine. It’s the coming down at the zenith. Consolation being cheese fondue or Raclette awaiting you back in the valley. And Kirsch.
Which reminds me, apropos nerves: I once smashed a five star bathroom basin in a hotel overlooking Lake Geneva which inspired Deep Purple (I think) to write their “Smoke on water”. It wasn’t murder, not even manslaughter. It was self defence. My weapon being my amazingly loaded vanity case. I didn’t call it ‘vanity case’ at the time. But it sure was. And thus I learned that a tonne of vanity and anger combined leaves you with a smashed washbasin. No one could have been more surprised than myself.
By the time we came back from dinner on the terrace the hotel had replaced the wash basin. That’s the Swiss for you.
Yes, nerves. Let’s hope I’ll keep mine till the next delivery.