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??!)

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

Springli has Sprüngli

So, today I am sitting out on the terrace, in 18˚C!  Spring has definitely sprung and all of a sudden this country has shot up in my estimations.  Its like winter ends and the Swiss dust off the outdoor furniture, roll out the pretty awnings, take the lid off the lake, the rooves off their cars, the ski wear off themselves (finally!) and the whole place just feels a whole lot more cosmopolitan, holiday-like, glamorous and sparkly!  I love it - I had to stop myself donning my neon yellow string bikini today!  After all I am in the middle of the city, on a work day, in full view of a main road..... but if it gets any warmer and more summery than this it's only a matter of time! 

Being a cross-breed (and I am allowed to say that about myself before you get all PC on me!), I am blessed with a 'tan-switch' - at the first peek of sun, I just step outside and within an instant I am tanned.  This is good in some ways - no endless hours of sunbathing required.  However it can cause problems - today when I returned after a short trip outdoors to the grocery shop, I heard a noise as I was putting my key in the door, and turned round to find a crowd of the neighbours wondering what the strange Arabian woman was doing breaking into my house.  Once Mr Grübly had been called and I'd shown him my boobs he let me back in (its the only way he could recognise me you see, after the laundry room incident).  Don't get me wrong - it's not that there's no diversity here- just a lot less than in Streatham, so I am something of a minority, especially in my immediate neighbourhood!  It's fine with me - anything that helps me be the centre of attention is welcome! (cue neon yellow bikini).

Tonight I am going to a book club with some 'ladies'.  I say 'ladies' rather than girls because they all have husbands, big cars and children.  I have none of these things, but am working on all 3 (well, in a certain order anyway).   Does this mean I have been accepted into the elite group of the Swiss Expat Wives?  I believe it does!  This is cause for celebration.  I have never been to a book club before - I always thought they were just a front for women who wanted to get together and do tequila shots, play poker and get the Anne Summers lady round without their husbands knowing.  But I have been told that we are definitely going to talk about a book.  Maybe it's the Anne Summers catalogue....  either way, I am very excited as this really is a milestone.  Just short of 6 months in Switzerland and I am UP THERE with the creme de la creme.  I might wear my tiara.

This week we also decided to get a dog, which is fantastic as I am a big fan of canine company (you can tell them anything and they'll never ever utter a word of it to anyone!)  You can use them as a blankie, cushion or even a hanky when you're watching a weepie film...(ok did I say that out loud?)  The problem we have is that I would be happy with one of those dogs that most men think of as rodents - a chihuahua or a miniature pug or any little ball of fluff with a face.  I'd even have one of those mini teacup pigs!  (though I do worry that I'd come home drunk from the pub one night and eat it.  A bit of honey & mustard glaze on one of those babies, 30 minutes at 200˚C. mmmmmm.)  But of course we can't get a miniature dog as they aren't manly enough, nor can we get a big dog, or one that is too energetic as we don't have THAT much space.  So at the moment we have pretty much agreed that a Basset Hound would be the ideal, lazy, loveable, slightly stupid yet very cute pet.  It probably won't fit in my handbag (not all of them anyway), but I can live with that.  So our small family of two is soon to grow to 3, and I will no longer be the ditziest one of the lot (I hope!  Though I do have visions of Dan teaching the Basset Hound how to play FIFA on the PS3 get him a beer from the fridge.  I'll have to teach it how to pedicure...)

I've been so overwhelmed with the onset of spring, and being surrounded by Easter paraphernalia everywhere I look (the Swiss LOVE Easter!) that I actually ate a chocolate rabbit today.  This is VERY weird for me, as unlike most women I am not a fan of chocolate, at all.  However, living in the land of chocolate, having been given a chocolate rabbit as an Easter gift, trying to embrace my new found culture (and frankly being hormonal), I made a chocolate breakthrough today, and actually thoroughly enjoyed it.  However I am not going to get used to it, because if any of my other tastes are an indication, it would only be a matter of time before only the most expensive chocolate would do.  Considering a 10 inch high chocolate rabbit in Sprüngli costs 189 CHF, I think I'll steer clear of developing a new fetish...

On that note I need to cut this one short!  Or I'll be late for book club!  Til the next time homies. xxx

I can't climb a mountain in my Louboutins....!

Yesterday I walked 14km - and part of it up a mountain....  Now - that in itself isn't a phenomenon - I'm used to hard exercise - usually in the form of a gruelling 1-hour hardcore session, 3 times a week with my personal trainer back in Streatham, who'd put me through my paces like a Royal Sergeant Major BUT in the comfort of my Virgin Gym, where there were no random deer staring at  me from the sidelines, or 80-year old men running (yes RUNNING) past me when I am half way up a steep mountain, thinking I'm on a par with Sir Ranulph Fiennes because I've managed to go a km without a snack.  Actually it was remarkably easy, and next time someone tells me they have climbed a mountain I'll be a lot less impressed than I used to be!

However, I am caught in something of a dilemma when it comes to 'dressing for the climb'..... I come from the school of thought that it doesn't do any harm to look the best you can when indulging in any activity - be it running, climing, bobsleigh, shot-put, sky diving, shopping or doing the housework... its ok to make an effort!!  One thing I have noticed since being here is that people (the women in particular) dress for comfort rather than fashion.  DON'T get me wrong - I know (now) that you can't climb a mountain in Louboutins (believe me though, if you could, I would...) and my wet-look leggings haven't made an appearance since I've been here.... but there is a happy medium and it is possible to be groomed, wear nice clothes and look feminine even if you are about to embark on a hike.  The men here manage to do it very well - they look great at all times, whether its in the office, in the pub, on the slopes or halfway up a mountain.  The Swiss Banker look (and salary) really does work - whatever the occasion, trend or season.  But the women just can't seem to get it right - you're either faced with BOBFOC (Body of Baywatch, Face of Crimewatch) when a tall, skinny chick with an amazing figure appears in front of you in a queue, and you're just starting to feel the heart-stabbing pangs of jealousy, and then they turn around and either have a face like Jimmy Saville on a bad day, or one that has been lifted so high that they must have had to get a 'hollywood' on their chin.... 

Either that or they just succumb to the housewife/frumpy/stay-at-home lifestyle and let themselves go to the point that when you do see them (albeit not very often) with the aforementioned banker husband, they look like they're the housekeeper allowed out on on a rare day away from scrubbing floors.  The funny thing is that I have never ever in my life seen so many hairdressers and beauty salons per square foot than I have here.... WHO GOES TO THEM?  Maybe the men?!  I finally realised why, (back in around 1990 when it was slightly popular among teenagers in the UK) there was suddenly a shortage of that awful 'cherry red' DIY hair dye which never really returned.  Did it die out forever?  Was it proven to be dangerously full of E numbers or chemicals?  Was it so unpopular that it couldn't sell (you'd think...)!  but no..... it was all being shipped over here!  To serve the women of Zurich for the next millennium....  and don't even get me started on the mullets.... .  I'd bet that you're as likely to see 'Red Mullet' here on a hairdresser's price list as you are in a seafood restaurant!

Luckily my impending unemployment has meant that I have avoided clothes shops for the most part, but a week or so ago (see previous post) it became prevalent that I was in dire need of a new black jumper so I had no choice but to venture out to find one.  I was aghast (but also relieved in the short term) to find that 'good quality affordable high street stores' do not exist here.  I had to choose between spending 2500 francs on a beautiful, perfectly cut, cashmere Chanel black polo neck, or going to BIG (yes this really is a clothes store - the male version being BIG BOYZ) for a misshapen equivalent that was made of a material that would have rendered me a fire hazard had I gone within a km of a naked flame.  It seems to be that the wealthy women of Switzerland (which is pretty much all of them) progress from wearing nothing but cheap tat and flammable acrylic until they hit 50 at which point they have so much botox that if they cracked a smile (not that many of them would) they'd split their face, and then make up for the years of not buying decent clothes by hitting the designer gear so hard that they adorn themselves in so much of it, all at once, at all times.....  It just is not attractive to see every possible logo, insignia and monogram draped on one person, all at the same time, who can barely walk because they are weighed down by the layers and lashings of gold, leather and fur, and whose husband has already run off with the secretary anyway - because even acrylic is more fetching than BOBFOC (as long as she's kept away from the fire)....

Now - don't get me wrong when I say the guys always get it right... Yes they seem to make more of an effort and generally know how to groom themselves to a higher standard, BUT white jeans, over-gelled hair, pastel over-the-shoulder sweaters and a serious air of arrogance and one-upmanship can be very off-putting.  Not to mention the fact that a Porsche here is as common as a red double decker bus in London and to be honest I'd rather be hopping onto a 133 bus in Streatham, knowing the only sacrifice would be £1 off my trusty Oyster card, rather than a mind numbingly boring journey to work with a mind numbingly boring, overly fragranced, hair-gelled-to-lego-head, pastel jumper wearing playboy whose only large appendage is his Gucci man-bag....

Needless to say, my initial fears that I'd arrive here, in my soon-to-be-unemployed status, to be the only female that can't afford to look good in a world of designer-dressed beauties, were short lived.  Beauty really is only skin deep, but moreso when the skin is one's own, and in the same (or thereabouts) part of the body that it was intended to be in......  Style on the other hand, is something that needs a bit more work in these parts of the world.  Anon...!

Highs (heels) and Lows (income)...

I promised myself when I started this blog that I'd write about the lows as well as the highs.  When I decided to pack up and start a new life, the one thing that I knew was inevitable was that there would be some really fantastic times, but that there would be some really low points too.

So, yesterday I hit a low. 4 weeks in, and the honeymoon is over!  The impending unemployment, the inability to understand a word that people are saying, the strange surroundings, the remoteness from friends and family, and the total and utter isolation have all finally hit me, like a giant slap in the face - all at once!  No gradual slide  / slow burn / easy entry into it - just a great big rude awakening all at once!

My (probably unrealistic) positivity that I'd arrive in Switzerland, descend the steps of my learjet (never mind that we drove) - hair blowing in the (non-frizz-inducing) Swiss air, all glitz and glamour, and make such a great impression that the first person I met would fall at their feet to offer me a fantastic, high-flying job with an amazing salary and a sports car to go with it.....hasn't quite panned out the way it did in my (clearly over-active) imagination.  Add to that the fact that my 'I'll pick it up in an instant' attitude towards the German (not to mention Swiss German?!) language was totally unfounded... and I'm amazed I lasted this long without falling hard and fast into the pit of 'why? how? when? what?!' questions that I am now starting to ask myself. 

'Its only natural' I keep telling myself (as do my friends) but that doesn't really ease the mental pain when I find myself desperately longing for a hooded, limping gangster of St. Reatham to slam into me in the street, spit at my feet and mug the nearest pensioner just to give me a glimmering taste of home...

4 weeks in an office where the most I've spoken is to myself, in the loo when I had to give myself a talking to after bursting into tears at my desk when I received a parcel from friends in London filled with all of my favourite things - gossip magazines (with D list celebrities I've actually heard of in them), books (in English!), M&S Bucks Fizz (I know, I know...) etc. I think the lowest point came after a day at work in the silent office, having been rejected for a job I could have done standing on my head (and would have, given half the chance), walking home in the pouring rain (because the buses only go every 30 mins after 4pm and I can't afford a cab)... to find myself watching 3 hours of German TV (seriously - 'enders in German?!), wearing a jumper with holes in it (because I can't afford a new jumper), drinking cheap beer out of a can (ditto champagne), eating the Swiss version of Peperami (because they don't have real Peperami here),  and wondering where the fairytale life was that I'd given MY fairytale life up for.... maybe I'll find it tomorrow....