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

“I don't believe in the Republican party or the Democratic party. I just believe in parties" Samantha Jones; Sex & the City

On Saturday night we, along with my parents hosted a Bring Your Best Dish Buffet Party at our house.  Our motives were of course to get together with friends and have a fun evening, however the appeal of having people turning up with their best, most painstakingly composed dishes, spurred on by the element of competition and leaving us with tons of leftovers to feed us for a week did cross our minds too if I'm honest, though I was rather over-optimistic on the leftovers - there weren't many at all! We also decided to open our doors to the offspring of our friends, which was a decision I feared initially (moments after I'd committed to it!), but that turned out to be a great success.  A few toddler friendships were formed and one budding romance between a couple of 5-year-olds - the extent of my matchmaking success so far!  No parents having to cut their evening short to go and relieve the babysitter, no pre-occupied friends worrying about the kids at home, and most of all the added dimension of having children happily running about, making friends, bringing along their own contributions to the party, and falling into a cupcake induced coma in front of The Jungle Book to leave the grown-ups to party on.

I feel I have stepped over an invisible line all of a sudden.  At what point do we start hosting grown-up food-related parties with so little debauchery that children can be present without any long-term mental or physical damage?  Not so long ago a house party would have involved a bunch of rowdy youths (the fact I even called them that says a lot...)!, complaints from neighbours, a visit from the police, hot-rock burns in the sofas, the bathtub overflowing with beer cans, puke in plant-pots, graffiti on the bathroom mirror, gatecrashers aplenty, someone crying (always), people making out in the bedrooms and the only food on offer would have been munchy-fodder for the stoners - mixing-bowls filled with Wotsits and M&Ms.   Don't get me wrong, I am totally and utterly over those days - fun as they were, and was a host and guest at more than my fair share of them in the past.  How refreshing to only have to clean a small, chocolate handprint off the sofa cover the next day, instead of an unconscious, naked human.

One massive difference between hosting a party here and hosting one in the UK is that in Switzerland EVERYONE turns up on time!  Literally one minute I am there putting a 20th, and final spritz of hairspray on, and a minute later there are 25 people in the living room, a table full of food, kids running themselves into utter exhaustion & a party in full-swing - none of the awkward, quiet bit when only one person has arrived, and you have to make chit-chat when you have one eye on the oven, another on the bbq, and the party music that is playing just seems ridiculously inappropriate for an accompaniment to 4 people standing in a living room talking about the weather.  In addition, here everyone that says they will turn up, turns up (which despite being detrimental to the leftovers was very nice!) 

Entertainment is my thing - it's my profession of course but it's also my passion and if I could host an event every single week I'd be happy as a pig in poop.  Weddings, dinners, parties, you name it.  I have managed to make a successful career out of party planing for a very long time, so I decided to share my wisdom with you in the form of my 3 Top Tips for Successful Events:

1) If anything goes wrong, LIE!:  If something is burning in the oven, something isn't working as it should be, your whole plan of events has gone tits-up - my most important point would be to do whatever it takes (run into the kitchen and cry, SCREAM, punch something, stuff 3 cupcakes into your mouth, smoke a cigarette, D.I.O a triple vodka) but once you turn to your guests your face must be wearing your best smile, and an expression that shows NO hint of panic whatsoever.  Generally if people don't know there was meant to be a firework display timed to explode along to the Final Countdown, then they won't care if it doesn't happen.  This is a learning from my many years as an event manager in a couple of very large high-end investment banks - I've had an A list speaker drop down with a heart attack minutes before going on stage, I had a 150 starters thrown in the bin due to possible contamination moments before they were due to be served at a gala dinner, I've had a very senior and well known client on the verge of closing a huge deal ask me to assist in his decision by offering him hand relief!, I've had another A-list celebrity turn up to speak absolutely off her face on cocaine!  I have been a nanny, a bouncer, a chef, a paramedic, a speaker, a limo driver and even a lighting rigger at one point.  But ultimately as an event manager the biggest role you play is one of actress.  It is not a glamorous affair believe me, and it is not about BEING calm and composed at all times, it is about LOOKING calm and composed at all times to inspire the required confidence in your guests.

2) Introduce like-minded people: Yes I sound like Bridget Jones saying this ('Perpetua, meet Mr Tits-pervert'), but it's so true. Inviting people that you have already matched up in terms of likes, dislikes, common interests, mutual friends and so on can really work in your favour, and there's nothing more satisfying than introducing people, highlighting the common ground and then watching their conversation flourish and them become firm friends. Yes I know I am only talking about two 5-year-olds who both have a penchant for Spongebob Squarepants, but hey, it worked a treat! Thanks Bridget. Seriously though, your guest list is very important - I don't mean everyone should be specially selected and pre-screened, just that if you have friends that you know would hit it off together, there's no harm in a bit of premeditation!

3) Fake it: If there's one thing I have learned in the last couple of years, when the economy was falling apart and the budgets for events in the business world were literally reduced by 60 to 70% - its amazing what you can replace with a cheaper option - people pretend they will only settle for the real thing - but invariably do not know what that is.....even the most high-end of clients (who are usually the least hard-work!) Taking the business learnings and applying them to your own world - replace champagne with prosecco or even Cava - guaranteed after the first glass no one will know the difference, make your own cocktails using cheap vodka and supermarket juice, make 'finger-food' so that nobody needs to use a plate, knife or fork!, do what we did and theme the event as a 'bring your own' - hell, use Aldi's own brand ketchup instead of Heinz - who is going to know if it's in a bite-sized burger?  DJs are more or less redundant - in fact a playlist of your best party songs is infinitely more pleasurable than a muppet has-been trying to re-live his youth who can't get a gig in a club so instead tries to inflict 'A Higher State of Consciousness' on a bunch of 5-year-olds and their mums and dads who experienced the delights of Josh Wink and Abba-Gabba (still both classics of course)15 years ago when punching glow-sticks and chewing your own face off were the primary objectives of a party.  Nobody cares if you've cut costs here and there - as long as they are having fun. 

To end this post I want to leave you with some of my all-time favourite quotes about glamour, food & drink, partying, having fun & a couple that just make me smile every time I read them!:

"I only drink Champagne when I'm happy, and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I'm thirsty"
Lily Bollinger

“Glamour is what makes a man ask for your telephone number. But it also is what makes a woman ask for the name of your dressmaker.”
Lilly Dache

“At every party there are two kinds of people - those who want to go home and those who don't. The trouble is, they are usually married to each other.”
Ann Landers

"I call everyone 'Darling' because I can't remember their names."
Zsa Zsa Gabor

“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.”
Frank Sinatra

“I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it.”
Carrie Bradshaw - Sex & the City

“When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country.”
Elayne Boosler

“All right, brain, I don’t like you and you don’t like me – so let’s just do this and I’ll get back to killing you with beer”
Homer Simpson

“You men have no idea what we're dealing with down there. Teeth placement, and jaw stress, and suction, and gag reflex, and all the while bobbing up and down, moaning and trying to breathe through our noses. Easy? Honey, they don't call it a job for nothin'.”
Samantha Jones- Sex & the City

Queen of Hearts, Farts & Tarts

Hello and Happy Easter!  I am rather excited today for 2 reasons - firstly it's the start of a 4-day weekend which means my usually very hardworking fiance will have lots of time to spend with me - the sun is shining, BBQ on-the-go, Prosecco cooling in the ice bucket, fiance armed with tongs and adorned in a comedy-apron ... It's a perfect start to the weekend.  Secondly, my mother and father arrive tomorrow to spend a week in Switzerland with us.  I'm blessed with having a fabulous pair of procreators, whose combined brain power has the ability to give me the answers to absolutely everything in the whole world, ever.  My friends used to call my dad 'Dictionary Dad' because he knew the meaning of every word, question, cryptic clue plus the answers to all of life's most difficult questions ("but WHY Daaaaaad?!  WHY?!").  He's taught me so much over the years - including how to perform an emergency tracheotomy & how to say 'fart' in different Indian & African dialects.  Once when we were playing hide & seek he managed to cram himself into a TINY kitchen cupboard (and he isn't a dwarf), and stayed there for over an hour - PURELY in the name of entertaining me & my friends!  He's an all-time hero!

Mum is equally amazing - she always knows exactly what to do even when faced with the most adverse situations - whether a medical drama; (age 12: "Muuuum, I have a lump on my chest!"...."yes dear, that's your breast"), a work incident (age 25: "Muuum, a manager at work is being really mean to me".... "well my love, he's bound to have a tiny willy"), or a culinary crisis (age 32: "Muuuum, you know that wrapping that a pork leg comes in?  I can't get it off"... "You mean the string bag?"... "No, the one underneath".... "That's the skin darling").  She also taught me at a very young age how to get what I want, when I want it and from whomever I want it from.  My learned skills have, for the most part, served me well up until now but I think getting what I want in Switzerland is a bit more of a challenge, so I'm pretty sure that once the 'rentals have been over, they will have equipped me with a new set of skills to continue my success in my new habitat.

Being only semi-employed I have a lot of time to think about things and do things I wouldn't normally do at the moment.  Some of my brain-power has been put to good use - I have pondered many questions and wondered about things I hadn't previously thought of - (like do Orthodox Jewish men use curling tongs if they happen to have naturally straight hair?) I have learned some key German phrases to help me get by - like 'No, sorry - I'm English' (a phrase used in a variety of situations - being asked for directions, being offered a half-price mullet in the hairdresser's, being asked to drive on the correct side of the road) and 'Please may I have a very, very large glass of wine? In fact just give me the bottle.' (usually used immediately after one of the aforementioned situations).  I've rediscovered some of my previous long-lost loves - (i.e. things I used to do before the corporate investment bank machine ate me up and tore my soul from my being), like baking jam tarts, remembering to eat lunch, wearing nail varnish in slutty shades, having a mind of my own, looking at my hand only to find there is not a BlackBerry attached to it & going to bed on a Sunday night without lying rigid in case I puke with nausea and fear at what the following day might bring...

I have also become very good at things I've never done before or never thought I'd be good at - climbing up mountains, making log fires, painting pictures & ironing bed linen (yep - I really did this. once)
The internet has been a good friend to me these last couple of months too.  I have developed a finely tuned set of life skills, like How to Beat a Polygraph Test and How to Make Balloon Animals.  I know that once I am introduced back into civilisation, I'll be unstoppable!  This isn't a period of relaxation - this is TRAINING!! Like a Shaolin Monk I will slip silently, unnoticed back into the world of the unsuspecting civilians of Switzerland (in fact the flip-flop/sock combo will probably HELP me integrate here, given some of the fashion trends I've seen...)

Speaking of which, I have often thought I'd make a great spy - no one would ever believe that I am one, even if I accidentally announce it in the pub after a few drinks.  I'm far too indiscreet - not on purpose, I just forget that I'm not supposed to say stuff, which means I'd make the most unlikely spy!  I.e. I'd be the perfect candidate. Also, I often come across as much less stealthy and intelligent than I am - which is a very useful skill as I have come to appreciate over the last few (well, 32 actually) years.  It's much easier to lull people into a false sense of security if they just think you're a bit ditzy.  Take poker for example - no one would believe that someone would actually jump up, start clapping and shriek with joy when they are dealt a good hand, but I did this during a recent game (not on purpose - I just forgot it was a secret).  Anyway, I won that hand, and then a couple of games later I did it again and surreptitiously watched the smirks go around the table, only this time I had been dealt a terrible hand.  I won that game too....the skill isn't in the game play, it's in the hustle, and I am working hard during this time to perfect mine.

So I am actually very blessed to have been granted this time where my days are not filled with corporate pressure, despite it being somewhat difficult to adapt to.  I know if I didn't make the most of it I'd look back someday and wish that I had, so I am doing my best to dedicate my time to becoming accomplished at as many things as possible.  On that note, I must dash - I've got this tapestry to finish off before my folks arrive.....

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

Heaven is a giant sausage, dipped in mustard

Disclaimer: If you are an over-sensitive vegetarian don't read any further....

I am the biggest carnivore in the world.  If it was once breathing, mooing, trotting, oinking, flapping or grazing, then I want to eat it.  And don't give me any of this cruelty to animals crap.  Eating meat is human nature and more importantly it tastes bloody (excuse the pun) marvellous, so imagine my delight when I arrived here in Switzerland to find that meat is even more a part of the staple diet than it is in the UK, or anywhere else I have been in fact.  Not only is meat everywhere, but it is of the highest quality I've ever known, and whilst it costs at least 50% more than in the UK, it's worth every penny.

I'm not a fan of the potato, rice or bread as a base for a meal.  Don't get me wrong, I am not some Atkins freak (or any other diet freak for that matter), but I would rather eat 2 sausages than one hot dog in a bun.  Meat is my bread.  My perfect sandwich is 2 slices of salami with a slice of cheese in the middle. Not eating spongy stuff just means I have more room for some extra animal derivatives!  Apart from copious amounts of meat, my diet consists largely of vegetables and fruit (liquid fermented grapes, and cranberry juice with a dash of cointreau and vodka both being regular contributors to my 'five-a-day').  I also keep in very good shape by exercising 3 or 4 times a week so frankly can eat what the hell I want without too much worry about the weight thing

Anyway, I used to find it difficult in restaurants in the UK to order meat accompanied just by salad, or vegetables.  Waiters would accept my order, but STILL bring my plate over loaded up with chips, potatoes, bread etc.  No wonder so many British people are overweight - having bucket loads of starch served up at every meal.  So it was such a welcome relief to come here and discover the 'Fitnessteller' which basically means 'piece of meat (could be chicken, beef, a sausage etc) accompanied by a salad.'  Practically every restaurant offers this as the norm!  Much tastier, and much less calorific.

It is also perfectly commonplace to see people walking around with a sausage in one hand and a little paper pot of mustard in the other, dipping as they go.  This is the 'on-the-go' snack in Zürich (a snack in Swiss-German is known as a znüni, but only if you have it at 9am...any other time is not technically a znüni as the nüni bit in 'znüni' means 9 o'clock.  There are not other words for snacks had at different times, so I have deduced that the Swiss are just so disciplined and meticulous with their timings, that they have never had to invent a word for a snack that isn't eaten at 9am, ever....  Go figure).

A giant bratwurst is also the post-pub option of choice.  Forget dirty, smelly kebabs electrically sliced from a dubious looking 'elephant leg' by a sweaty, machete-wielding scumbag. Here its all about the sausage.  And if one does happen to have a kebab, then it looks like it came from an animal that wasn't run over by a gritter 2 weeks ago and scraped up by a dirty shovel before being compressed into the aforementioned elephant leg with all of the other roadkill and grit.

Another discovery that I have made since being here is a cheese 'speciality' called 'Monk's Head' (yes I know. But it sounds ruder than it actually is).  Tête de Moine, or Monk's Head is a cheese first produced by the monks of the Monestary of Bellelay in 1192.  Read more of the history HERE. 

My personal experience of Tête de Moine is this.  I was sitting in a pub in Zurich recently with some friends, and we ordered a platter.  Now, a pub platter in a bar in England usually consists of some dodgy chicken wings, greasy spring rolls, cold pitta bread, humous, chips and a bit of dry chicken on a toothpick (if you're lucky) and usually costs about a tenner.  A pub platter here costs 3 times as much, as do most things, and consists of the finest cured meats, exquisite cheese, meatballs made of the premium beef I've mentioned before, huge king prawns perfectly cooked and the most artistic garnishes I've ever seen.

Well, it was one of these 'garnishes' that turned out be the Monk's Head.  I actually thought the platter was decorated with small white flowers to start with, and then looked closer and realised they couldn't possibly be.  And just as I was peering into the platter, and, in hindsight looking scarily like I was about to start grazing hands-free straight from the plate, I saw a hand grab one of the flower-like-thingys in front of me, and looked up to see someone put it into their mouth and eat it!!  Only then, after seeing the vacant expression on my face, did Dan tell me it was actually cheese, that had been intricately and artistically shaved off  the top of a bald round whole cheese (hence Monk's Head) with a contraption called a Girolle.  It tasted as amazing as it looks, and because of my instant love of the Monk's Head, Dan bought me my own Girolle and wheel of Tête de Moine as a Christmas present. 

This brings me onto the Bürgermeister Schwert, or 'Mayor's Sword'.... again, disappointingly not as rude as it sounds.  This is actually a sausage that is so vast it is served to the table skewered on a full sized sword.  This really is my idea of heaven, and I have yet to order one or fear of being watched by the whole restaurant as I attempt to eat it.  However I have some friends coming over in a week's time, and we have decided to have one 'for the table'....  Stay tuned for photographic evidence!  In the meantime, the photo below shows me in practising for the big occasion.....

Well, all this talk of food is making me hungry..... ta ta for now homies....

My Christmas ham, my sledging slam, my winter tan.....

I am happy to say that I made it back to Switzerland for Christmas, and am very pleased to have done so.  Despite missing my family, with it being the first Christmas I have spent without them, never before have I had Christmas in such naturally festive surroundings, with snow on the ground, logs on the fire and pretty much a whole farmyard worth of roasted animals on the table - perfect!  The week before Christmas was also glorious - spending time with friends and family in the UK and my beloved Papa's 60th birthday celebrations. 

Christmas on a budget was a very good exercise in being frugal, and I learnt some extremely important lessons that I am going to share with you (because I am so nice):

1) Nobody really gives a shit what their presents are wrapped in.  There was a time when I would never have adorned a present with anything other than the finest Selfridges gift wrap, complete with bows, tassles, tags and glitter.  In reality, you could wrap presents in pages of saved-up issues of Novembers' London Lite (or 'Zwanzig Minuten' as the equivalent is called over here) and the recipient would just be glad to have something to tear off.  (I didn't do that btw - things aren't that bad yet, but I've started saving the Zwanzig Minuten anyway in anticipation for Christmas 2010...)

2) Contrary to my previous beliefs, one CAN wear an already existing outfit to the table on Christmas Day.  It doesn't have to be a brand new sparkly number, specially purchased for the occasion of sitting at home, stuffing one's face and getting legless on Snowballs! Nor does one have to take a November holiday purely for the purposes of having a tan during the Christmas break - St Tropez in a bottle does the job almost as well...  What a revelation! 

3) One can be very creative with one's Christmas dinner components if need be.  I was in a state of semi-shock and despair to discover that neither Bisto nor Paxo (or an equivalent of either) exists in Switzerland.  And whilst I pride myself on my culinary talents, I have yet to discover a gravy that tastes as good if there isn't some Bisto mixed in, and am ashamed to say that I never had any rhyme or reason to make stuffing from scratch before.  Well, actually I'm not THAT ashamed -  there are worse things in life to be guilty of (many of which I probably am).  Anyway - thanks to my mother (who knows everything in the whole wide world, ever) I managed to pull off both, and to a pretty high standard if I do say so myself ....though I could have used the leftover stuffing as that bouncy flooring you get in childrens' adventure playgrounds the next day... (sorry mum but I added an extra egg and forgot to measure the breadcrumbs)

4) One can live (just!) without a shop being open on Christmas Day.  Although Christmas Eve in the local Co Op was possibly one of the worst shopping experiences I have ever had (and I usually love ANY kind of shopping experience)!  Panic-buying like I've never seen it before.  Red mullets going through those checkout tills ten-to-a-dozen... ;)

5) Swiss meat products are infinitely better than British ones.  Sorry homies, but it's true.  Yes, you pay the price for the extra quality but my goodness I have never cooked such good beef, ham or chicken ever before.

6) Smuggling pork products from UK to Switzerland is easy - 2 kilos of English bacon made it back with us, enabling me to make THIS BEAUTY on New Years Eve - a piece of art that I truly believe is my finest achievement to date, ever....!

So there you have it - Christmas in Switzerland is a wonderful experience, and I look forward to the next one being attended by my immediate family as well as my beloved's.

Now - onto the winter sports.  You may remember from my previous posts that the ever increasing (in direct correlation with the approach to winter) question of "ski or board?" was something of a distressing one for me to answer.  Well, I finally spent some time in the snow, and discovered that so far my favourite activity is without doubt sledging.  I was thrown into the epitome of all sledging challenges in my first ever attempt, by being taken to the longest sledge run in Europe - 12km of downhill, icy snow.  And THOROUGHLY loved every minute of it! (well, almost every minute - there was an unfortunate incident at the outset after deciding that it was obviously a much better idea to share a sledge with a 6"2' man instead of going on my own that rendered me temporarily immobile and on the verge of tears - ... clearly I missed the logical fact that with 83 kilos of additional momentum on board, any speed was going to be quadrupled and therefore any head-first, high-speed crash into a pile of snow would be infinitely more painful than if it was just little old me on my own!  But once I commandeered the sledge for myself, it was fun and games the rest of the way down!)

As for the "ski or board?" question...  I'm yet to arrive at a decision.  Once again, I'll keep you posted!

Fon-due excuse me while I just go and puke....

Ok, so I wanted to embrace the Swiss way of life, and what better way than to have a bunch of people round for fondue?!.....  Especially for a cheese lover like me.  Sounded like the perfect plan.  4 people, a kilo of cheese (yes this is the correct amount for 4 apparently), and a few bottles of wine.  What could possibly go wrong?

Well - first and foremost I discover that fondue is (contrary to what I initially thought) not just a block of cheddar whacked in a pan and melted with a bucketload of plonk to water it down and liven it up and get you pissed enough to stop caring that you're eating enough fat to literally increase your bum size from TopShop to Evans in one meal sitting.  There is actually a special cheese blend (the 40 Swiss Francs blend as I now know it..) and a special 'art' to this creation of bubbling gooey heart-attack in a pan.

The initial taste of a roasted mushroom dipped into the heavenly mixture rendered me speechless (not least because my throat was filled with a viscous liquid that was rapidly solidifying and blocking my airway), with a taste that was simply divine.  So much so that once I'd resucitated myself with a hybrid move combining a self administered Heimlich maneoevre with a bird-like regurgitation reflex (which I felt I managed to do quite stealthily in the company of guests!), I went straight in for the next dip, and the next and the next and the next....all washed down with a giant glass of red, thank you very much...

When I finally managed to get up from my seat, I thought someone had put rocks into my pockets - it took me a while to realise that actually I'd probably just eaten my own bodyweight in cheese-soaked snacks, and hence had to readjust to my new stomach which was clearly growing a cheese baby, (obviously named Baby-Bel) who was going to be born encased in an easy-to-remove red wax sheath and pop out singing that Ba-ba-ba-ba-Babybel song from the advert whilst wearing a cheesy grin..............aaaaaargh!!!!!  Oh, it's ok - its just a horrendous, torturous hallucination of a nightmare, brought on by an overdose of cheese.... phew.

Needless to say - I won't be having fondue for a while......
Raclette anyone?