“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

The finger and the pulse - an emotional reunion

In my previous existence I was something of an It Girl (that's It as opposed to IT btw...technology was never my strong point - see previous post).  I was always invited to the latest club openings, restaurants, parties and so on.  I would wear trends before they became trends, and was always well aware of the latest from the worlds of fashion, film, TV, media, entertainment and music.  I didn't really strive to achieve any of this - it just happened that my life was so entwined with the social scene, and because of my privileged job, I was professionally hooked up in the right circles too.  My generous salary allowed me to splurge on clothes, shoes, nights out, regular trips to glamorous destinations and every glossy magazine going.

Unfortunately my move to Switzerland and dramatic shift in demographic has meant the demise of my socialite status, and relegated me to someone that reads 6-month-old, German, second hand magazines in doctors' waiting rooms, hasn't bought a pair of shoes since last October (apart from a pair of very un-sexy, unfashionable 'comfy' boots to shield my once-weekly-pedicured feet from the Swiss elements)...  In short, my (once-weekly-manicured) finger has been rudely and dramatically torn from the pulse!  This has been a slow decline which I have thus far tried to ignore, but became glaringly obvious after it took 3 days for me to find out that Stephen Gately had died!  Previously I would have known he was going to die before even HE did!!  How could I have become so far removed?!!!

So, in order to combat this I have made it my mission to get back on the pulse (so to speak - sorry Stephen!).  This is not an easy task - living vicariously through websites, 2nd hand Grazia Magazines sent from my London friends, British TV ('enders doesn't exactly keep me up on date on fashion trends). There's no substitution for living, breathing and SPENDING in London.  However I made the unfortunate mistake of tuning into a TV programme about this year's Oscars fashion in a vain attempt to see what the Brits were wearing, and just to have a glimmer of that sparkly, red carpet feeling that I used to feel much closer to.  Needless to say apart from some 12 year olds from a dodgy vampire movie (you can't compete with the Lost Boys. RIP Corey) and Kate Winslet doing her annual "see, I don't always have to play the fat chick" speech there really weren't many Brits to catch up with, so instead I moved my focus to the Americans.  And OMG, let me tell you - 90210 has become my new WC1 - its all about Beverley Hills at the moment!  Who knew what a legend Jay Manuel is?  And who knew how quick and easy it is to get 450cc's of saline breast augmentation up through your belly button without so much as a pin prick in your boob area??!  Just ask Dr. Rey! This is all news to me and like a horrible car crash, or Joan Rivers' face, I can't tear my eyes away from it once I start watching.  The remedy?  Don't start watching.  Its a slippery slope and I came close to falling down it.  I rescued myself though, and have given myself a new project to run alongside my continuous job search and domestic goddess duties... its a secret though (mainly because if it all goes tits-up, crashes and burns, ends up being a flash in the pan... then you won't all be able to laugh at me.  Well you will, just not about this..) 

So, as I have banned myself from watching excessive amounts of Dr. 90210, Leave it to Lamas, Streets of Hollywood and so on... and I am restricted to only spending money on food and basic survival goods (like hairspray), and as I am unable to live in the circles that I once did, I have decided to share some of my innermost secrets with you on how you can live like an It Girl even if you are a poor, unemployed, out of touch nobody like moi....

1) Lip fillers:  You don't need collagen injections to achieve an Angelina pout!  My tip is this: over the course of the day, peel away a whole layer of skin from your lips (sometimes this is done voluntarily, other times it just comes naturally as you are rocking in frustration in front of your laptop searching even the armpits of the job market for some way to earn money)... and once you have a set of almost-bleeding, red raw lips just rub half a chilli over them.  They will swell up to at least double the size in seconds.  Slap on a layer of gloss (or if you can't afford it just stick your finger in some vegetable oil) and Bob ist dein onkel!

2) Hair extensions:  Upon close analysis of anyone with hair extensions, I have discovered that they really do just look like scraggy, untrimmed tendrils of matted hair.  Therefore the solution is simple -  just grow your own hair, don't wash or brush it for a few days and there you go!  And no ladies, I don't mean your armpits, eyebrows and moustaches ... just your head hair.  Unless you want to go for the Salma Hayek look in the film about Frida Kahlo...  As far as I am concerned there is no excuse for any woman, no matter how poor and destitute, to have any hair below the eyebrows unless it is virtually invisible or expertly 'topiarised' into a presentable fashion.   This is perfectly achievable and if you need instructions there are plenty of 'how to' guides on t'internet.

3) Parties and networking: Ok this one is easy - an It Girl is someone who looks, acts, walks and talks like an It Girl - nothing else!  No one needs to know that you spend most of your time in a tracksuit, shopping in Aldi, dodging the bus ticket inspectors & drinking Lambrini out of champagne glasses in your own time.... Appearance and demeanour is everything - and before you all laugh when I (of all people) say 'demeanour' just remember this:  When I was carried out of a party in a fireman's lift after drinking far too much champagne and literally jetting in just for that one night in the middle of 2 weeks on my feet with virtually no sleep, working between Germany, Switzerland and Israel, only to be SNEERED at by a (clearly NON It) girl, a good friend of mine (who was, is and will ALWAYS be an It Girl) told me "sweetie, that's the ONLY way to leave a party"...  I stand by that.  The fact that my fiance is actually a part-time fireman also means I can keep him in rescue-practice.  Therefore I am actually helping save lives.....!  Yay me!

4) Fashion:  I arrived in Switzerland in October - the beginning of winter.  Until now it has just been winter, winter and more winter.  This, combined with lack of finances, has not been conducive to me looking my best.  For the first time in my life I found myself opting for comfort and warmth over glamour and trend.  It has been a struggle.  I always imagined that if I was ever to 'hit the slopes' (that's a term that is quite literal in my case - I hit the slopes alright... face first!...) then I would be kitted out in a glamorous ensemble from Chanel.  In reality I ended up in shapeless age 13 boyswear from TK Maxx, a nerdy helmet and some special 'all weather' goggles.  Combine this with a frozen, red face and a permanent expression of fear - the whole get-up resulted in me looking like I'd just been shot out of a cannon in some bizarre circus stunt staged to amuse the designer-clad ski-bunnies of Switzerland.  I cannot tell you how pleased I am that spring seems to have arrived.  An It Girl only really requires a few staple items in order to maintain their look - a pair of Louboutin heels is a must, and mine are being dusted off as we speak.  Add to those a pair of oversized Fendi shades, an upside-down-head, volume-inducing blowdry, lashings of lipgloss and a bit of bling, and I'm back in the game!  Goodbye helmet-hair, goodbye 'comfy' shoes, goodbye hideous, freezing weather.

5) ...and finally:  Giving back to the community:  It is very important for It Girls to display a level of social responsibility.  I have pondered long and hard as to how I will do this as I have decided it is an absolute must in order for me to reclaim my It Girl tiara... and helping save lives by keeping my fiance in fireman's lift practice isn't really good enough.  Despite recycling my rubbish religiously I can't really claim to be doing an awful lot of good for the environment as I probably created the hole in the ozone layer singlehandedly through around 20 years worth of excessive hairspray usage.  I don't currently contribute financially to any charities (I can't!  I am too poor!  I AM a charity!).  So I am currently in search of a worthy way in which to give something back - all suggestions are welcome!  Answers on a postcard, or actually just post a comment.  Thanks!

Frugal, Google and Poo(gle)

My laptop has been playing up recently, and I have learned from my technologically knowledegable boyfriend that rather than calling it names, pleading with it (sometimes with tears) or stomping off in a mood whilst telling it to 'talk to the hand' in the hope that it will sort itself out, it is advisable to Google the problem as a question, and invariably there'll be a million other people in the virtual world that have encountered a similar problem and have had the decency (or absence of life) to put up their findings on t'internet.  

Now, in the past, as with most of my belongings, if it was playing-up, worn-down, broken, no longer matched an outfit, was off-trend or I was simply having a bad day I would have probably just bought a new one.  However in my current socio-economic status of UNICORN (Unemployed Nobody In Country Of Rich Nerds) I have had to be a little bit more frugal and attempt to find solutions to broken goods (or wear last season's clothing).  So, in my new found role of 'Technological Troubleshooter' I decided to google 'why does my laptop make a noise like an pneumatic drill every time I open Facebook, E! Entertainment Online or any online shopping site?' (hmmmm, had I been a cynic I may have thought, just for one fleeting moment, that my aforementioned technologically advanced BF was responsible for this laptop demise by embarking on a cunning plan to kill three birds with one stone..... I can almost hear his thought process now.....): "Raa haa haaaaa... with this plan I can a) prohibit my chick from bankrupting us by online shopping as she thinks that if her credit card doesn't actually leave the house it doesn't actually constitute 'shopping' b) prevent her from turning into a mindnumbingly dull 'hausfrau' with no brain-food other than the latest gossip from the world of Kendra or The Kardashians, and c) give her a lesson in technology, whilst also keeping her amused for hours at a time whilst she painstakingly trawls the internet for solutions to problems that can easily (and only) be fixed if I just replace this little 'bimbo-chip' in her laptop...."  But of course, he would never do such a thing!

Anyway - after cranking up the giant drill I opened Google and started to type in 'why does my....' at which point Google (as it does) brought up a list of things that it thought I was going to ask - (and despite my technological retardedness I do believe these things are the most frequently searched questions) to find that the things people really want to know are (and seriously, try it if you don't believe me)...
Why does my belly button smell?
Why does my cat lick me?
Why does my eye twitch?
Why does my dog eat poo?
I'm really hoping that it isn't just one poor, unfortunate soul that is asking all of the above questions....

Anyway - so here I am, a mere three words into my technology project and I have already found myself a new one!  Discovering the weirdest things that people google every day!  I decided that if I found so many funny things just from the words 'why does my...?' then there must be even more if I typed in 'why am I..?' or simply 'why...?':  Sure enough - I was faced with:
Why am I so ugly?
Why am I still single? (surely one doesn't need to look up both of the above...?)
Why do men have nipples?
Why is my poo black?

THEN I decided to move onto Google Images and go through every letter of the alphabet to see what came up as the most sought after images just from that single letter.  My discovery included a lot of the predictable things - A: Angelina Jolie, B: Beyonce, Breasts, C: Cheryl Cole, Cristiano Ronaldo... However I did discover a few interesting things....: P: Poo, U: Ugly people, Y: Yoda.... Why do people want pictures of these things???  Actually I don't really want to know.  However it is blatantly apparent that the UK is obsessed with poo, disgusting ailments and being ugly!  Lovely!

This did prompt me to pose a question (to myself - there's no one else here to ask)...
Do people in all countries ask the same questions?  I had my suspicions that they wouldn't.  After all, we Brits seem to be unhealthily obsessed with our looks, bodily functions and diets despite being a nation that eats too much, doesn't exercise enough, doesn't consume the right foods and so on.  You only have to look at all of those British TV programmes like Fat Club, You Are What You Eat (where that Scottish gremlin woman visits people who live on crisps and beer 24/7 and then acts surprised when their poo resembles a Heineken-soaked pork scratching), Embarrassing Bodies (the one where a bunch of GPs trawl regional England in search of people with disgusting ailments and conditions, who are too embarrassed to go to their local GP but more than happy to unleash their scabby, itchy, weeping parts on national TV to a doctor that everyone else seems to think is a heart-throb but I think looks like the guy Eric Stoltz plays in the film Mask where he has that weird disease that makes his head grow deformed and he is looked after by his 'normal-headed' mum who is ironically played by Cher....)

So anyway I decided to start my research with the obvious - Switzerland.  Are people in Switzerland obsessed with ugliness, gross conditions and poo as much as English people?  Well, in order to start this project the first task was to ascertain the words for 'poo' and 'ugly', as well as 'why am I' and 'why does my' in German (and Swiss German perhaps?) and then log onto Google.ch and give it a go.... 

I approached Dan with my questions.  He doesn't even bat an eyelid anymore when I randomly ask him questions like "how do you say 'poo', 'ugly' and 'why am I...?' in German".  He just gives me the answer, and nowadays even volunteers a little bit extra.  For example he told me the word for poo is Kacke (haha!), but then went on to informed me that there was a phrase in German used in the same way as we would say 'the shit will hit the fan' which is 'die Kacke ist am dampfen' which literally means 'the poo is steaming'.  Thanks darling!

Anyway, I did my research and actually the main questions that the Swiss & Germans have are
Why am I so dumb?
Why am I so unpopular?
but ALSO... Why am I so ugly? 
However there was very little in the way of poo or other bodily functions, so I figure the reserved nature of the Swiss & Germans hereby is proven via my own personal study of what they search for online.  I wonder how they do find the answers to Smelly-Belly syndrome then....?

Anyway, it has been a very scientific and worthwhile study if I do say so myself.  I am somewhat concerned about the obsession with ugliness that everyone seems to have.  Granted, there are some among us that are less easy on the eye than others, but to actually seek out the reason why on the internet?  I just hope some of these poor souls find the answers they are looking for.  Anyway, next up, top search topics from Outer Mongolia....(why does my Yak malt?  How do I knit a jumper out of my wife's hair?  Can Dr 90210 give me Genghis Khan cheekbones?).... only joking - I'm over this subject already....

Happy searching!

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.

Bob ist dein Onkel!

'Schadenfreude'.  Now there's a word.  From the German Schaden (harm) & Freude (joy).  I love it!  Both the word and indulging in the act itself (and I'm not the only one...YouTube posts like this are a testament to that!)  

Switzerland in the winter is a great forum for schadenfreude.  And before you go on at me for being mean (again), then believe me when I say I probably provide those around me with a healthy and regular dose of the stuff.  In fact Dan and I have an agreement that when one of us trips over, stands on a plug, falls out of a moving taxi (he hasn't actually done that), stubs a toe or tumbles face-first down a ski slope (that's usually just me), then unless death or a horrific injury are on the cards, or there are hysterical tears (again, only me), we are allowed to laugh at each other, publicly, with pointing and everything.

As soon as I realise that all of my bones are intact and I am still alive then I will openly laugh at myself!  After all it makes me all the more happy to be alive having had a brush with the grim reaper himself (ok I know I am being over-dramatic but you get my drift...)

I have seen more people fall over in a comical way in the last couple of months than in the rest of my 32 years on this planet combined.  And the fact that the Swiss don't laugh at people ever, means I am usually singled out and given the evil looks from all of those around me as I openly guffaw at the poor soul trying to scrape themselves up off the ice whilst trying to attract as little attention as possible.  I can't help it!  There's something about the sound of someone slapping against a floor, or the sight of a pair of legs giving way and flapping wildly while trying to stay upright that is hilarious beyond belief.  And I AM (believe it or not) a nice person and always want to go and help people up, but I can't because I am usually too busy laughing, and scared that they will be so offended and humiliated by it that I would only make the situation worse.  So I'm afraid I just stand and watch everyone else, sober-faced and pretend-concerned (even after it is apparent that no damage has been done apart from to the pride of the 'accidentee').


Anyway, back to the topic in hand - words.  Don't believe it if someone tells you Swiss German is like German 'but just a bit different'.  That's utter nonsense (or 'unsinn' in German, which incidentally is 'seich' in Swiss German.....  Oh look how similar they are - they both have an 's' in them...... see?!)  Anyway, so when one arrives in Switzerland, motivated to learn a new language, ready to take on the challenge, determined to get by on one's own.... it can be somewhat disheartening to discover that there are actually 2 languages to learn.  Yes, everybody tells you 'learn High German because the Swiss understand it', but in reality, when every day around you all you hear is Swiss German, you start to pick up and recognise those words more than the High German equivalent - without necessarily knowing which language you are even hearing.  And then of course repeating them without knowing which language you are speaking.  'Duh!' I hear you say (which actually would be 'Doch!' in German and 'Moll!' in Swiss German)  'why not just learn Swiss German then?'  WELL - because Swiss German is not actually a written language, therefore in order to read and write here, one must learn High German, despite hearing Swiss German in everyday life!


Now,  I am very determined to at least be able to understand people (it makes me paranoid to be in the company of people that could quite possibly be calling me a muppet to my face while I smile, and nod and even say 'thank you'...), so at the moment I am continually questioning the very patient and linguistically superior Daniel.


HOWEVER, I am unfortunately of a very inquisitive nature and 'but WHY?????' is one of my most frequently asked questions.  I not only want to know what words mean, but why they mean it, and how they work in different sentences.  And frankly if they don't work in the way that I want them to, I will use them in that way anyway.  Initially this was to Dan's despair, but I am proud to say that I have now managed to make him start using my 'new' way of speaking German, sometimes without him even realising it - HEE HEE HEE (I don't know what that would be in either German)...  Take the very simple 'please', 'thank you' and 'you're welcome'.  Here's how it went;


Me: So, I say 'Danke' for thank you, and 'Bitte' for please?
Dan: Yes, and how do you say 'you're welcome'?
Me: 'Wilkommen!'
Dan: No, it's 'bitte'
Me: No it isn't - that means 'please'.  you just told me that.
Dan: Yes but it also means 'you're welcome'
Me: But WHY?
Dan: It just does
Me: well it should be 'Wilkommen'.  That means Welcome.  I know because it says it on the sign to the chicken place.
Dan: Yes, but that means 'Welcome' as in '"Welcome to the chicken place"'
Me: But it sounds better than saying 'please' to someone who has just said 'thank you' to you.
Dan: (thinks about this) Well I see your point but that's simply not the right word.
Me: well I'm just going to say it anyway (with a petulant 'and that's the end of it!' flick of the head)
Dan: errr, ok.... (looks around for help / escape route... I forgot to mention we are in public.  Not the chicken place but a steak place, which is neither here nor there to be honest as there was every danger that I was on the verge of testing out my new language preference imminently regardless of our location... which I did...)


After this point I have proceeded to say 'Wilkommen' every time he (or anyone) says thank you to me - (in any language.)....  and THEN... last week HE said it to ME!!!!  And now, it is just a part of our every day language!!  I just have to conquer the remaining 7,630,605 residents of this fine country, and Bob's your uncle (which of course is a perfectly normal phrase to use in any language).....


So there you have it.  Forget High German and Swiss German - they are SO 2009.  This year is all about the Tess-German.  I will be delivering lessons going forward so stay tuned...


Anyway, back to the Swiss German, or 'Schweizer Deutsch'.  DO NOT, under any circumstances, make the mistake I made at a corporate conference last week, and tell someone that you are currently learning 'Scheisse Deutsch'.  It was some time later in the day that I realised why he had walked away from me chuckling and wiping a tear of laughter from his eye.


Despite it being 'a dialect of German' Swiss German is very different, not just in the words themselves, but tone and intonation as well - on the one hand it is a very pleasant language as everything is said in a slightly sing-song way.  In fact the more you go up and down with  the voice, the more Swiss you sound.  I have a great deal of fun with this - I push it to the absolute extreme, literally flitting between octaves in just one word, much to my own amusement, only to find that the local I'm speaking to is nodding and grinning in a approval at my excellent interpretation of the language.  However there is also the unfortunate pronounciation of 'ch' which isn't said in the way we Brits use it (e.g chips, chavs, Charlton) but is more like the sound one would make when coughing up a furball.  Add this to the fact that lots of people here chain smoke, especially the old 'mountain folk', and there have been many occasions that I have grimaced and moved away from a nicotine-stained-bearded cowboy that sounds like he is gargling with his own phlegm and is about to spray me with it.  Unfortunately I actually did this on one occasion when the yellow-bearded-phlegm-gargler was talking to me.  Whilst I do try to be accepting of people, I draw the line at being unwillingly sprayed in bodily fluids of any kind.


I did actually meet a very nice yellow-bearded local in a bar one evening who told me that in order to test whether someone can speak Swiss German properly, ask them to say the Swiss word for 'kitchen cupboard' which is 'chuchichäschtli' and see if they get it right.  After 4 glasses of wine I spent around 20 mins perfecting this with help from my new friend George (actually his name is Tschugge, pronounced 'Chew Gay' but I heard it as George so have called him that ever since).  Anyway bucketloads of spit and a shredded throat later I mastered the Schiesse Deutsch and now wander the streets of Zürich saying 'Welcome' and 'Kitchen Cupboard' to anyone that will listen.  This website is a very useful one for anyone moving to Switzerland with a limited (to the point of non-existent) understanding of the language.


Moving on to place names... many street and towns names here end in '..kon' (pronounced 'corn'), '...wil' (pronounced 'veeel') or '..egg' (pronounced 'egg').  Some of my favourites are Bubikon (Booby Corn), Wetzikon (wet sick corn), Manegg (Man Egg), Eggrainweg (Egg Rain Veg) and my all time favourite - Spitteleggwegg (Spittle Egg Veg)....  Have a look here if you don't believe me!  I'll finish this post with a few lessons learned (so far)..


1) Richtung / Richtig:  On my first train journey home from work, I knew it was 7 stops until our station (Adliswil). So I got up after the 6th stop and waited by the door to get off.  As the train stopped I hopped out, looked at the sign and got back on the train!  When I eventually made it home I explained to Dan that the train had stopped at Richtig, Zürich instead of Adliswil....  Richtig in German actually means 'Right', but in Swiss German is also used for the word 'Direction' (which in German is Richtung.  Confused?  I am!)... and I had seen the sign at Adliswil station saying 'direction, Zurich' and thought I was at a town called Richtig...


2) Freudlichen Grüsse:  Emailing to reserve a table in a restaurant, I received an email back asking if I would mind eating 30 minutes later.   I replied... 'Dear Freudlichen Grüsse, we would be happy to arrive 30 minutes later.'  Freudlichen Grüsse is not someone's name.  It means Yours Sincerely....oops


3) Damen & Herren...  Yes I know this one is easy and there's no excuse, but on the day of arrival into the country, after a long drive and lack of sleep, and desperate for a wee, I hopped out at a service station and saw 2 doors - one had a word on it that incorporated the word HER, and the other incorporated the word MEN... to me, it was a no-brainer....  I only saw the urinals as I came out out of the cubicle and made a dash for the door, only to run straight into a man coming in who obviously needed a wee as much as I had as he was already getting his Schwanz out as he walked in.  That's a mistake I'll never make twice...


So there you have it.  I have also heard stories of people thinking that all motorways lead to a town called Ausfahrt (Exit), and so on.  So I know I am not the only one who has had problems.  Though I am pleased to say, every day there is some progress, and this week I found myself for the first time, speaking a whole sentence, effortlessly!  

I leave you with my favourite word to date:  'Kunterbunt', meaning 'varied' or 'multi-coloured'.... the perfect word to spice up an argument without actually saying something wrong... 'darling, I was only saying how 'varied ' you are!'