Üüüü! Bübies! ....said Mr Grübly......

The space you get when you rent an apartment in Switzerland is phenomenal - you may remember from one of my earliest posts that I felt I could have lived in either the loft or the cellar that we were presented with on our showround.  This is the norm - I have a friend who was shown her 'apartment' and was convinced that she, her husband and daughter would be sharing with another family, it was so vast and set over 3 floors!

In Switzerland it is also pretty much the norm that within an apartment building there are one or more (depending on the size of the block) communal laundry rooms in the basement, so that each apartment doesn't have to house a washing machine and dryer within it.  This is definitely a clever way to do things - it means more space and less noise in your home, the landlords are responsible for the upkeep of the machines, everyone has a 'washing cupboard' (in addition to their own cellar and loft), next to the laundry rooms, to keep all of their powder etc in, there is always a warm place to hang washing and it keeps down electricity costs overall....(which are of course monstrous over here anyway!)

HOWEVER....there is a down side.  It does require one to suddenly become very disciplined about laundry.... this is something I have never been.  In fact, I am not ashamed to say that for the 5 years before I moved here I had a cleaner that would look after all of my domestic chores for me.  Not because I was too lazy to do them, but because I worked every waking (and many sleeping) hours of the day and night, and simply didn't have the time.  So, when we arrived here I had to rediscover my inner domestic goddess.  This was a relatively easy task for the most part - I am perfectly capable of performing all domestic duties to a high standard, and when given the time, I actually enjoy some of them.  I love cooking, having a clean and tidy home, darning my boyfriend's socks (ok that last one was a joke)... BUT where I do have a problem is scheduling my laundry around 5 other households.  Gone are the days that 2 hours before a night out I could decide I absolutely MUST wear that black top that has been in the washing basket for 5 days, lob it into the machine for a quick wash and then a dry, and have it on my person within 90 minutes.

Now the way it works here is that every household has exclusive use of the machines, one day a week, and there's a spare machine which can be used by anyone as long as it is free.  No one is meant to use the machines on a Sunday (I always do).  We managed to manipulate it at the beginning of the year so that our day was a Monday (everyone else was away for Christmas so we were the first to get our hands on 'the calendar'), so now I can sneakily put washing and drying on on a Sunday and if I happen to leave it in overnight then the next day is our day anyway.... Yes, I know this is sad, but one is reduced to playground tactics when faced with such regimented policies!

Our landlord is a 'sweet' old Swiss man called Mr Grübly (that's not his real name but as you may have come to realise, and remind me to come back to this point later - Swiss names are not my forte, and I also am rather over-enthusiastic with the umlaut.. that is the double dot thingy above the letter 'u' which I now put on every 'u' which is wrong because it only goes on some 'u's to make it sound different from a non-umlauted 'u' in a way that actually sounds exactly the same anyway - well, to my untrained ears... a 'ü' makes an 'ue' sound and a 'u' makes an 'oo' sound... yeah whatever.). 

Anyway, back to Mr Grübly - he's one of those old men that looks very sweet and harmless on the outside, but is something of a dictator and well, arsehole basically, underneath.  He doesn't speak any English and knows I don't speak German (any version...yet!), however his way of dealing with this is to speak to me in Swiss German anyway, JUST REALLY LOUDLY.  Its as if he thinks being English is just a disability and should be treated the same as if I was a deaf Swiss person.   Anyway, Mr or technically HERR Grübly has been round a few times on our request to fix things and sort things out - our shower was a bit rickety, and one of the heating rings on our hob wasn't working, so Herr Grübly even brought his own casserole pan round to test it (he didn't believe our English pans were of good enough quality to be used on a Swiss hob...). 

He loves Dan because Dan speaks Swiss German and isn't deaf, and is also a member of the local fire brigade, which is a huge tick on the 'getting in with the authorities' checklist over here.  He also loves lingering around after a visit to have a cup of tea and discuss, with Dan (in a normal voice) and me (in a shouted voice still in a language I can't understand), the latest gossip from the local area, and other exciting news.  He can often be seen tottering around our apartment building, or lurking behind pillars in our car park waiting for someone to park in the wrong bay, or use the jet wash on a Sunday so that he can leap out and reprimand them appropriately - which in these parts will be a monetary penalty, believe me... (but I can't help thinking that Herr Grübly also has a little room somewhere with some rigged up car jump leads, and a tray of metal surgical equipment, a bare lightbulb with a lone fly buzzing around it, and sound-proofed walls.....)

Anyway, there is a point to me telling you all of this, believe it or not.  This Sunday was Valentines Day, so I had abandoned any thoughts of stealth-laundry and had spent the day on the sofa with my beloved and a stack of DVDs and microwave popcorn.  So yesterday (Monday) I had a day of domesticity and gave the flat a spring clean, and did 4 loads of washing.  I was nipping up and down from the laundry room throughout the day and as I was putting the final load in, I realised that I could also whack in my bra (the one I was wearing at the time) and traccy bottoms (which I was also wearing at the time)...  No one was around, it was the middle of the day, and I guessed it would take me a total of 40 seconds or less to get my bra off from under my top, and swap my traccys for a clean pair (that had just come out of the dryer) and get both into the machine...  Well, I made a rookie mistake didn't I?  What I should have done was addressed the top half it its entirety first - arms out of sleeves, bra off, arms back in sleeves, bra in washing machine.  Then should have addressed the bottom half; traccys off, new traccys on, old traccys in washing machine....  I didn't.  I somehow managed to get my bra off and then in my haste went for the traccys before getting my arms back in my sleeves......

As it happens I ended up bra-less and traccy-less, with my top round my neck, boobs out, standing in my socks and pants (pink thong as it happened), when I heard the door down the corridor close and someone's footsteps walk towards the laundry room.  Counter-productive in my panicked haste, I managed to turn my top round 90 degrees so I had one sleeve on the front and one on the back with no chance of getting an arm in either, and at the same time attempted to get into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and ended up with both feet in one leg-hole...

It was disastrous, but luckily (in hindsight) I became so entangled in my various clothes that I fell on the floor, against the door, blocking it from being opened from the outside.  I felt the door being pushed from the other side, and managed to hold it off for a few seconds as I quickly readjusted my garments.  I managed to get the traccys on, one arm into my top, and grab the laundry basket with my other arm (more as a prop really, or an impromptu wicker 'sleeve'), which luckily managed to almost conceal my one exposed arm and more importanly my boob, just as Herr Grübly walked into the room holding what looked like a cattle grid (probably en route to his secret room), saw me, gave me an exasperated 'CRAZY ENGLISH WOMAN' look before bellowing 'GRÜEZI!!' followed by something else (I dread to think what - I can't think of many reasons a woman would be half naked in a room full of washing machines....), in my face.. at which point I literally legged it, up the stairs, 2 at a time, wicker sleeve still on, and locked myself in the apartment....  I haven't left it since....  I'm scared of ending up in his secret room and I think next laundry day I will be sending Dan down to do the washing, just in case Herr Grübly is lurking behind the washing machine with his cattle grid or other 'utensils'...

Rules mean everything here, and if you don't follow them they hit you where it hurts.  Your wallet (or Fendi purse in my case).  You MUST recycle everything.  But in separate places, at separate times, with separate rules - e.g. you pay a deposit on bottled beer which you only get back when you return the bottles for recycling.  But not to the same place as where you recycle your wine bottles.  And then plastic is in a different place, and aluminium somewhere else again.  But if you dare to disrupt the peace by recycling on a Sunday then that's also a monetary fine.  As for paper and cardboard - God forbid if you treat them as the same.  I actually know someone who was putting out their cardboard for recycling, and had somehow managed to get a lone piece of paper mixed in with it.  She was actually shouted at from an apartment window, some distance away, by someone watching... "I think you'll find you have one sheet of paper amongst that cardboard!"....  In London there were lots of people who would recycle their bottles (fill them back up with White Spirit from the economy vat hidden in the subway), or their cardboard (the Lidl boxes are the best for roofing), or even rubbish -(I had mine stolen a few times)! It's a very different world over here though, and I have successfully managed to escape any fines thus far. Let's hope it stays that way.  I wonder if getting ones' baps out in a public laundry room is a penalty-worthy offence here...?

People must also pay to throw their rubbish away here.  Every rubbish bag must have a sticker on it which costs 2fr.  If it doesn't, they WILL go through your rubbish to try and identify you and you will be fined!  I have heard that many people actually store their rubbish in their cellar and then drive it over to Germany to dump it when they have a car load!  Personally I'd rather just pay the 2fr...  I have, however, become extremely efficient at stuffing as much rubbish into a bin bag as physically possible.  This involves getting one's leg (sometimes both) into the bag and stamping it down in order to cram another load in. I have also (just in case) tried to ensure that should anyone attempt to steal a sticker off my bag to use for their own, and frame me for the non-stickered offence, there are no traces of my identity left in my rubbish.  However I don't think there is anyone else in our apartment building who would have bin bags full of packaging from illegally smuggled Peperami sticks and Sainsbury's English Bacon in every bag... so that might just be a giveaway.

Anyway, I reminded myself to come back to the Swiss name thing.... just as an example, Dan and I were very seriously considering getting ourselves a dog last week.  We went online to look at puppies and Dan found THE most adorable baby spaniel for sale just an hour's drive away.  He called me to have a look at the picture on the internet.  It was an image of the most adorable little puppy ever, and even had his name underneath.  "awwwwwwwwwwwww!" I said.. "Look, he's adorable, and his name is Fenster!".... mistakenly thinking Dan was being silent as he was also stunned by the sheer cuteness of this little fellow.  I turned round to see him bent double and shaking with laughter.  When he could finally speak again, he said "His name is not Fenster.  Fenster means 'window'  That note at the bottom says Fenster Schliessen, which means Close Window!"  Needless to say, if we ever do get a dog, his name will definitely now be Fenster.