Excerpt from Sergio Bernardini’s autobiography, Non ho mai perso La Bussola

Where I was (in the dining rooms, on the beaches, on the garden lawns for the six o’clock aperitifs and for the long card playing sessions) the economic boom you could literally touch it with your hands, sense it in the air. VIPs were a fixture. Angelo Moratti in the lead, followed by a court of more or less prestigious friends depending on the size of the bank accounts they could boast of. Princess Colonna who showed up in earth-shattering dresses and with breathtaking décolletés. Jealous husbands who arrived on Saturdays on the third track with that which my friend Roberto defined, with a wicked joke, the “cuckolds train”. Women so inspired by Fellini and the Dolce Vita to the point of living the summer with a sole purpose: a midnight swim and a run on the beach at the first light of dawn, possibly in the company of the lifeguard on duty. Forty-year-olds chasing girls, more often than not the daughters of their dearest friends. Falchetti without a penny in his pocket but as brazen-faced as they come (“Champagne for everyone” … someone will foot the billl!) paving the way for the future Gigi Rizzi of the Italian lifestyle.

(Sergio Bernardini, Non ho mai perso La Bussola, Vallardi, Mi, 1987, pp.69-70)