Pearls (ahem) of wisdom....

After a non-stop year of jet-setting all over the world, in my painfully glamorous, yet highly demanding job, I find myself now sitting on my sofa, knackered, back in Zurich, watching EastEnders for the first time in forever. First observation is that the title credits are all weird and CG. Or perhaps this is what a super duper massive flatscreen HD TV is for.  Second, Sharon is back, and more retinally-damaging and big-haired than ever (again, maybe the HD?) and finally Jay the kid, is Jay the teenager, and I am worryingly attracted to him, despite being old enough to be his mum (cougar alert).  Add to that that Ian Beale is a beggar - random... and somewhat disconcertingly Kat Slataaaaa looks exactly the same. This, my friends, is the beauty of make-up.

All of this makes me realise how much can happen in a year and how quickly life passes you by (do you like how I draw my deep and meaningful ponderings of life from 'Stenders and Sharon's 'stentions... not that I am shallow or anything...much)...

I also realise that I am mere weeks away from celebrating my third anniversary of being a resident in Switzerland - three years in which my own soap opera has played out (though thankfully I am not playing the part of a beggar or a fat chav - though worryingly I can draw a few similarities with Kat). In that 3 years I have become an auntie twice over, a godmother, been promoted twice and am now embarking on a house move to add the cherry to the top of my glamorous cake. I have dated a married millionaire, a self obsessed has-been DJ, a pharmaceutical nerdy type and an Irish playboy - all of which added their own brand of amusement to my life (whether intentional or not - usually not, actually) but none of which were worth going the distance with - quite frankly none of which I had time for in my fabulously glorious life of fun and excitement.

Anyway - that's all a bit yawn. What I wanted to get onto was this. I was sitting with my good buddy 'J' (true identities have been cleverly concealed) at the weekend, discussing the oh-so-talked-about Fifty Shades of Gray. Which I frankly thought was 100 shades of boring, and she thought was simply great. It was a big debate, which basically resulted in us coming to the conclusion that either I must have been a complete slut in my adult life, to find the contents of the book so, well, nothing! OR she must have been a boring prude for her adult life, in order to find it so interesting and 'boundary pushing'. In the end we decided on being diplomatic and decided that I was just very 'open-minded' and she just 'liked the storyline'.  All of this intellectual chat (which took place over the consumption of a bottle of Laurent Perrier) made us realise that as such worldly wise women, in all topics - not just the Fifty Shades type - we had a duty to our fellow humans to impart our hard-earned knowledge further. Especially here in Switzerland where life can be somewhat more sheltered than on the grimy streets of Saaf London.

Anyway, so in my new time-poor incarnation, my blog posts will no longer be the lengthy ones of yesteryear, with the added paraphernalia of silly pictures and captions. However we have decided that J and I will regularly and concisely be imparting our pearls of wisdom to the blogosphere, as we owe it to the greater good and intellectual evolution of mankind.

More soon...

What do Shrek, Skeletor and Bo Derek have in common.....?

So despite having only just written a post about football, and promtly ending it due to lack of material, my most recent viewing of further games has prompted me to write more on the subject.  Now one thing I do have to express is my disappointment with England's performance thus far - despite my patriotism which has been enhanced with my being in another country (although I'm pleased to say that my support for my new homeland has grown by the day, helped along by the fabulous Benaglio who really has saved more goals than any goalie I've ever watched).  Anyway, the first England match was obviously tremendously flawed due to the utterly muppetly performance of our own goalie - but at least I managed to stay awake during that match. 

The second match however literally had me nodding off.  Not least because the Algerians had cleverly camouflaged themseves at bits of turf so that they were virtually invisible to the viewer - instead giving the appearance that Rooney and co. were just sleepily kicking a ball about between the 11 of them, playing a lazy, half-hearted game of 'Avoid the Goal' while trying to stay awake themselves.  Not many people can get away with lime green I tell you - but better the Algerians than the English I suppose - Rooney needs no additional assistance in looking like Shrek.

I wonder who designs the outfits.. (sorry, strips)... They should get Patricia Field to do it - at least she'd accessorise them up a bit.  Especially the goalies.  If they have to wear a different outfit to their team mates they could at least embrace the opportunity.  I'd wear one of those all-in-one lycra thingys with a skeleton painted on the front, but instead of the black 'background' I'd have a grass-green one.  That would confuse the fuck out of the opposing strikers!!

Actually if I was a footballer I would be Dutch (and yes, you CAN choose - see pevious post), because I'm proud to say I'm one of the few people in the world that can actually get away with wearing orange.  Which I've always thought of as a good thing - especially given my cultural heritage... if I did ever end up in Guantanamo Bay (mistakenly of course - as if any of them aren't) at least I know I'd look good on my capture video - even under those harsh lights.  I prefer a 'coral' to a 'tangerine' but I'm sure they cater for a range of complexions, and as long as they do it in a size 6 I reckon I could totally work that jumpsuit look.

Anyway - veered from the subject matter there (again)... The other thing that gives me cause for concern are the hairstyles that some of these chaps are sporting nowadays.  The mullets of yesteryear might have been appalling but at least they were deemed trendy and manly at the time.  These days it's all girly Alice-bands and non-afro braiding - like those Vicky Pollard-esque chavs you see on Blackpool beach or cheap holidays who pay a tenner to get their hair braided and beaded and think they look like Bo Derek in that film "10" where she runs along the beach looking sexy with her braids bouncing around her in slo-mo....that was a one-off peeps if ever there was one!  So, it wouldn't surprise me to see a gingham scrunchie or a Hello Kitty barrette on the pitch soon, or even a borrowed-from-a-wag-Bumpit-enhanced beehive which could well prove a help, or hinderance I suppose, to the trajectory of a ball off a header....

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that over the next few days I will think of more to write about concerning the football, so I will leave this one open ended........ to be continued.....

The Foot Ball

It's football season and contrary to possible beliefs - I am fully embracing these few weeks.  No I am not a huge fan of the game on a daily basis, but I am a fan of getting in the carnival spirit, watching some gripping competitiveness at the local pub (I miss the days of the karaoke-off that used to take place every weekend in St.Reatham) and most of all seeing some football where the name of the team still actually bears some resemblence to the players in it! 

It goes without saying that in any occasion- be it sporting, political, economic or otherwise, I will take the opportunity to find a fashion theme within it. The American elections gave me the perfect excuse to adopt a stars and stripes wardrobe-the red, white and blue of nautical chic combined with the hip hop / 80's combined trend of stars on any available bodily surface allowed me to fully embrace the occasion. With the UK elections parliamentary rosettes were translated into flower corsages, with the economic meltdown I adopted 'recession chic' which basically involved wearing very small clothes or bulk buying from Primark, Wimbledon always brings out the little, white summer skirts.  And this month, I officially announce the Foot Ball. Which is essentially a celebration (or Ball if you like) of all things foot-related. (if fact, anything from the foot upwards!)

Sparkle, lamé, pearls, lace, neon, wood, cork, beads, PVC, leather... all adorned upon perfectly pedicured with the English flag tootsies in a true celebration of the foot!  Add to that the thousands of themes that can be taken from the culmination of teams, players, countries participating in the world cup, and we are presented with the biggest and most exciting foot-fashion opportunity of all time! White knee socks, patriotic footwear (with matching bags of course), any African animal print going.. It's a pedi-carnival and I'm buying a float!  Bring on the Foot Ball!

Now, in my excitement and embracement of the sport, it has prompted me to delve a little deeper into the world of football and my research has brought to light some disturbing facts- possibly no revelation to most people, but to someone like me that naively thinks the best of most things until someone or something shatters my sparkly fairytale illusion, this has been a sobering (if such a word can be used at a time when I'm spending most of my time in the pub supping Prosecco) insight.  I discovered some shocking truths. 

1) Gone are the days when people supported their local team because they grew up with them, or their dads or their kids, or they worked in the same coal mines, drank in the same boozers and so on - when it was all about community and regional pride.  I have learned that nowadays some people even just 'pick a team' and that's all there is to it?!  Simple as that - eeny meeny miney mo... Sometimes they have never even been to the town that the team is named after, or even KNOW where the town is.  Ok, to be fair you can't fully blame the fans, especially as most of the players also have nothing to do with the town the team was named after either... but at least admit it, and stop pretending to believe that this has anything to do with anything other than money.  YES there are some skilled players about - but frankly if I was going to get paid a million quid a day for being skilled at something that I just happened to do all the time as a kid, and that was and still is lots of fun, - I'd be bloody skilled at it, believe me. Unfortunately dancing around to Aha with a gymnastic ribbon doesn't pay that much and frankly I can't be bothered to do anything more strenuous - I don't want a Hummer and a gang bang that much thanks.

2) There is a perception of football 'fannery' being hard, tough and manly.... yet in reality, footballers themselves are probably the most manicured, stroppy, diva-like, metrosexuals you could ever meet.  I know this - I have met many in my previous incarnation as a party organiser.  And I cannot believe how much of a mis-match there is between a real life footballer and a wannabe football 'hooligan'.  Sometimes I think the footballers don't get distracted by the bellowing chants of their fans, not because they are so expertly trained not to, but moreso because they are like dolphins... they can't hear noises that low.  Their delicate ears only pick up high pitched squeaks, like the ones their wives emit which are only marginally lower than their own....

3) I was amazed, when watching the Germans play the other day, to hear the commentator say "...and this is Cacau coming onto the pitch now.  He's only recently become a German..."   Ummmmmm - what so now if you don't like whatever nationality you are, or your team is shite, then you can just become from another country??! So Rooney can say 'sod you' to his England team mates and head off to join Brazil, and become Rooniño instead?  Well that just about closed the deal for me. 

I have come to the conclusion that the World Cup is fun, and the atmosphere is amazing, and the sudden patriotism that people develop out of nowhere is somewhat amusing, but I think that footballers should be put onto the minimum wage and then play the world cup, and I think it would be a whole different ball game (see what I did there?).  Football is a game made up of simple people who get paid far too much money- its like letting loose a colony of sex-addicted gorillas after giving them suitcases full of cash, some sports cars and a random selection of coke-snorting barbie dolls, and then sitting back to observe. Even the name is simple. "Foot. Ball." like some 3 year old literally said what it did on the tin and was hailed as a genius for coming up with such a word. Think of other sports- tennis, boxing, rugby, badminton .... Might as well call them 'Smack-with-Racket',  'Hit-People', 'Grab-Ball- and-Run' and 'Pointless-Load-of-Shit'
What is funny is that the Americans who actually do name every sport after what it does on the tin, chose soccer as the name for football. Which I actually think is a much nicer name for the sport.  Though I am probably giving them too much credit. In reality a meat-head jock most likely pointed at a footballers foot one day and went 'Sock. Urr.' (followed by a dribble - of the mouth kind, not the foot kind)' and that was how the name was borne.  Actually it wasn't even the Americans that came up with the name - (I just looked on Wikipedia) but what the heck, as blog-fodder the reality is boring, so I'll just make up whatever crap I want to!

And that's kind of all I have to say about the subject really.... a shorter post than the usual, but I'm loath to string out the subject any further, or change subject mid blog.  Plus I don't really know an awful lot more about football.  So I finish this with some of the stoopidest quotes about football, from footballers.....and then head to the pub for the next match.  By for now homies. xoxo

"Leeds is a great club and it's been my home for years, even though I live in Middlesborough."
Jonathan Woodgate

"He dribbles a lot and the opposition don't like it - you can see it all over their faces."
Ron Atkinson

"If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."
Terry Venables

"They're the second best team in the world, and there's no higher praise than that."
Kevin Keegan

"I definitely want Brooklyn to be christened, but I don't know into what religion yet."
David Beckham

"I never wanted to leave. I'm here for the rest of my life, and hopefully after that as well."
Alan Shearer

"The minute's silence was immaculate, I have never heard a minute's silence like that."
Glenn Hoddle

"I never comment on referees and I'm not going to break the habit of a lifetime for that prat."
Ron Atkinson

"I couldn't settle in Italy. It was like living in a foreign country."
Ian Rush

"There are two ways of getting the ball. One is from your own team-mates, and that's the only way."
Terry Venables

"The first ninety minutes of a football match are the most important."
Bobby Robson

"The world looks a totally different place after two wins. I can even enjoy watching Blind Date or laugh at Noel's House Party."
Gordon Strachan

"My parents have been there for me, ever since I was about 7."
David Beckham

"I can see the carrot at the end of the tunnel."
Stuart Pearce

"I always used to put my right boot on first, and then obviously my right sock."
Barry Venison

"We haven't been scoring goals, but football's not just about scoring goals. It's about winning."
Alan Shearer

"We must have had 99 per cent of the match. It was the other three per cent that cost us."
Ruud Gullit

Kinder Surprises

You may have noticed that my blog has had a makeover.  Well, contrary to my earlier posts it appears that I am somewhat technologically-minded after all... a few hours of painstaking trial and error, and a frustrating self-teaching session in how to amend html code.... and Bob ist dein Onkel!  It just goes to show that most things adhere to some kind of logic and even an impatient, number-averse chick like me with the attention span of a goldfish concerning anything that isn't immediately sparkly or exciting can work my way around the back-end of a website!  No longer am I quite as impressed as I once was with the new army of teenage super-geeks that are taking over the world.  I'll be writing algorithms next.  I actually don't know what an algorithm is, but it sounds cool (actually it sounds like hip-hop seaweed) and if its possible to make a pink, flowery one then I'll definitely give it a go..

Its funny how nowadays even children take technology for granted.  Just a few days ago I was having lunch with some friends, who have 3 small children between the ages of 5 and 11 years old.  The youngest was happily playing way on DoodleJump on her mum's iPhone while another was competing at Angry Birds on her dad's and the third had stolen mine to look up how big the biggest ever rabbit in the world was on Wikipedia.  I do remember having a Nintendo Donkey Kong Game that was the size of an encyclopaedia and had images that looked like they'd been created using an Etch-a-Sketch, which I am sure kept me amused for about 10 minutes and at the time was the absolute latest in technology.  However, imagine as a kid having been able to press a screen and get virtually any kind of game, watch films, TV, message your friends in real-time, even video conference with them!  I remember having to go to the phone box to call my dad when I needed a lift home or to arrange to meet up with friends.  In fact, come to think of it, how on earth do kids get away with telling their parents they are at their friend's house when really they are holed up in a dungeon of a nightclub knocking back Aftershocks and headbanging in a mosh-pit...?  The latest iPhone allows your parents to call you and see exactly where you are!  Try convincing your mum that the throngs of raving gurners behind you are just iPhone 'wallpaper' and that your pupils only look like that because you're using one of those programs that puts special effects on your face......

It reminds me of a time when I got my friend's older brother (older being the operative word - he was about 15 and we were about 13) to call my dad, masquerading as my friend's dad to ask if I could stay over for a sleepover (in reality the parents had gone on holiday and the house was full of 15-year-old boys, Diamond White and an impending game of Spin the Bottle).  How naive to think that my dad would believe the pubescent cracking voice on the other end of the line was indeed a 40 year old man.  Needless to say that he didn't and I was ordered home promptly and grounded for a week (again).

But it does strike me as incredibly difficult nowadays for kids to get away with the things we used to manage 20 years ago.  Which is probably a good thing in many ways, but kind of sad in others.  After all, much of life's learnings come from finding out the hard way, and it seems that 'the hard way' will soon be a thing of the past for many kids of today.  I can definitely look back now and say my mum and dad were always right, but I only know that because I did so many things they told me not to do, without their knowledge and experienced first hand that it may not have been the best idea to, for example, have a bolt put through my tongue / carve a boy's name into my arm with a compass / dance half naked on a bar being set alight with flaming Sambuca by loin-cloth clad men weilding flame throwers in Lanzarote resulting in a fall that tore every ligament in my knee and dislocated my shoulder rendering me unconscious in the back of an ambulance with two huge paramedics punching my shoulder back into it's socket......  I only know these things because I lived them.  And it's only now that I am of child-bearing age and mentality that it makes me feel slightly sick at how stressful it must be for parents to have to set their offspring free into a world where scary things can happen....even at their own hands!   Though this does make me glad in some ways that I live in Switzerland, as despite badness and temptation being everywhere, there seems to be very little in this part of the world!  Even the local 'thugs' apologise when they bump into you, and the closest I've seen to a gangster is someone with their baseball cap on sideways and a can of Red Bull in their hand.  A far cry from the streets of Streatham...! 

I am also finding it increasingly disconcerting that I can no longer tell the difference between a 12 year old and a 20 year old.  They all look the same to me, and sometimes I see what looks like a 12 year old about to drive a bus, or standing in a white coat in a doctor's surgery and realise that it is actually the bus driver, or the doctor, and I feel like I can't possibly board the bus or get pharmaceuticals from this person because they literally have only just been potty trained!  I went for one of those all-over-body MOT things a couple of years ago and one of these 'man-children' was the doctor.  It was fine up until the breast and gynaecological assessment at which point I absolutely had to draw the line and ordered him off to find me a grown-up (and a female one at that).  Doogie Howser MD has become a freakish reality!

This does remind me of a very funny moment when I was coming back from lunch with a friend of mine who walked up to a little boy that was standing in the lobby of our office building in London wearing a rucksack and with his back to us.  She crouched down, put her arm round him and asked him if he'd lost his daddy...as he turned round she was confronted with the bearded face of a 40 year old midget. 

Anyway - off on a tangent there but back to the subject in hand..... It's funny how we suddenly hear ourselves say something and realise we have turned into our parents.  I actually chose a pair of shoes for comfort rather than fashion the other day and when Dan asked me why, I replied "ooh well I wouldn't want chilly feet, I'd catch a cold".... WHAT??!!!! I used to go out in the middle of winter in a long vest with a belt round the middle, a pair of over-the-knee socks, a face-full of make-up and nothing else!  When did I start caring whether I caught pneumonia as long as I looked good ('good' being a matter of opinion clearly) in the hospital bed?  I also find myself worrying about things that I would never have given a second thought about.  On the bus, instead of listening to my iPod or reading Grazia, I am nervously tapping a foot and chewing a nail wondering why the sage has attacked the basil in the herb garden and whether I should have done something to prevent it and if I am neglectful for letting it get to this stage and oh my goodness what if I neglect my children to the same degree, how will I ever be able to help them with their maths homework when I didn't even turn up at my maths GCSE and I can barely add up?? And how will I teach them to be team players when I am the worst person ever at team sports because my attitude is that if I spend all that time and energy getting hold of a ball there's no bloody way on God's earth I'm giving it away to someone else - I'm sodding well keeping hold of it......!  Seriously - when do we start thinking like this?? I don't like it one bit.

Thankfully a glass or 3 of wine usually helps me get over the worry, and luckily I have managed to hang onto some of my shallowness and superficiality, so it's not all about the kids, the herb garden, whether I'm going to be a good wife etc etc etc.... I still have plenty of brain space for me, me, me.... Though my thoughts have progressed somewhat from "how shall I do my make-up?" to "When should I get botox?" and from "What bra will give me a great cleavage?" to "How many decilitres of silicone would give me the desired effect"....  Its a sign of the times I suppose, and in an age where if something droops it can be lifted back up again, and if something breaks you can just get a new one, and if something that God gave you doesn't quite work then a different kind of God (that can be found on Harley Street) can offer you a different kind.....  Don't get me wrong, I'm not the victim of any of the above (yet, and hopefully not ever!) but there's no harm in planning for the future is there?  That's what they tell you about life insurance and you have to be dead to benefit from that, so this is a much more realitsic plan to start with....!

And on that happy note I need to go and water the plants before they die of neglect, iron my shirt for work tomorrow, wrap the leftovers in cling-film, and then lie awake in bed worrying about how we'd survive if there was a terrorist attack tomorrow..... guten nacht meine Freunde und Lassen Sie sich nicht im Bett Insekten beißen.. (?  Luckily I don't need to worry about my childrens' language skills hey??!)

From Jungle Boy to Carrot Cake Girl

When I was about 6 years old one of my friends had a fancy dress party - the theme was Disney characters. All of the girls were princesses - Snow White, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and so on. I went as Mowgli. All I wore was a pair of red pants..... I didn't need to do anything else as I was virtually identical to Mowgli anyway. Obviously I couldn't get away with that nowadays....as I'm clearly not as Mowgli-esque as I once was...!! However I suppose what I am trying to say is that I wasn't always high maintenence. I think people have the view that as a child I must have been the one always dressed as a princess, wearing butterfly wings, covered in sparkly things and obsessed with Barbie. Not the case. In fact I was always the kid with two grazed knees, twigs in my hair and an insect in a box somewhere ready to fry with a magnifying glass. My love of sparkly things developed over time and it wasn't until I was in my teens that my love of fashion and beauty flourished, and even then a 2-year goth / rock stage set me back temporarily!

I'd go so far as to say that fashion & beauty is a hobby of mine. In fact, I love everything that is fabulous - clothes, cosmetics, shoes, jewellery, sparkly drinks, roses, perfumes, chandeliers, sports cars, fairy cakes (to look at more than to eat - I prefer the taste of sausages to be honest, though they look less fabulous.... sometimes.). So I suppose rather than a fashionista, I am a fabulista - a lover and connoiseur of all things fabulous!

My idea of bliss is a Sunday afternoon on the sofa or in the pub with a stack of glossy magazines full of new ideas and products from the worlds of clothes, cosmetics, homewares, accessories, holidays and style, my laptop open to asos.com and a nicely pre-allocated budget for spending! I'm not one of these people who will spend £800 on a handbag when I could fill my summer suitcase for the same amount and look just as good - if not better (since when did a handbag ever enhance my bum, make me taller or give me a great cleavage?!) So it's not about buying the most expensive of anything, but buying what suits me and what I know I will get a good deal of use out of. Take my blue & white nautical striped skinny top. It's from New Look and cost me £12. I have had it for about 3 years and it is probably the most versatile piece of clothing I own. It can be glammed up with a pair of skinny jeans and heels, dressed down with a pair of bootcuts and trainers, turned into office-wear with a navy blue pencil skirt and neckscarf, worn on holiday with a pair of white hotpants and wedges. It can be long sleeved, short sleeved, sexy or demure - it all depends on how it's worn and what it is worn with. I love that about clothes & cosmetics.

However, in my move to Switzerland I have come up against a bit of a problem. Here to be a fabulista you have to be rich - and that's not what it's all about!  In fact that takes away most of the fun, not to mention the skill! There are none of the middle-of-the-road high street stores that I would frequent in London. Here you are either faced with the high-end designer boutiques (Chanel, LV, Burberry, Prada and so on) where nothing, not even a sock, costs less than 500 francs, OR those awful pikey clothes stores where everything is 'one-size-fits-all' (what so if you suddenly balloon in weight you don't have to buy a new wardrobe?  Petite to Maternity in one easy outfit?) and made out of highly flammable material (possibly so it can be easily chucked on a bonfire). With the exception of 3 shops (Zara, Mango and H&M) there are absolutely no trendy high street stores in this city. I'm talking Oasis, Warehouse, Next, Miss Selfridge, M&S, TopShop, Primark, Dorothy Perkins. As for the shoes?!! Don't get me started. Unless you want to wear a pair of clumpy stack-heeled sensible shoes or spend thousands on designer footwear then there aint nothing for you here.  LK Bennet, Nine West, Dune, Office.... where are they?! These are companies that are massively missing out on a market here in Switzerland and I am fast starting to think that Sir Philip Green needs to get his act together and start moving some of his empire over here pronto. There's a market and it's untapped. And the fact that anything ordered in from overseas gets subjected to a big, fat, customs bill makes online shopping a non-viable alternative unfortunately.

Anyway rant over.  Enough of that. It's too frustrating a subject, and boring too I'm sure. So, there's probably no one reading this anymore. Fuckshitbollocks..... sorry, just checking you were still there. Blame it on the selective-Tourettes. On a much more exciting note, Dan and I went on a week's holiday last week. We jetted off to Djerba which is an island off the coast of Tunisia that has no direct flights from England meaning we were the only English people there which was utter bliss - not that I don't like English people (obviously), I just don't want to be on holiday with hundreds of them seeing as I spend all of my time with them anyway despite living in another country - expat syndrome - and sometimes its good to get away from all that signifies home.  Anyway, despite the lack of English tourists, we did meet a lovely couple of English kiteboard instructors that lived over there and who took us under their wing for the last couple of days. And just to prove that we aren't stereotypical Brits, we ended up in a nightclub with them playing 'who can do the shittest, most embarrassing dance ever in the middle of the club?' while we videoed each other and drank shots of Sambuca before making our way back to the hotel, paralytic in a taxi with no seatbelts (or brakes apparently) driven by the love-child of Nigel Mansell and a blind, old, senile Tunisian nomad.

Anyway, the main reason I like being surrounded by people who can't speak English is because I can openly comment on them by the pool without them being any the wiser. Luckily my other half has the same holiday pastime. Our daily poolside conversations went something like this:

D: Uuggggh - look at that guy's moobs
Me: That's a woman - she's just very hairy
D: Oh yeah. Urrrrgh!
Me: Look at that guy there - he talks like he's deaf!
D: he is deaf
Me: Oh yeah. Look at him right next to you- he's so pasty he looks like Caspar the ghost
D: Haha - Oi, Caspar! (turns to me and chuckles)
Caspar (who is actually from Essex): Oi, 'ow do you know my name. I'll 'ave you!

...and so it went on, for a blissful 7 days. The only non blissful bit was being abducted by a Tunisian taxi driver (not Nomad Mansell this time) who decided (without telling us) that he was going to be our guide for the day and not take us to the place we'd asked to go, but instead to a traditional Tunisian ceramic mine. Sound interesting? Well, it was apart from the fact that a giant maingy camel crept up behind me and licked my neck just as we got there and I'd forgotten to bring any wet-wipes, and then I mistakenly agreed to 'have look in mine, have look in mine, follow, follow' and ended up between the guide and Dan, in an underground hole not even big enough to stand up in, which we got to along a long tunnel with no daylight, and when we arrived the guide lit a giant torch which illuminated the tiny coffin-like space, with nothing but an axe leaning against the wall, at which point he picked it up, stuck it in my face and said 'this is what we use to.....' at which point I literally legged it (in a scrambling / falling kind of way) along the pitch black tunnel, milliseconds away from a hysterical screaming, crying panic attack and didn't stop until I'd managed to climb to daylight. I could feel that Dan was following closely behind but when I turned round, bottom lip shaking, tears-gates about to open to check he was ok after our near-death ordeal it transpired that he was actually just trying very hard not to laugh. He did a good job though. I suppose there was an element of fear that if he did guffaw in my face I'd be back down that mine to retrieve the axe.

Anyway, the reason we went on holiday is because it was my final week of being a hausfrau, which means I have now officially started my new job. Today I became the new girl. It was surprisingly painless, and my long-lost sense of purpose was restored by the time I was halfway to work, morning newspaper tucked under my arm (never mind that I can't actually read the bloody thing - I just look at the pictures...), take-away coffee in hand, being carried along amongst the throng of daily commuters.  The working people of Zurich. I literally had a spring in my step. (I'm sure by next week I'll be missing my tracksuit and the Kardashians a bit but it will be short-lived I'm sure..) I also discovered the perfect way to get people to like you when you start a new job.   I had promised to bake Dan a carrot cake yesterday - my last hausfrau day, so I made an extra one and took it into the office today. 'BROWN NOSE!' I hear you cry, and yes, perhaps I am a bit. But I tell you what - I wasn't just 'the new girl' after that... I was, and will always be 'the girl who brought the carrot cake in' and thanks to my culinary genius of a mother, my carrot cakes (even if I do say so myself) are pretty damn divine. There wasn't a cake-crumb-free face in the building today.  And if anyone asked me a question I didn't quite know how to answer (in that 'oh, there's a new girl who has already been bombarded with random questions all day, I'll just go and ask her another one' way) I could easily deflect them with a simple "hello, have you tried my home made carrot cake yet?" instead of answering it, or at least buy myself a bit of time to come up with a semi-suitable answer.

So there you have it. That's my news for the moment. I will keep you posted on how the job pans out and all that jazz. Til the next time anyways fellow fabulistas. XOXO

Q: How many men does it take to open a beer? .... A: None, it should be open when she brings it to you.

I've never been super-hot on technology.  Don't get me wrong, I love it, and I couldn't live without it, but I don't care HOW it works, just that it DOES work.  I don't want to know the science behind it - I just want it to make my life easier on a daily basis.  For the most part I manage to be fairly advanced in my gadgets and gizmos.  I had an iPhone within weeks of them being launched, have a massive online music library, I am the proud owner of numerous contraptions that allow me to have all manner of hairstyles at the flick of a switch, I even write a blog!   Don't get me wrong - it does drive me insane sometimes that with every new advancement seems to come another reason for humans to whinge when something doesn't work. "OMG my iPhone app that pinpoints my exact location to within a square foot and tells me the current weather conditions and temperature isn't working!!!!! What am I going to do?????"  Stick your head out of the frickin' window, moron!!! 

I don't care about having the newest or best of anything (except shoes)- I just care that I can carry out tasks quicker, with more ease or to a higher standard than I did before, with minimal effort and absolutely no additional technological knowledge whatsoever.  I think this is a massive difference between men and women.  Just yesterday when I was having my bicycle-gear-changing-proficiency lesson with my other half it went like this:

D: Ok, bring your bike over here and lets do some basic stuff
Me: You mean Ueli
D: What?
Me: His name is Ueli (this is a very common Swiss name and it sounds a bit like 'willy'.  Not that I am immature or anything..... but if I am allowed to say words like 'willy' in public regularly without people thinking I'm weird or riddled with Tourette's then I'll be damned if I'm not going to take advantage.   This is not the only rude translation I've taken to using as often as possible...  Following a bit of probing I have also discovered that there's no way in the world Dan will allow me to call our as-yet-hypothetical first-born-child Ueli so I figured my bike would be the next best thing)
D:  Right. Ok, bring it here and get on it
Me: Him
D: (exasperated already) Ok, bring Ueli over here and get on HIM
Me: hee heee heeeee - get on willy?
D: Do you want to learn to ride this thing or not?
Me: Sorry. Yes.  (I get on the bike)
D: Ok, these are the gears and I'll explain how they work
Me: I don't care HOW they work, just tell me which ones I press to go up a hill
D: If I explain it to you then you will understand better - you need to know how they connect to the cogs on the bike.
Me: Oh  but PLEEEEEASE baby can't you just tell me which ones to press?  I don't care about cogs.
D:  silence (actually he has gone..)
Me: Dan? (looks around)  Dan?!......

It is a similar story whenever anyone attempts to explain the workings of technological objects to me.  I figure if I spent the time learning about exactly how the microchips in my laptop worked and what would happen if they didn't, then I could have actually hand-written a note on a piece of paper, cycled it to the recipient on Ueli, and hand delivered it instead of sending an email...... burning a few calories and getting some fresh air at the same time.  I could record all of my songs onto a multi-pack of BASF tapes instead of uploading them into iTunes (at least we didn't used to have to pay to record the Top 40, even if there was a bit of radio chat at the beginning and end of each song!), I could play Scrabble on a Scrabble board instead of sitting next to Dan on the sofa while we both play each other on our iPhones (which is lots of  fun btw - because it just WORKS and I don't need or want to know how...). 

My love of technology does not extend to computer games....  Again, there's is a huge male / female divide on this subject (and most females that  do claim to like computer games generally are just attempting to impress a man or appear to be one of the lads - you know it's true so don't give me any of that crap....)  I have conducted my own research and discovered that for females over the age of 14, any enjoyment in participating in a computer game is fairly short-lived - we are much too easily bored, unless the 'game' involves fitness (like the Wii Fit games), intellect (word games, solitaire etc) or real-life simulation (house interior designing, cosmetics etc) and then it's not really a game is it?  Its self-improvement, which we, as women are continuously striving to achieve.   Of course men will argue they are striving to self-improve too..... Self-improve their ability to gun down aliens, ram-raid police stations, rip the spinal cords out of mutant babies and tackle Rooney using only their fingers.... all skills that are going to be very useful on a daily basis.....  Guys, don't get me wrong - we love you for being you (most of the time).  Otherwise we'd all be lesbians wouldn't we? (don't start!)

In fact, during my only game of FIFA 2010, (despite scoring 2 goals in the first 5 minutes and never playing it again), my favourite bit was the cosmetic creation of the footballer (eye shape, nose shape, hairstyle, outfit etc....) which really surmounted to creating my ideal man - which luckily (for me and him) resembled my real-life man in his entirity!  I do actually believe (and again, I have conducted research on this), that us ladies should gracefully bow out of computer gamery instead of pretending to like it, and instead leave the men to it as they much prefer playing amongst themselves anyway.  In fact, I have it on good authority from a large sample group that men prefer it when women do not attempt to cross the line into their world and instead just bring them a beer from the fridge and then go off shopping or for a manicure and leave them to FIFA, or at best take on the role as spectator / cheerleader, clapping and shrieking and shouting 'MY HERO!' as they score a goal. 

As you can see, I am no feminist, in fact I am an anti-feminist, or preferably I'm 'pro-feminity' and I think in this day and age us girls have scuppered ourselves somewhat by trying SO hard to be more like men, that when we do expect to go off and do our 'girly' stuff it is no longer considered to be our right to do so!  Those of you who are responsible for this please STOP it now and let men be men and women be women!  For goodness sake girls, by all means watch the World Cup, even GO to a match (just dress for a sporting occasion...), have the odd beer and even the occasional arm wrestle (just make sure your nails are done if people are going to be looking at your hand).   Just keep it real ladies - we wouldn't like it if our men insisted on coming to the salon with us would we?  I'd be mightily disconcerted if Dan was to tell me he suddenly wanted to get into cosmetics or hairstyling (despite it being quite useful), or if he bought a pink, sparkly bike.  Yes he might wish to join me on my 'Pole Dance your way to Fitness' class but not as a participant, just a spectator...  And I don't see what's wrong with me bringing him a beer when he is watching the footie.  He always brings me a glass of bubbly while I'm watching X Factor!

Now, don't start taking this the wrong way and thinking that I am being a weak and inferior woman.  Quite the opposite.  We can be hugely successful in our own right, without compromising our femininity, or our intellect.  We are equal to men in many ways, superior in some and inferior in some.  What is wrong with that?  Us ladies have the right to indulge in excessive pampering, admiration & protection from our men, cheating at card games and a certain degree of well-placed petulance.  We should always let the men carry the heavy stuff (including ourselves if we happen to need a fireman's lift from time to time..)  It is also our right to decide if we want an elective caesarian (until I meet a man who can shit a watermelon, I will take no advice from one regarding childbirth!)
“A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who has never owned a car.” Carrie P. Snow

And if you STILL think anti-feminism is in any way only an emotion shared by weak and feeble women, then heed the words said by one of the most powerful chicks in history...
"I am most anxious to enlist everyone who can speak or write to join in checking this mad, wicked folly of 'Women's Rights,' with all its attendant horrors, on which her poor feeble sex is bent, forgetting every sense of womanly feelings and propriety. Feminists ought to get a good whipping. Were woman to 'unsex' themselves by claiming equality with men, they would become the most hateful, heathen and disgusting of beings and would surely perish without male protection." Queen Victoria, March, 1870

I leave you with a recommendation for a book that a very good friend of mine sent me a while back:
The Bombshell Manual of Style by Lauren Stover

Ciao ciao for now. TJAx

Employment-Enjoyment, Cyclo-Psycho & Quiet-Riots...

Grüezi my friends.  So, after a period of semi-unemployment and poverty, I have managed to land myself a proper job again!  Not one of the bottom-of-the-barrel ones that I had started to apply for in a desperate attempt to just earn some money, not one that involves a dancing pole, not even a 'this is beneath me but I need to just take it because I can't get anything better' job.... I have managed to finally get a proper job.  In a company where the business language is ENGLISH!  Woo-bloody-hoo!  At long last I can venture outside of the 'Budget' section in Migros and actually buy salami slices that include parts of the pig other than the trotters!  I can walk past a shop, see something I like and then actually BUY IT!  I can stop rationing food,  I can even get back in the salon instead of having to administer my own amateur beauty treatments.  THIS, my friends, is a day to celebrate.....

Trouble is.... I think I am so conditioned to not spending money, that even yesterday (the day I got a job) I was not out spending, I was not off on a well earned shopping spree or hanging about in the nail salon.  I was at home eating budget Bratwursts!  I have never had a permanent job in Switzerland as from the day I arrived here I have been saving and scrimping and literally living on the tightest budget possible.  I don't even know where the salon is!!  I suppose this is a good thing - it could have gone the other way and Dan might have returned home from the office to find me in an Aston Martin on the driveway, yacht trailer on the back (complete with yacht), and a credit card still smoking in my pocket... I think he is slightly bemused at my lack of frivolity yet slightly concerned that it is just a delayed reaction...he's not quite ready to breathe out or blink just yet...  still, the nearest Louboutin shop is 3 hours away in Geneva so I'd have to be pretty stealthy to sneak off there for a day and make it back in time to be on the sofa with my tracksuit on, watching E! TV,having discarded of the Louboutin packaging and any other evidence (though in fact, Dan has been with me long enough to be able to spot a Louie a mile off, even if I was to put them into a Vogele Shoes box...)

Anyway, I have 25 days left before I start the job.  25 days left of being a semi-hausfrau!  I am going to use them wisely and do at least one thing each day that I won't be able to do when I am at work.  I have decided to wear all of my most slutty shades of nail varnish for the next 4 weeks, and I am going to cook lots of time-consuming meals (I start today with a Boeuf Bourguignon).  I am going to set up visits to wedding venues, and have a DIY facial every day.  I will nurture the herb garden and read loads of books, and will finally go and see some of the sights of Zürich that I haven't been able to visit yet due to lack of money (yes, even buying a train ticket became a rare luxury reserved only for getting to and from interviews!)  

Speaking of transportation, last week I got a bicycle and I love it!  Having not cycled even once in the last 20 years and having never ridden a bike with gears before I was slightly apprehensive about setting off on this one, but yesterday I cycled 15km and apart from a serious case of gear-fear (I stayed in the same one the whole way), the consumption of 4 gnats (I have a tendency to listen to my iPod and sing as I'm cycling, and they took the opportunity to fly straight down my throat) and dead-crotch (it only regained consciousness this morning) I managed to stay in one piece and felt very pleased with myself by the end of it - though I do, in hindsight think that wearing a sparkly mini-dress,  a not-quite-dry manicure (I ended up with fossilised gnats embedded in my fingernails), dangly earrings and a fully styled barnet may not have been the best get-up for a bike ride.  Nor was the heavy (yet stylish) rucksack on my back containing my make-up bag, pair of gold wedges, hand cream, hairspray & hair accessories the best idea.... (well I thought maybe we'd go straight out after the bike ride!) 

In addition to all of that I'm still unsure of the rules of cycling etiquette and I am pretty sure I pissed a few people off by whizzing across pedestrian crossings during the green man, and veering into the path of a few hardcore speedy pro-cyclists who were probably trying to beat their own personal record until the weird English girl bellowing out the soundtrack to Top Gun cut across their path with wild abandon...  I'm sure there's a price on my head from the Swiss Authorities who are just waiting to fine me for all manner of cycling offences.  I'll just lay low for a few days, and perhaps buy myself a black lycra all-in-one and a helmet with a black visor for future bike rides.  Turning myself into a ninja-style, stealth-cyclist that whizzes beneath any radar.. (oh, but that would mean no more Top Gun soundtrack, sadly...)

Today in Zurich the May Day riots are taking place.  It's pouring down, cold and miserable outside, yet over 15,000 people have taken to the streets to partake in the 'riots'... a term that brings to mind serious bloodshed, looting & brutality... however this being Zurich it probably consists of a peaceful protest in which noise is controlled so as not to offend nearby residents, and missiles are made from polestyrene to prevent serious injury.  I cannot imagine a Swiss person hurling a Molotov cocktail at anything apart from their own cheminée to give it a boost during the winter.  Still, if it was a sunny day and I was feeling in the mood I'd probably head out to see the 'action' (and sunbathe whilst supping prosecco at the same time, perhaps indulge in a bit of looting if the shoe-shops happened to be exposed...), however I cannot think of a single reason or cause in the world to warrant standing in the rain for hours in protest!  Especially in this day and age where everything can be done by video-conference.

Anyway the Boeuf Bourguignon is 10 minutes from being ready, and I need to open the wine to breathe...  Til the next time homies,
Bicycle-Bimbo. xx