1. Packing. It's boring, and having to constantly panic about the weight limit is incredibly annoying.
2. Wondering on which side of the world my life is. I suppose it would be foolish to think at the moment that it is this side of the world, since I am leaving tomorrow and not coming back in the foreseeable future (how depressing), but do I really need to try to wedge all my pretty dresses/skirts/tops/jewellery that is still over here into the suitcase? Will I ever wear any of it? But then again, what's the point in leaving it all behind (apart from the fact that they won't really fit into my allocated 20kg), thus ensuring that it will all remain unworn?
3. The attitude of assorted foreign (Swiss) people towards Australian food. No, it's not the same, and yes, some things are nicer in your country, but please appreciate the fact that I don't agree with you about almost everything that you have to say, and I could do without hearing you denigrate everything constantly. Perhaps it says more about your fussiness than it does about the inedibility of everything that this entire continent has to offer.
4. No, that's about it for the moment. Now I'm off to the pub for some trivia and a beer.
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
Monday, 3 March 2008
Chatting
This morning I had an unreasonably long conversation with a loopy dude in the bank.
I went in and took a number and since there was no more seat space I stood up. Some old chap moved along the seat and said "here, you can sit down, there's plenty of room" and, not wanting to hustle the oldies along, I said "oh no, no, it's not necessary.." etc and he insisted and I demurred and eventually he barked at me "oh, just sit down!". Urmmm ... okay, so I sat down, and he proceeded to engage me in conversation. We talked about the exact opening hours of all the local banks (and compared them favourably to the opening hours of other banks, which apparently close at 2pm which is completely insane and quite possibly untrue. I haven't actually been in a bank branch for years, so I couldn't really comment), we chatted about what "NSW" stands for, we talked about the recent refusal by the PM to accept a pay raise and it was all went on and on and on. Happily he eventually left, and when he did every other person in the room smiled at me in a kindly way as if to say "thanks for being the one who saved me from that".
It was the happiest anyone is ever likely to be in a bank.
I went in and took a number and since there was no more seat space I stood up. Some old chap moved along the seat and said "here, you can sit down, there's plenty of room" and, not wanting to hustle the oldies along, I said "oh no, no, it's not necessary.." etc and he insisted and I demurred and eventually he barked at me "oh, just sit down!". Urmmm ... okay, so I sat down, and he proceeded to engage me in conversation. We talked about the exact opening hours of all the local banks (and compared them favourably to the opening hours of other banks, which apparently close at 2pm which is completely insane and quite possibly untrue. I haven't actually been in a bank branch for years, so I couldn't really comment), we chatted about what "NSW" stands for, we talked about the recent refusal by the PM to accept a pay raise and it was all went on and on and on. Happily he eventually left, and when he did every other person in the room smiled at me in a kindly way as if to say "thanks for being the one who saved me from that".
It was the happiest anyone is ever likely to be in a bank.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Yay For The Weather!
Well, depending on whose opinion you listen to, it's either not summer any more (yay! That's my opinion), or it's still winter (also yay! That's Reto). And then on Thursday, when we're back in Switzy, it will still be winter/not summer! Yay!
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Yum!
Lordy. We went to Tetsuya's last night, a wedding present from my sister and her boyfriend, and we ate and ate and ate. And then we ate a lot more too, as is required when you're eating 13 courses over the space of four and a half hours, or however many it was. My recent semi-hospitalisation/illness may have left me with less of an appetite than is ideal for such an even, but bravely I struggled through ...
... and it was totally super. My favourite course was the Tetsuya's signature dish, a confit of trout with fantastically yummy stuff (daikon and konbu, apparently, and some really great salt) on top. Mmmmm...
... and it was totally super. My favourite course was the Tetsuya's signature dish, a confit of trout with fantastically yummy stuff (daikon and konbu, apparently, and some really great salt) on top. Mmmmm...
The rest of the menu was very seafoody, ocean trout and caviar and scallops and crab and more crab and some really amazing barramundi, and then we moved on to the meaty courses (quail and then veal) and the sole vegetarian course (lentils. Unless you count the sweet corn soup at the beginning, but of course it wasn't really a course) and then about a zillion types of dessert. There was a lovely summer berry pudding and a chocolate thing of some sort which was sooooo very chocolatey and some excellent petit fours. I also had a really scary espresso in the most excellent little cup, which happily failed to keep me awake for hours after the meal was over.
Monday, 25 February 2008
Happy Birthday, Caitlin!
Possibly this cat is more Christmassy than birthdayish (that looks like a Christmas tree in the background there) but he definitely has the celebratory vibe. Which is what we're going for. Have a super day!Trapped!
Eek! I opened the door to go out to the back yard this morning and a bloody great spider fell down from above and landed on the screen door and now it seems to have taken up residence. 
I shut the door and have been peering nervously out from time to time, but the spidey really isn't moving. One of his legs seems to have fallen off (it's on the ground next to the door) and I don't know if that is likely to make Mr Spider less scary (he can't chase me as quickly) or more scary (he might be full of leg-losing anger). Either way, I don't like it and I might never go outside again.
I shut the door and have been peering nervously out from time to time, but the spidey really isn't moving. One of his legs seems to have fallen off (it's on the ground next to the door) and I don't know if that is likely to make Mr Spider less scary (he can't chase me as quickly) or more scary (he might be full of leg-losing anger). Either way, I don't like it and I might never go outside again.
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Boo For Saturday
And then this morning one of my least-favourite things happened when I ended up, after a night of coughing and suffocating and complaining, lying on a bed in the local hospital coughing and suffocating and complaining. Sigh.
I got a cold on Thursday, and as these things tend to go with me it was all very speedy progress from sore-throat stage to snotty stage to coughing up mucous stage, but then last night I found I could hardly breathe and I kept my shiny new husband awake all night coughing all over him and making him look distressed, and then my entire family (with whom I am staying at the moment) panicked a bit when I got out of bed (fair enough because I was looking fairly appalling and coughing up all sorts of vile globs of blergh) and, on finding out that all the doctor's offices in town are shut on a Saturday, whisked me off to hospital. Happily it was nothing like other hospital experiences I have had, and instead of sitting around waiting for 6 hours in the emergency ward, I was zipped straight in to see the doctor, diagnosed with this mysterious asthma that I got once about 6 years ago and that no one has seen hair nor hide of since (strangely it only seems to appear when I have a bad cold. Hmm ... I have a bad cold and can't breathe properly because of all the cold and the mucous and stuff, and ventolin helps. It must be asthma, mustn't it, because bronchodilation couldn't possibly be of assistance to someone without asthma who happens to have their *&^#*%ing bronchioles or whatever all chock full of goo, could it? Then again, what do I know? I just don't think someone happens to develop asthma mysteriously in their mid 20s and then only get a recurrence of it when they are having breathing issues anyway. Grr.) and then zipped back out again.
And so now, armed with some stupid Ventolin and a bottle of "Chesty Mucous Cough" medicine (nice name), I am allegedly back on track again. Which is just as well, because I have some relatively high-impact socialising to do this week what with my imminent departure from the golden soil of home.
I got a cold on Thursday, and as these things tend to go with me it was all very speedy progress from sore-throat stage to snotty stage to coughing up mucous stage, but then last night I found I could hardly breathe and I kept my shiny new husband awake all night coughing all over him and making him look distressed, and then my entire family (with whom I am staying at the moment) panicked a bit when I got out of bed (fair enough because I was looking fairly appalling and coughing up all sorts of vile globs of blergh) and, on finding out that all the doctor's offices in town are shut on a Saturday, whisked me off to hospital. Happily it was nothing like other hospital experiences I have had, and instead of sitting around waiting for 6 hours in the emergency ward, I was zipped straight in to see the doctor, diagnosed with this mysterious asthma that I got once about 6 years ago and that no one has seen hair nor hide of since (strangely it only seems to appear when I have a bad cold. Hmm ... I have a bad cold and can't breathe properly because of all the cold and the mucous and stuff, and ventolin helps. It must be asthma, mustn't it, because bronchodilation couldn't possibly be of assistance to someone without asthma who happens to have their *&^#*%ing bronchioles or whatever all chock full of goo, could it? Then again, what do I know? I just don't think someone happens to develop asthma mysteriously in their mid 20s and then only get a recurrence of it when they are having breathing issues anyway. Grr.) and then zipped back out again.
And so now, armed with some stupid Ventolin and a bottle of "Chesty Mucous Cough" medicine (nice name), I am allegedly back on track again. Which is just as well, because I have some relatively high-impact socialising to do this week what with my imminent departure from the golden soil of home.
Yay For Friday
Yesterday one of my favourite things happened - Reto and I went to the movies and we were the only people there! This hasn't happened to me for aaaaages*, and apparently it has never happened to Reto before, so we both enjoyed all the loud talking and coughing and canoodling and so on enormously.
The downside, of course, is that we had to see a fairly crappy movie (Definitely, Maybe, which was just as full of precocious-yet-adorable kiddies and nauseating romance as those movies always are, and yet which still managed to be relatively endearing), but happily we needn't feel as gypped as the people in the previous screening that was held in that cinema, who had the place to themselves as well but were forced to endure the relentless tosh that is Fool's Gold.
* not the most recent, but one of the more memorable times that this happened to me, and when I was actually on my own as in all alone, I had gone to see a late-ish evening screening of one of the Scream movies. It was so scary!
The downside, of course, is that we had to see a fairly crappy movie (Definitely, Maybe, which was just as full of precocious-yet-adorable kiddies and nauseating romance as those movies always are, and yet which still managed to be relatively endearing), but happily we needn't feel as gypped as the people in the previous screening that was held in that cinema, who had the place to themselves as well but were forced to endure the relentless tosh that is Fool's Gold.
* not the most recent, but one of the more memorable times that this happened to me, and when I was actually on my own as in all alone, I had gone to see a late-ish evening screening of one of the Scream movies. It was so scary!
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Wedding Anecdote Number Five
We got Reto's brother to play an alphorn at the ceremony. How excellent is that?
Wedding Anecdote Number Four
Arguably the worst feature of our wedding was that, as a consequence of me spending the first half of the evening all a-jitter with nerves about forgetting my vows (which I sort of did, although not to such excellent comic effect as when Reto jumped in a bit too early with his "I will") and about making a speech, I didn't get around to eating anywhere near as much of the yummy food as I had hoped.
Reto and I had spent quite a while contemplating the menu and I was especially looking forward to the poached herby chickeny thing, which sadly I don't think I even noticed let alone ate. Happily though, I managed a few delicious oysters and some smoked salmon crostini things, and I was also extremely pleased to see various friends and relatives chasing down some of the waiters with the fancy-pants sausage roll things and also the prawn skewers. Aah for someone else to have a wedding there (or anywhere, really) so I can do all the eating and none of the fretting. Hint hint, anyone.
Reto and I had spent quite a while contemplating the menu and I was especially looking forward to the poached herby chickeny thing, which sadly I don't think I even noticed let alone ate. Happily though, I managed a few delicious oysters and some smoked salmon crostini things, and I was also extremely pleased to see various friends and relatives chasing down some of the waiters with the fancy-pants sausage roll things and also the prawn skewers. Aah for someone else to have a wedding there (or anywhere, really) so I can do all the eating and none of the fretting. Hint hint, anyone.
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Wedding Anecdote Number Three
After all the carry-on and hoo-haa was done, guess how much red wine was drunk at the wedding? Bearing in mind that red wine is the tipple of choice for the vast bulk of my people, and that there were about 60 guests.
...
Yes, that's right, a big 2 bottles!
We did a little bit better on white wine (3 bottles), but sparkling wine (19 bottles) and beer (108 bottles!) were definitely the winners.
...
Yes, that's right, a big 2 bottles!
We did a little bit better on white wine (3 bottles), but sparkling wine (19 bottles) and beer (108 bottles!) were definitely the winners.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Wedding Anecdote Number Two (really just a photo)
Our cake was pretty!
(there was a photo here but I have deleted it)
(there was a photo here but I have deleted it)
Wedding Anecdote Number One
You know it’s a good wedding when it’s gatecrashed by another one. Actually, if that’s true, I suppose it means that the Other Wedding was probably better than ours.
Our wedding was in the upstairs section of a restaurant. There was Another (much bigger) Wedding in the downstairs bit. When guests of ours arrived in the general vicinity there was some understandable confusion about which wedding was which, and I spotted several people I knew milling about with the Wrong Crowd. Designated people were sent to gather up all our stray guests, but not before at least a few people had been offered (and accepted) a pre-ceremony drink by the Other Lot, and had even been asked to offer some lovely advice and comments to the [Other] happy couple via camcorder. Which will no doubt make for entertaining/confusing viewing for them one day, wondering who these total strangers accepting their boozy hospitality are.
Later on, fortunately after our ceremony was over and we were only standing around chatting and doing a few photos, the Other Wedding party turned up, barged past all of us and started taking photos in the small, confined area where our ceremony had just been. Personally I thought the whole thing was hilarious until I later heard from a friend that when some of the bridesmaids had shown up, they had seen us there, hesitated and said “It’s another wedding!” and their photographer had yelled at them “Just keep going!”, apparently relentlessly determined to invade photogenic territory. How rude.
Our wedding was in the upstairs section of a restaurant. There was Another (much bigger) Wedding in the downstairs bit. When guests of ours arrived in the general vicinity there was some understandable confusion about which wedding was which, and I spotted several people I knew milling about with the Wrong Crowd. Designated people were sent to gather up all our stray guests, but not before at least a few people had been offered (and accepted) a pre-ceremony drink by the Other Lot, and had even been asked to offer some lovely advice and comments to the [Other] happy couple via camcorder. Which will no doubt make for entertaining/confusing viewing for them one day, wondering who these total strangers accepting their boozy hospitality are.
Later on, fortunately after our ceremony was over and we were only standing around chatting and doing a few photos, the Other Wedding party turned up, barged past all of us and started taking photos in the small, confined area where our ceremony had just been. Personally I thought the whole thing was hilarious until I later heard from a friend that when some of the bridesmaids had shown up, they had seen us there, hesitated and said “It’s another wedding!” and their photographer had yelled at them “Just keep going!”, apparently relentlessly determined to invade photogenic territory. How rude.
The Other Wedding
Monday, 18 February 2008
Hurray!
It's over! The wedding, that is, and in spite of all the long-simmering bridal rage it was really rather fantastic in the end. I'm sure there will be a post later, but in the meanwhile, let's just enjoy the silence ....
Happy Birthday Tawny!
Happy birthday Tawny! You get the crazy fire-danger cat in honour of your terrible but hilarious recent fire-related (well, smoke-related) social faux pas! Have a super day and a super party! 
Friday, 15 February 2008
Grr Minus 24-ish
My advice to people contemplating getting married:
* Not hard.
** The forecast says "mostly fine" but I suspect I have my pessimistic hat on)
1. Seriously consider eloping.
2. Be more organised than me*.
3. Don't think that just because the worst drought ever has been carrying
on for the last decade that it won't suddenly break and that there won't be
buckets of rain** on the big day.
4. Don't make a speech. Don't memorise your vows. Don't do
anything that involves having to rely on your powers of mental
agility.
5. Blame everything that annoys you on your fiance (yes, the one who
refused to agree to elope, safe in the knowledge that you were always the
one who was going to do have to do all the hard work of organising the damn
wedding. Bastard, etc).
* Not hard.
** The forecast says "mostly fine" but I suspect I have my pessimistic hat on)
Happy Birthday Dave!
I thought you might appreciate the sciencey nature of the balloons sticking to the [birthday] cat. Learning can be fun! And birthday-ish.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
Happy Birthday Kate and Mike!
Happy birthday to Mike and to Kate! 
I never know who actually reads this blog, and I suspect that I am wasting a lot of birthday cats on people who will never notice. I suppose it's the thought that counts, though, and also it goes to show what a FANTASTIC friend I really am. Or maybe it's just that I like to make people feel bad by remembering their birthdays* and thus putting the pressure on for them to remember mine. Hmm.
I never know who actually reads this blog, and I suspect that I am wasting a lot of birthday cats on people who will never notice. I suppose it's the thought that counts, though, and also it goes to show what a FANTASTIC friend I really am. Or maybe it's just that I like to make people feel bad by remembering their birthdays* and thus putting the pressure on for them to remember mine. Hmm. Anyway, I hope you two both have a super day over there on the cold side of the world!
* Really, once your birthday is in my diary it's likely to get transcribed across from year to year forever unless we have a terrible falling out. Which we very rarely do.
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Sorry
Well, finally, after years of hoo-haa, backwarding and forwarding and outright refusal, the Australian government has officially apologised to the "stolen generation" (aboriginal people taken from their parents up until 1970 or so, with the aim of raising them in white society, so that they would be "better off" than they were with their aboriginal families. Needless to say this resulted in an awful lot of alienation and misery and disconnection, not to mention all the sexual abuse and the psychological issues that arise from this, and from being forcibly removed from your family as a wee young thing anyway, even without subsequent abuse. Not that it was necessarily entirely negative for everyone, of course, but for a bunch of people it was, and in an arguably very forseeable way). This apology comes with the new government (voted in a few months ago), after the last government (all 11 years of them) refused to say sorry because they were scared of paying financial compensation or because they thought it would admit personal responsibility on the part of people involved in carrying out governmental policy or because they were a bunch of amoral bastards with no sense of sympathy or empathy or humanity, or something similar.
Anyway. Hurrah, I say, and so say a bunch of other people too.
Anyway. Hurrah, I say, and so say a bunch of other people too.
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
Grr.
Last night I had a dream that the wedding was over. It was the next day or so and I was thinking back on the wedding and wondering if I had managed to fashion my memories into something more appropriate than the pre-wedding rage/indifference that I currently have going on. As I was thinking back on it all I realised that I could hardly remember anything at all about any of it. I had a vague sense of actually being at the reception and I remembered saying hello to a few people, but I couldn't recall the ceremony, or any speeches, or eating anything at the reception. And then I realised, while still actually dreaming, that I must have been dreaming.
I can't tell you how disappointed I was.
I can't tell you how disappointed I was.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
Multiple Choice
Q: What's more annoying than your own wedding?
A: a) Everything! Your own wedding is the most wondrous event imaginable and you will love every second of it (including all the planning); OR
b) Everything, and anyone who suggests otherwise is a dirty cynic who doesn't deserve the joy and beauty of a wedding to call their own; OR
c) Nothing! Your own wedding is the most nightmarish event imaginable and you will be constantly annoyed through all stages of planning and execution. At least you can hope that when it's over you might be able to fashion your memories into something a bit more appropriate.
Oh, and then there's this..
A: a) Everything! Your own wedding is the most wondrous event imaginable and you will love every second of it (including all the planning); OR
b) Everything, and anyone who suggests otherwise is a dirty cynic who doesn't deserve the joy and beauty of a wedding to call their own; OR
c) Nothing! Your own wedding is the most nightmarish event imaginable and you will be constantly annoyed through all stages of planning and execution. At least you can hope that when it's over you might be able to fashion your memories into something a bit more appropriate.
Oh, and then there's this..
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Ouch
Yesterday I had a tetanus injection and today my arm is really sore! I remember last time I had one (a loooooong time ago, after I trod on the world's biggest splinter (really, it was so big it was practically a branch and it stabbed right into the flesh between my big toe and my next toe. It really went a long way in. It was horrible)) the injection itself was really quite painful and I was fine afterwards. This time is the opposite. The injection was a doddle, but then last night in bed every time I rolled onto my left arm I would wake up because it hurt so much! This morning it feels like my whole upper arm is bruised, but of course it looks absolutely normal, which is no help at all when it comes to gathering sympathy. Sigh.
Hopefully I'll step on a rusty nail or something soon to make it all worthwhile.
Hopefully I'll step on a rusty nail or something soon to make it all worthwhile.
We're The New Us!
We officially have permission for Reto to take my surname (aka our shiny new surname) after the wedding! Hurray! Not that anyone really thought that this permission would be denied us, but it's nice to have written assurance that me changing my surname wasn't in vain, and also something that we can take to the Swiss Consulate in Sydney after the wedding so that they don't make any trouble for us.
Anyway, now that I have spent the last few weeks posting certified copies of my brand new birth certificate all over town and getting my name changed on my frequent flier programme and so on, Reto has finally starting the process of being faced with actually changing his surname (which really was pretty weird at first for me) and of all the dull bureaucratic hoo-haa of getting a new passport, drivers license, credit card and so on, and he seems as tentative about it as I used to (which is not very tentative, but it really is quite an annoying process).
He also had a google around and found some article in a Swiss newspaper from a few years ago talking about how apparently the Switzies are looking into changing the rules about married names, so that the default position is that you both keep your own name, but that you can still choose to have a common family name if you want to. There were also, apparently, a few statistics in there about the number of newly married couples in the canton of Zurich who choose to take the wife's surname instead of the husband's (something around 200 out of the 7000 marrying couples in 2005, I think) and an article about how emasculating this must be for the men! For crying out loud! What a poor sad bunch of delicate flowers these menfolk must be.
Personally I think it says a lot more about the journalist's sense of self than it does anyone else's.
Anyway, now that I have spent the last few weeks posting certified copies of my brand new birth certificate all over town and getting my name changed on my frequent flier programme and so on, Reto has finally starting the process of being faced with actually changing his surname (which really was pretty weird at first for me) and of all the dull bureaucratic hoo-haa of getting a new passport, drivers license, credit card and so on, and he seems as tentative about it as I used to (which is not very tentative, but it really is quite an annoying process).
He also had a google around and found some article in a Swiss newspaper from a few years ago talking about how apparently the Switzies are looking into changing the rules about married names, so that the default position is that you both keep your own name, but that you can still choose to have a common family name if you want to. There were also, apparently, a few statistics in there about the number of newly married couples in the canton of Zurich who choose to take the wife's surname instead of the husband's (something around 200 out of the 7000 marrying couples in 2005, I think) and an article about how emasculating this must be for the men! For crying out loud! What a poor sad bunch of delicate flowers these menfolk must be.
Personally I think it says a lot more about the journalist's sense of self than it does anyone else's.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
SN-DTOMC - The Coast
Most of the rest of our trip went unphotographed, which does not really make for aesthetically pleasing blogging. Suffice to say that we had a lovely time in Brisbane for a few days, being very non-touristy (not only because Brissy is sort of lacking in exciting touristy things to do, but also because Reto and I were in relative slacker mode by then. Which is actually pretty much business as usual for us), doing a lot of mooching around with Tina and Bastian and their tiny new baby Leo and being rained on a lot. And of course whenever it wasn't raining it was so ridiculously humid that it may as well have been.
After Brisbane we headed back down the coast and spent a night in Byron Bay (which really is overrated but it is undeniably pretty and you can get a darn tootin' good cup of coffee there. And bircher muesli served on a plate*, apparently, as I discovered when we went out for breakfast. It was fantastically delicious, and so ridiculously filling that I had to get a doggy bag for the half I couldn't manage to eat. Who takes cereal away? Wacky!) and then the next night in Taree (a town with nothing to recommend it except, apparently, the Big Oyster, which we didn't see because we were busy hiding indoors from all the pouring rain. Actually, on the drive there we heard on the radio that people in Taree should be alert to the dangers of flash flooding, so we perhaps should have stayed somewhere else, but recklessly we didn't. Our token gesture towards flood safety was to stay in a motel on the other side of the road to the river, but as it turns out even that wasn't necessary. Anyway, here's a pic of the Big Oyster (courtesy of here) just in case there's anyone else out there who's never seen it:
).
* As opposed to a bowl, the standard cereal vessel
After Brisbane we headed back down the coast and spent a night in Byron Bay (which really is overrated but it is undeniably pretty and you can get a darn tootin' good cup of coffee there. And bircher muesli served on a plate*, apparently, as I discovered when we went out for breakfast. It was fantastically delicious, and so ridiculously filling that I had to get a doggy bag for the half I couldn't manage to eat. Who takes cereal away? Wacky!) and then the next night in Taree (a town with nothing to recommend it except, apparently, the Big Oyster, which we didn't see because we were busy hiding indoors from all the pouring rain. Actually, on the drive there we heard on the radio that people in Taree should be alert to the dangers of flash flooding, so we perhaps should have stayed somewhere else, but recklessly we didn't. Our token gesture towards flood safety was to stay in a motel on the other side of the road to the river, but as it turns out even that wasn't necessary. Anyway, here's a pic of the Big Oyster (courtesy of here) just in case there's anyone else out there who's never seen it:
).* As opposed to a bowl, the standard cereal vessel
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
SN-DTOMC - Ballina
The next day we zipped over to Ballina to visit the town where my parents lived earlier this century. That part of the country is a really nice place, but it was slightly less charming on this visit because the recent flooding in the area* means that all the fish in the river have died. And when I say all, I really mean all. Apparently most of the dead fish that were washed up on the shore were collected by the council over the last week or so, but there was still the odd deady lying around.
a dead fish. charming.
Apart from the stench of rotting flesh, though, it was all really lovely there. We drove to Byron Bay and went for a swim (which was weird. There was an extremely strong current in the area where we were swimming, such that in mid-thigh-deep water you could hardly avoid being swept away. Fortunately it was more sideways rather than out to sea, and it really wasn't that bad, so no one was in much actual danger of drowning) and we ... actually, we didn't really do much what with it being an arduous day of driving (8 hours or so). It was nice, though.
* Have I mentioned this? There are floods galore all over the place at the moment. Personally I am not very impressed with the fact that the minute I decide to get married here the worst drought ever ends and rain comes bucketing down. I read in the paper today that Sydney has almost already exceeded its annual average rainfall for February, and it's only the 5th! Grr. Reto is being all optimistic and saying that the fact that so much rain has fallen already means that surely it will have stopped by the time we get married (which is in a week or so), but I think he's living in a fool's paradise. Not that rain would be the worst thing ever (I am a big fan of rain normally, especially in these days of water restrictions) but I do enjoy the complaining.
SN-DTOMC - The Sky
One thing that was pretty constantly striking on the trip was how much sky you can see in the countryside. Apparently I have been spending far too much time in urban-type areas lately, because I had really forgotten that it looked like this.
The stars at night were amazing too.
The stars at night were amazing too.
SN-DTOMC
The next part of the Surprisingly Non-Disturbing Tour Of My Childhood was the part where we went to the town I grew up in, which I haven't been to in 9 years or so. 
We stayed with another friend (which was really super) and we ate at the local Chinese restaurant (which was appalling, but Reto thinks it was great because he thinks it was very similar to Swiss Chinese food). We dawdled around on a tour of all the houses we lived in and the schools we went to and the places we frequented. We inadvertently got a bit caught up in some sort of religious procession, which seemed to be far bigger than it actually was because all the marching kiddies were being followed by a whole string of cars. As the procession arrived at the carpark behind the supermarket, though, it became apparent that most of them were full of people who were just hoping to get a bit of shopping done. 
I thought that going back there would have been more ... not traumatic, because my time spent there was fine, and not emotional, because I hardly know anyone who lives there these days and I don't really have much connection to the place, but more something, and it kind of wasn't. The town hasn't really changed enough to be different (new shops replacing old shops, and the fact that there's a McDonalds there now notwithstanding), and the day we were there was a Sunday, which meant that everything was closed and there were very few people to be seen. It was hard to get an impression of what the town is really like these days, I suppose, and apparently I don't feel enough sentimental nostalgia to really care.
We stayed with another friend (which was really super) and we ate at the local Chinese restaurant (which was appalling, but Reto thinks it was great because he thinks it was very similar to Swiss Chinese food). We dawdled around on a tour of all the houses we lived in and the schools we went to and the places we frequented. We inadvertently got a bit caught up in some sort of religious procession, which seemed to be far bigger than it actually was because all the marching kiddies were being followed by a whole string of cars. As the procession arrived at the carpark behind the supermarket, though, it became apparent that most of them were full of people who were just hoping to get a bit of shopping done. I thought that going back there would have been more ... not traumatic, because my time spent there was fine, and not emotional, because I hardly know anyone who lives there these days and I don't really have much connection to the place, but more something, and it kind of wasn't. The town hasn't really changed enough to be different (new shops replacing old shops, and the fact that there's a McDonalds there now notwithstanding), and the day we were there was a Sunday, which meant that everything was closed and there were very few people to be seen. It was hard to get an impression of what the town is really like these days, I suppose, and apparently I don't feel enough sentimental nostalgia to really care.
SN-DTOMC - Tamworth
Well, I'm back. In case you didn't know or notice, I wasn't around for the last week. I was off on a Surprisingly Non-Disturbing Tour Of My Childhood.
The first stop was a night spent with friends in Tamworth, disturbingly enough at the time that the town's annual country music festival was reaching its climax. My friends there swear that they don't have any particular fondness for country music, but are adamant that the festival is super and that there's much more to it than just country music. Having harboured traumatic childhood memories of driving though Tamworth on the way home from Christmas holidays for many years (you couldn't get out of the car to buy a sandwich without being bombarded by yodelling buskers and people in unfeasibly large hats) I was always extremely sceptical about how much fun enduring two solid weeks of it could be. As it turns out, a single night isn't too bad.
We started in a bar somewhere, and after making the fairly amateurish mistake of leaving there after a few hours (the queue to get back in was surprising, but apparently not at all unusual) we went to see a band that was giving a free performance at another pub. As it turned out this was a band that my sister had seen in Sydney recently, and they were not country music-y at all. They knew their audience, though, and so instead of doing much of their own stuff, they stuck mainly to cover versions of Australia-heavy songs (this was also Australia Day. At one point some drunken dude on the dancefloor turned around and yelled at the semi-enthusiastic audience "Come on! It's Australia Day, it's Acca Dacca*, it doesn't get more Aussie than this!" which was a nice try but it didn't really result in anyone else embracing displays of unbridled patriotism) and they were super. Instead of ending on that high note, though, we stayed for the next band who we thought was some guy who was also not a country music band, but apparently he was on on a different stage** and so we accidentally watched a terrifyingly country bush band (with a guy in it sporting pyjama pants and the biggest mullet in the history of mullets) singing "click go the shears" and "give me a home among the gum trees" and that "I am, you are, we are Australian" song for 20 minutes or so until we managed to escape.
Unscathed but a little bit traumatised.
* Because they were doing a cover of some AC/DC song at the time
** The "stage" we were at was actually a truck that they had parked next to the verandah of the pub. I gather there was another room somewhere inside the pub and it had an actual stage. The inside of the pub smelt pretty strongly of vomit, though, so I'm glad we weren't too committed to the other band
The first stop was a night spent with friends in Tamworth, disturbingly enough at the time that the town's annual country music festival was reaching its climax. My friends there swear that they don't have any particular fondness for country music, but are adamant that the festival is super and that there's much more to it than just country music. Having harboured traumatic childhood memories of driving though Tamworth on the way home from Christmas holidays for many years (you couldn't get out of the car to buy a sandwich without being bombarded by yodelling buskers and people in unfeasibly large hats) I was always extremely sceptical about how much fun enduring two solid weeks of it could be. As it turns out, a single night isn't too bad.
We started in a bar somewhere, and after making the fairly amateurish mistake of leaving there after a few hours (the queue to get back in was surprising, but apparently not at all unusual) we went to see a band that was giving a free performance at another pub. As it turned out this was a band that my sister had seen in Sydney recently, and they were not country music-y at all. They knew their audience, though, and so instead of doing much of their own stuff, they stuck mainly to cover versions of Australia-heavy songs (this was also Australia Day. At one point some drunken dude on the dancefloor turned around and yelled at the semi-enthusiastic audience "Come on! It's Australia Day, it's Acca Dacca*, it doesn't get more Aussie than this!" which was a nice try but it didn't really result in anyone else embracing displays of unbridled patriotism) and they were super. Instead of ending on that high note, though, we stayed for the next band who we thought was some guy who was also not a country music band, but apparently he was on on a different stage** and so we accidentally watched a terrifyingly country bush band (with a guy in it sporting pyjama pants and the biggest mullet in the history of mullets) singing "click go the shears" and "give me a home among the gum trees" and that "I am, you are, we are Australian" song for 20 minutes or so until we managed to escape.
Unscathed but a little bit traumatised.
* Because they were doing a cover of some AC/DC song at the time
** The "stage" we were at was actually a truck that they had parked next to the verandah of the pub. I gather there was another room somewhere inside the pub and it had an actual stage. The inside of the pub smelt pretty strongly of vomit, though, so I'm glad we weren't too committed to the other band
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Happy Birthday, Mischa!
And a happy birthday cat as well! 
Well, maybe not so much a happy cat as a startled one, and maybe it's got a more christmassy vibe than a birthday one but I'm sure it's the celebratory nature that counts, and it's definitely got that.
Monday, 21 January 2008
Stray Photo For The Day
This is apparently the Swiss Corner at my parents' house.
The calendar was a christmas present from Reto and I, the cuckoo clock was apparently my father's long-held dream, realised about 15 years ago when we went on a European Adventure, including a brief whiz around Switz. I think the clock might be broken now (not such a disaster after my parents having to listen to it cuckooing every quarter of an hour every day for more than a decade) but that certianly doesn't mean it's going to be thrown out.
The calendar was a christmas present from Reto and I, the cuckoo clock was apparently my father's long-held dream, realised about 15 years ago when we went on a European Adventure, including a brief whiz around Switz. I think the clock might be broken now (not such a disaster after my parents having to listen to it cuckooing every quarter of an hour every day for more than a decade) but that certianly doesn't mean it's going to be thrown out.
Eek!
I got home at 10pm or so last night after a looooong day of sitting around and chatting with friends (not that I am implying the day dragged by. It was lovely, but it did involve getting up at the crack of dawn and sitting in trains for 4 hours). About 2 metres before the door to the house I ran into a spider web. This wasn't really very surprising because there are always foolhardy spiders making their webs in that particular spot (and everyone always walks there whenever they come and go from the house, so spider webs are being destroyed pretty constantly), but it was dark and rainy and it felt like quite a lot of spider web had got tangled up in my hair so I had a bit of a panic and then yelled at my sister to come and see if there was a spider on my head. She came outside and we stood under a light and she stared at the top of my head for a while. For quite a long while, really, so that I was starting to think "well there must be nothing there if she hasn't done anything yet, hurray for me, I'm spider free" when she totally took me by surprise and clobbered me across the head with remarkable force.
I started to get cranky ("what the hell did she do that for? There wasn't even a spider there!") until I saw the ABSOLUTELY GIGANTIC spider that she had clouted off my head. Really, it was ridiculously big* and it was terrifying and the worst part was that I didn't see where it went next. What if it was still somehow attached to me by it's nasty spidery web and it has been valiantly watching me for the last 15 hours working out what my habits are and when is the best time to crawl up my leg and take it's terrible mean-spirited spidery revenge? Every time I feel anything strange brush against me I have a small moment of panic and I swipe furiously to get the damn thing off me.
This is one time when a tiny army of tamarins would come in extremely useful. I bet they could save me from my spidery nemesis. Sigh.
* Well, not compared to the actual big spiders you see around (usually on your bedroom wall when it's late at night and you're extremely tired, grr), but it was bigger than any other spider I have seen in the garden for years. It was much bigger than I was mentally prepared for.
I started to get cranky ("what the hell did she do that for? There wasn't even a spider there!") until I saw the ABSOLUTELY GIGANTIC spider that she had clouted off my head. Really, it was ridiculously big* and it was terrifying and the worst part was that I didn't see where it went next. What if it was still somehow attached to me by it's nasty spidery web and it has been valiantly watching me for the last 15 hours working out what my habits are and when is the best time to crawl up my leg and take it's terrible mean-spirited spidery revenge? Every time I feel anything strange brush against me I have a small moment of panic and I swipe furiously to get the damn thing off me.
This is one time when a tiny army of tamarins would come in extremely useful. I bet they could save me from my spidery nemesis. Sigh.
* Well, not compared to the actual big spiders you see around (usually on your bedroom wall when it's late at night and you're extremely tired, grr), but it was bigger than any other spider I have seen in the garden for years. It was much bigger than I was mentally prepared for.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
Happy Birthday Damien and Bronwyn!
Happy birthday Damien and Bronwyn! Neither of whom read my blog (I suspect)!
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
RSWB's Creche - Places Available!
Yelling at other people's children - is it okay? As an avid movie-goer and a non child-owner, I say yes.
Reto and I went to the movies this arvo. We saw I Am Legend, which is rated M (15 years and over) and was really quite grisly in a postapocalyptic/mutant killing machines/every man for himself kinda way. What's more, you really didn't have to see the movie to know that that was what it was going to be like (I believe the subtitle for the movie is something about the last man on earth not being alone, which is undeniably portentously creepy).
You would think it would be clear - don't take your gaggle of tiny wee under-10s to see this movie. I don't care how bored you are sitting around with them on a rainy summer holiday, this is not a movie for little girls in yellow dresses and their tiny little siblings.
Anyway, we got to the cinema and some huge man with enormous hair sat down in front of me (grr) and then a few adults with about 800 (well, maybe 5) little kids sat in the row behind us. I slouched and scrunched and sat up straight and twisted to see past the curly-headed tall-y, and the kiddies crinkled and crunched and slurped their way through their chips and icecream and popcorn and (most likely) vast quantities of red cordial*. Then the previews ended and almost instantly the movie theatre was ringing out with kiddy voices saying "where are all the people?", "what's happened?", "why is that hideous monster attacking the nice doggy?", "I don't want to watch any more!", "mummy, can we go home now?" etc.
Sigh. Once their attention was gone, the kiddies spent all their time either hiding their faces in the backs of their seats and whimpering in fear, or crawling on the ground under the pretext of allegedly looking for lollies that they had dropped on the ground. Actually, that's not true, sometimes they climbed over the backs of other chairs rather than going under them.
None of that was actually so bad (the movie really wasn't that good. We went to see it because it was on rather than because we really wanted to see it) but cumulatively it was kind of annoying and so the final straw for me was one little boy who spent a ridiculously long time crawling around on the floor under my seat, and who then sat on the floor a few seats down from me but in the same row and started stomping his heels onto the ground. He was wearing these shoes that lit up whenever he thumped them, so the effect was kind of like being in some sort of bizarro nightclub with a mini strobe and extremely bass-heavy music (plus of course very little dancing and images of post-apocalyptic hideousness being projected on the wall which would certainly make for a point of difference for a nightclub). I looked at the kid, who was engrossed in his shoe-based fun and I whispered "hey!" and him to get his attention. Mid-stomp he looked over at me with his big, wide, already pre-terrified eyes and I hissed at him "stop it!" in what I now look back on as a rather threatening manner (at the time I just thought I was being quite quiet) and suddenly his stomp turned into a gentle placing of his foot on the ground, and he sort of cringed a bit and his eyes got a little bit wider, and he crawled back under the seat and over to his mother.
The mother (or whoever she was) had been yelling at these kids all through the movie to absolutely no avail. I am not scary at all, and what I said was hardly controversial or mean, but this kiddy was terrified of me and the effect on his behaviour was instantaneous. I'm sure when I was a youngster myself I would have been much more effected by total strangers having a go at me than by my own parents doing it.
And so - I say that it's up to everyone to control the wayward kiddies of other people. Obviously this is a completely insane idea that would no doubt be appalling in reality and is probably overstepping all sorts of boundaries of common decency and what have you and no doubt if I had children and someone else told them what to do I would be outraged, but all that stuff aside I say go for it. There's nothing like the brisk and efficient disapproval of a total stranger to make someone who is too young to realise that they don't have to stand for it behave better.
* Red cordial being strongly associated with hyperactive kiddies. I doubt they actually sell it at the movies, but if they do I bet it costs about $5.
Reto and I went to the movies this arvo. We saw I Am Legend, which is rated M (15 years and over) and was really quite grisly in a postapocalyptic/mutant killing machines/every man for himself kinda way. What's more, you really didn't have to see the movie to know that that was what it was going to be like (I believe the subtitle for the movie is something about the last man on earth not being alone, which is undeniably portentously creepy).
You would think it would be clear - don't take your gaggle of tiny wee under-10s to see this movie. I don't care how bored you are sitting around with them on a rainy summer holiday, this is not a movie for little girls in yellow dresses and their tiny little siblings.
Anyway, we got to the cinema and some huge man with enormous hair sat down in front of me (grr) and then a few adults with about 800 (well, maybe 5) little kids sat in the row behind us. I slouched and scrunched and sat up straight and twisted to see past the curly-headed tall-y, and the kiddies crinkled and crunched and slurped their way through their chips and icecream and popcorn and (most likely) vast quantities of red cordial*. Then the previews ended and almost instantly the movie theatre was ringing out with kiddy voices saying "where are all the people?", "what's happened?", "why is that hideous monster attacking the nice doggy?", "I don't want to watch any more!", "mummy, can we go home now?" etc.
Sigh. Once their attention was gone, the kiddies spent all their time either hiding their faces in the backs of their seats and whimpering in fear, or crawling on the ground under the pretext of allegedly looking for lollies that they had dropped on the ground. Actually, that's not true, sometimes they climbed over the backs of other chairs rather than going under them.
None of that was actually so bad (the movie really wasn't that good. We went to see it because it was on rather than because we really wanted to see it) but cumulatively it was kind of annoying and so the final straw for me was one little boy who spent a ridiculously long time crawling around on the floor under my seat, and who then sat on the floor a few seats down from me but in the same row and started stomping his heels onto the ground. He was wearing these shoes that lit up whenever he thumped them, so the effect was kind of like being in some sort of bizarro nightclub with a mini strobe and extremely bass-heavy music (plus of course very little dancing and images of post-apocalyptic hideousness being projected on the wall which would certainly make for a point of difference for a nightclub). I looked at the kid, who was engrossed in his shoe-based fun and I whispered "hey!" and him to get his attention. Mid-stomp he looked over at me with his big, wide, already pre-terrified eyes and I hissed at him "stop it!" in what I now look back on as a rather threatening manner (at the time I just thought I was being quite quiet) and suddenly his stomp turned into a gentle placing of his foot on the ground, and he sort of cringed a bit and his eyes got a little bit wider, and he crawled back under the seat and over to his mother.
The mother (or whoever she was) had been yelling at these kids all through the movie to absolutely no avail. I am not scary at all, and what I said was hardly controversial or mean, but this kiddy was terrified of me and the effect on his behaviour was instantaneous. I'm sure when I was a youngster myself I would have been much more effected by total strangers having a go at me than by my own parents doing it.
And so - I say that it's up to everyone to control the wayward kiddies of other people. Obviously this is a completely insane idea that would no doubt be appalling in reality and is probably overstepping all sorts of boundaries of common decency and what have you and no doubt if I had children and someone else told them what to do I would be outraged, but all that stuff aside I say go for it. There's nothing like the brisk and efficient disapproval of a total stranger to make someone who is too young to realise that they don't have to stand for it behave better.
* Red cordial being strongly associated with hyperactive kiddies. I doubt they actually sell it at the movies, but if they do I bet it costs about $5.
Tuesday, 15 January 2008
Queen For A Day
As it turns out, just as my mother used to be Queen Of The Meerkats (not any more judging by their total indifference today, but last time we were at this particular zoo the meerkats were all obsessed with watching her every move every time she was anywhere near them), I am now the Queen Of The Tamarins.
We went to Mogo zoo today, and as I may have mentioned, I hate the sun. As I am certain I have never mentioned before, tamarins (which are these wee little things that look like a monkey crossed with a gremlin. Depending on how good my memory for gremlins is. Here's a picture in case those intervening 20-something years have made me vague/wrong:
) seem to be obsessed either with the colour blue (unlikely, because my mother was wearing a blue hat and she wasn't Queen Of The Tamarins. Or maybe they had heard of her dalliance with the meerkats and held it against her) or by umbrellas (perhaps) or by me (well why not?). There were flocks of the furry little things and they were all mysteriously drawn to me. I caught their attention with my blue umbrella, and they stared at me, awed and apparently besotted, for as long as I hung around and let them. They turned their furry little heads as I turned my umbrella. They all leapt (either respectfully or possibly in a terrified fashion) whenever I made any sudden moves. Passers-by stopped to goggle at my powers of tamarin mind-control.
If I give it a little bit more time and patience and perhaps also some thought as to what secret desires I have that could be realised by having a furry army of scary miniature monkey-alikes who would do my bidding the sky could really be the limit. I mean, how could it possibly go wrong?
Mwahahahahahahah, etc.
We went to Mogo zoo today, and as I may have mentioned, I hate the sun. As I am certain I have never mentioned before, tamarins (which are these wee little things that look like a monkey crossed with a gremlin. Depending on how good my memory for gremlins is. Here's a picture in case those intervening 20-something years have made me vague/wrong:
(a tamarin. He is actually entranced by my umbrella, which is visible only via the blue glow in the top left corner of the pic)
) seem to be obsessed either with the colour blue (unlikely, because my mother was wearing a blue hat and she wasn't Queen Of The Tamarins. Or maybe they had heard of her dalliance with the meerkats and held it against her) or by umbrellas (perhaps) or by me (well why not?). There were flocks of the furry little things and they were all mysteriously drawn to me. I caught their attention with my blue umbrella, and they stared at me, awed and apparently besotted, for as long as I hung around and let them. They turned their furry little heads as I turned my umbrella. They all leapt (either respectfully or possibly in a terrified fashion) whenever I made any sudden moves. Passers-by stopped to goggle at my powers of tamarin mind-control.
If I give it a little bit more time and patience and perhaps also some thought as to what secret desires I have that could be realised by having a furry army of scary miniature monkey-alikes who would do my bidding the sky could really be the limit. I mean, how could it possibly go wrong?
Mwahahahahahahah, etc.
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Life's A Beach
I went swimming at the beach this morning (for the second time since we have been back in Aus, which is more times than I have been to the beach in the last five years or so) and apart from the weather being ridiculously hot and the water ridiculously cold, it was really super. It was quite striking last week when I was at the beach how much I enjoyed it, actually. Usually all the heat and sand and sunscreen and crowds and threat of skin cancer and having to get changed in horrible beachy toilets and stuff drives me bonkers. I think my new non-hating of the beach comes mainly from my enthusiastic embrace of using a parasol every time the sun even threatens to shine (and my lack of concern at being laughed at by sunburnt morons. Let's see how much they're laughing in 20 years when they look like old leather handbags and they spend their holidays at the doctor's office having their melanomas removed. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Actually, the sad truth is that me with my hopeless skin that burns in an instant is far more likely to turn cancerous even though I've spent my entire life putting on sunscreen and hiding under trees. I suspect it might be my dermatological destiny to be a european).
Now I just need to find a way to be able to surgically attach my sunglasses to my face (so I can wear them in the ocean and they don't fall off at the first sign of waves) and I will be all set.
Now I just need to find a way to be able to surgically attach my sunglasses to my face (so I can wear them in the ocean and they don't fall off at the first sign of waves) and I will be all set.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Not Hating It!
I think I might be excited about my imminent(ish) wedding! Well, maybe not excited, but at least optimistic. Or not pessimistic. I don't dread my imminent(ish) wedding!
Reto and I saw the celebrant today (who seems really lovely and has rather excellent red glasses) and we saw the place where we are having the reception (the food all sounds really yummy) and we found a place to probably have the ceremony (apologies to my dodderier relatives, but I'm sure you'll be fine and there will be a few seats at the end). We're both set with clothes, we have successfully abandoned heaps of boring details that neither of us are interested in. All we have left is arguing about music and tiny dull decorative details and we can forget all about it! Hurrah!
Reto and I saw the celebrant today (who seems really lovely and has rather excellent red glasses) and we saw the place where we are having the reception (the food all sounds really yummy) and we found a place to probably have the ceremony (apologies to my dodderier relatives, but I'm sure you'll be fine and there will be a few seats at the end). We're both set with clothes, we have successfully abandoned heaps of boring details that neither of us are interested in. All we have left is arguing about music and tiny dull decorative details and we can forget all about it! Hurrah!
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Names
Well, the name thing. As I may have mentioned, Reto and I are getting married. I have never really given the idea of getting married much thought at all, but I have always assumed that if I did get married I wouldn't change my surname. I like my name, I disapprove of the patriarchal ramifications of changing my name, it all seems like a lot of effort to go to for something that would probably just annoy me anyway.
Anyway, Reto and I got engaged and talk turned to surnames. The Swiss system [patriarchy!] forces Switzies who get married to both adopt a common surname, and they way it works is heavily slanted towards making it easier to take the man's surname. Because I am not Swiss, Reto and I can opt to embrace the Australian rules and we could just keep our surnames as they are, but we decided to at least consider the options.
Option number one (me taking Reto's surname) was not actually an option, as far as I was concerned. For the reasons above, as well as the fact that I don't really like his surname and that I also apparently pronounce it all wrong like some gauche foreigner.
Option number two (him taking my surname) was apparently also not an option, because my surname is apparently also unlovable and also a bit unpronounceable [in Switzerland].
Option number three (hyphenation of some sort) was too annoying to even contemplate.
Option number four (neither of us changing our surnames) was okay, but I object to the idea of us potentially having kids in the future, and then either Reto or me being the odd one out in terms of surnames. I particularly objected to the idea that everyone would have Reto's surname and so I would be the odd one out in both the family and the country (assuming we are living in Switzerland). At some point I manhandled Reto into promising that all our children could have my surname (although frankly I didn't really believe him, promises made under duress and all) but even that wasn't very satisfactory. I don't want anyone to be the odd one out. Plus I also secretly have no faith in [patriarchal-orama!] Switzerland and the opportunity to give children my surname. Although I also suspect that might be just my paranoia/xenophobia speaking.
Option number 5 (inventing a new surname and both of us going with it) was therefore ideal. Apart of course from the drama of coming up with a name (plucking anything at all out of our imaginations!), agreeing on one that we both liked, making sure it was pronounced the same in both german and english, making sure that it wasn't stupid (/offensive/unintentionally amusing/sounding too much like something else) in either language, making sure it was relatively spellable, it was all a breeze. The only dramas were the psychological trauma of actually changing my name and having a new birth certificate with someone else's name on it (!), the vast financial and temporal costs involved (not to mention the exhaustion of all the running around), and the fact that we have yet to lodge the application in Switzerland for permission for Reto to take my surname after the wedding. Switzerland being the patriarchal wonderland that it is, one has to actually ask permission and give a decent reason as to why you would want to [make the OBVIOUSLY ABNORMAL AND POSSIBLY INSANE decision to] take the woman's surname after wedding.
Best case scenario - everything is straightforward and we will both have the same surname in a few short weeks (or so). Worst case, permission is denied and I will either have to live with my slightly bonkers new surname or go through all the hoo-haa of changing my name back again and Reto will forever be who he currently is. Fingers crossed.
Anyway, Reto and I got engaged and talk turned to surnames. The Swiss system [patriarchy!] forces Switzies who get married to both adopt a common surname, and they way it works is heavily slanted towards making it easier to take the man's surname. Because I am not Swiss, Reto and I can opt to embrace the Australian rules and we could just keep our surnames as they are, but we decided to at least consider the options.
Option number one (me taking Reto's surname) was not actually an option, as far as I was concerned. For the reasons above, as well as the fact that I don't really like his surname and that I also apparently pronounce it all wrong like some gauche foreigner.
Option number two (him taking my surname) was apparently also not an option, because my surname is apparently also unlovable and also a bit unpronounceable [in Switzerland].
Option number three (hyphenation of some sort) was too annoying to even contemplate.
Option number four (neither of us changing our surnames) was okay, but I object to the idea of us potentially having kids in the future, and then either Reto or me being the odd one out in terms of surnames. I particularly objected to the idea that everyone would have Reto's surname and so I would be the odd one out in both the family and the country (assuming we are living in Switzerland). At some point I manhandled Reto into promising that all our children could have my surname (although frankly I didn't really believe him, promises made under duress and all) but even that wasn't very satisfactory. I don't want anyone to be the odd one out. Plus I also secretly have no faith in [patriarchal-orama!] Switzerland and the opportunity to give children my surname. Although I also suspect that might be just my paranoia/xenophobia speaking.
Option number 5 (inventing a new surname and both of us going with it) was therefore ideal. Apart of course from the drama of coming up with a name (plucking anything at all out of our imaginations!), agreeing on one that we both liked, making sure it was pronounced the same in both german and english, making sure that it wasn't stupid (/offensive/unintentionally amusing/sounding too much like something else) in either language, making sure it was relatively spellable, it was all a breeze. The only dramas were the psychological trauma of actually changing my name and having a new birth certificate with someone else's name on it (!), the vast financial and temporal costs involved (not to mention the exhaustion of all the running around), and the fact that we have yet to lodge the application in Switzerland for permission for Reto to take my surname after the wedding. Switzerland being the patriarchal wonderland that it is, one has to actually ask permission and give a decent reason as to why you would want to [make the OBVIOUSLY ABNORMAL AND POSSIBLY INSANE decision to] take the woman's surname after wedding.
Best case scenario - everything is straightforward and we will both have the same surname in a few short weeks (or so). Worst case, permission is denied and I will either have to live with my slightly bonkers new surname or go through all the hoo-haa of changing my name back again and Reto will forever be who he currently is. Fingers crossed.
Who, Me?
I went to the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages to collect my new birth certificate today. The woman who was looking for it for me was searching through a big stack of papers and she said to me "what's your surname?" and I said "ummm...". I really wasn't too sure what the right answer was.
Monday, 7 January 2008
It's Not Me, It's .. The New Me
Since I got back to Australia I have read my horoscope in about 4 different newspapers/magazines, and although I don't believe in these things at all it seems that now is apparently a super time for me to have a frenzy of organisation and planning. And judging by what I have achieved over the last few days, that is right righty right right.
I successfully drove all over the place (really, this is the first time in about a year and a half that I have driven anywhere, and all this Switzerland/Australia business really is making me confused about which side of the road I belong on). I found a nice dress to wear to my wedding (not yet bought because I am waiting for someone to order in my size, but it is super and just what I am after). I nagged Reto into liking a suit he found (he already mostly liked it but needed a bit of a nudge in the right direction). I largely avoided jet lag (although that being said it is currently 9.30pm and I am hopelessly tired and Reto is already asleep and hogging all the bed space). I saw some of my friends (quite the achievement given that I am a bit on the tired side by about 8pm). I sorted out all this moronic confusion with my flight back to Switzy in March (no small feat given that I have absolutely no faith in the desire of airlines to facilitate anything). The pièce de résistance, though, is the fact that today I went to the registry of births, deaths and marriages and I officially changed my name. Yes, I am no longer Robyn X, now I am Robyn Y (picking up my new birth certificate tomorrow, so maybe that's when I officially become Ms Y. Who knows). I'm sure there's a whole lot of psychological trauma attached to this but happily I feel like I am a bit too busy/tired at the moment to really notice. No doubt it will warrant a bit of a rant at some point in the near future.
I successfully drove all over the place (really, this is the first time in about a year and a half that I have driven anywhere, and all this Switzerland/Australia business really is making me confused about which side of the road I belong on). I found a nice dress to wear to my wedding (not yet bought because I am waiting for someone to order in my size, but it is super and just what I am after). I nagged Reto into liking a suit he found (he already mostly liked it but needed a bit of a nudge in the right direction). I largely avoided jet lag (although that being said it is currently 9.30pm and I am hopelessly tired and Reto is already asleep and hogging all the bed space). I saw some of my friends (quite the achievement given that I am a bit on the tired side by about 8pm). I sorted out all this moronic confusion with my flight back to Switzy in March (no small feat given that I have absolutely no faith in the desire of airlines to facilitate anything). The pièce de résistance, though, is the fact that today I went to the registry of births, deaths and marriages and I officially changed my name. Yes, I am no longer Robyn X, now I am Robyn Y (picking up my new birth certificate tomorrow, so maybe that's when I officially become Ms Y. Who knows). I'm sure there's a whole lot of psychological trauma attached to this but happily I feel like I am a bit too busy/tired at the moment to really notice. No doubt it will warrant a bit of a rant at some point in the near future.
Sunday, 6 January 2008
Grammar Poll!
Is "caucus" a verb? I would be inclined to say no, but consulting with assorted dictionaries around the place does sadly not back me up 100%. About 2 weeks ago I read a quote from someone in an English newspaper saying "I don't even know who I'm going to caucus for yet" (about the US presidential nominees) and I thought that was odd. Then yesterday I read in another paper (Australian) a similar use of the word and I still thought it was odd.
Whaddayathink? Have you ever used it as a verb? Or would you?
Whaddayathink? Have you ever used it as a verb? Or would you?
Highlights Of Today
First there was the bit when I drove to the airport to collect my sister, and then lost the parking ticket thingie that I got when I went into the carpark. Of all the places to lose such a ticket the international terminal at the airport in Sydney would have to be the worst place ever (their parking rates are so extortionate and I'm sure that if you lose the ticket they charge you for a full day) but after a brief period of panic and being cruelly mocked by Reto, we found a ticket on the floor near where I had recently got my wallet out of my bag (and no doubt inadvertently let the parking ticket fall out of it) . Closer inspection revealed that it was very likely our actual ticket (the time of entry to the carpark was about right), but then a moment later we saw another parking ticket on the ground a few metres away! We checked it too, but that person had come into the car park about 2 hours before us, and so the ticket went back to the ground. I did wonder if that was offensive/messy/rude (to throw it back on the ground like that), but then I decided that if someone had tidied up our lost ticket we would never have found it again. I'm such a good samaritan/litterer.
And then later in the day was the bit where we were attacked by tiny tiny birds in a park. They seemed to go mainly for Reto's head, but they were really sort of terrifying so we had to move to another patch of shade, and then the birds switched their swoopy attention to a wee dog instead. Aww.
And then later in the day was the bit where we were attacked by tiny tiny birds in a park. They seemed to go mainly for Reto's head, but they were really sort of terrifying so we had to move to another patch of shade, and then the birds switched their swoopy attention to a wee dog instead. Aww.
Not So Bad
I assumed I would have a bit of a rant about how appalling my flights were, but as it turns out, compared to everyone else's, they were a breeze (excessive turbulence and horrible, horrible food aside). Reto (who flew at the same time but with different airlines and who arrived in Sydney a few hours after me) was put in a seat with a non-functioning entertainment system thing (ie. a TV screen. On a 10 hour flight!) and was later moved from that seat to an even crappier one (with no entertainment system at all) when someone thoughtlessly had some sort of non-heart attack and needed to use all the floor space near Reto to lie down. My sister, who has been skiing in America for the last 2 weeks, got back to Sydney today and her flight's departure was mysteriously delayed for 2 hours and then at the very end of the flight the woman sitting next to her had a stroke or something and (it seems likely) died. Apparently the paramedic people came onto the plane (it had already landed in Sydney) and they CPRed the woman and they defibrillated her and nothing seemed to help. My sister seems sort of traumatised.
In other news, it's odd to be back. Yesterday when I was all sleep addled and cranky Reto and I went on a bit of a shopping adventure to stop us from falling asleep. I kept being surprised when shop assistants spoke to me in english, and I was also briefly confused about whether I was driving on the right (correct) side of the road or not (admittedly only when I was in a car park and the road was extremely wide and one way, so we could have driven on either side anyway). I think I'm better today (after a good 12 hours of sleep) but I still don't trust me 100% behind the wheel. It's also been raining a lot here lately so everything is kind of green and unrecognisable. Oh, and I might have found a completely excellent dress that I want to wear at my wedding. I have to go to another shop today and see if they have it in my size. If it's a goer though it will save me weeks of running around and panicking. Hurrah!
In other news, it's odd to be back. Yesterday when I was all sleep addled and cranky Reto and I went on a bit of a shopping adventure to stop us from falling asleep. I kept being surprised when shop assistants spoke to me in english, and I was also briefly confused about whether I was driving on the right (correct) side of the road or not (admittedly only when I was in a car park and the road was extremely wide and one way, so we could have driven on either side anyway). I think I'm better today (after a good 12 hours of sleep) but I still don't trust me 100% behind the wheel. It's also been raining a lot here lately so everything is kind of green and unrecognisable. Oh, and I might have found a completely excellent dress that I want to wear at my wedding. I have to go to another shop today and see if they have it in my size. If it's a goer though it will save me weeks of running around and panicking. Hurrah!
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Pong
We're all packed, we've done our laundry, we have all our remaining junk piled into a tiny space (in case the HOT has other visitors while we're away), we're ready to leave. And we just had some late lunch, which, having given no thought to the potential ramifications for whoever we sit next to over the next 24 hours or so, was packed full of freshly crushed raw garlic (not to mention the raw onions. It was salade nicoise and it was delicious).
Personally I would much rather sit next to someone who smelt like garlic than who smelt like stinky breath or sweat or other smelly bodily odours, but I am also willing to admit that this still might not be ideal. If I happen to be sitting next to you on a flight from Zurich this evening, I apologise in advance. Although secretly I am not really that sorry and I really think you should just get over it and stop being so sensitive.
Personally I would much rather sit next to someone who smelt like garlic than who smelt like stinky breath or sweat or other smelly bodily odours, but I am also willing to admit that this still might not be ideal. If I happen to be sitting next to you on a flight from Zurich this evening, I apologise in advance. Although secretly I am not really that sorry and I really think you should just get over it and stop being so sensitive.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
The World According To Mary Poppins
As it turns out, the kiddie movies I watched when I was little were useful, or would have been had I paid proper attention.
My imminent sister-in-law has been giving people these pots of four leaf clovers as new year presents. Each pot plant had a wee scarecrow type in it, made of a black pipecleaner and holding something I could never be bothered looking at. I thought this was extremely odd of her until the other day, when I noticed a florist hocking very similar items, and then I thought it was odd of the entire nation.
Today, after much discussion I discovered that the pipecleaner man is actually a chimney sweep, that the thing he is holding that I never bothered looking at is a ladder (which I suppose makes it easier to tell he is a chimney sweep) and that the other thing he is holding that I never even saw until it was pointed out by my imminent-mother-in-law, is a pig. And apparently all these things are lucky (not the ladder, but the rest of them).
I then harked back to last time I watched Mary Poppins (which was last night. Otherwise I doubt it would have entered my mind) and the previously loopy lyrics
My imminent sister-in-law has been giving people these pots of four leaf clovers as new year presents. Each pot plant had a wee scarecrow type in it, made of a black pipecleaner and holding something I could never be bothered looking at. I thought this was extremely odd of her until the other day, when I noticed a florist hocking very similar items, and then I thought it was odd of the entire nation.
Today, after much discussion I discovered that the pipecleaner man is actually a chimney sweep, that the thing he is holding that I never bothered looking at is a ladder (which I suppose makes it easier to tell he is a chimney sweep) and that the other thing he is holding that I never even saw until it was pointed out by my imminent-mother-in-law, is a pig. And apparently all these things are lucky (not the ladder, but the rest of them).
I then harked back to last time I watched Mary Poppins (which was last night. Otherwise I doubt it would have entered my mind) and the previously loopy lyrics
which now seem like a beam of shining good sense in the murk of confusion. If only there was also a song in there about pigs.Chim chiminey
Chim chiminey
Chim chim cher-ee!
A sweep is as lucky
As lucky can be
Chim chiminey
Chim chiminey
Chim chim cher-oo!
Good luck will rub off
when I shake 'ands with you
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
Blog Nerdery
Because I apparently have too much time an not enough imagination, I decided to do this blog year in review thingie that I read about elsewhere, where the idea is that you take the first sentence that you wrote in each month and bung 'em all together to make something ridiculously disjointed and unreadable. I was actually only doing it for my own entertainment, but the fact that the first sentence from January was so prescient about the entire year to follow makes me want to share it with all of y'all so that you can marvel at my unchanging nature and solid reliability. Or something like that.
Looks like I might be a bit of a whiner after all.
I have been meaning to start a blog for some time now, sothat I can complain about things but not have to complain ingroup email form, nor type out the same complainy rant overand over and over again, and so here I am.
Things often attack me.
Being the dedicated girlfriend that I have apparently become, I went to watch Reto compete in a curling match last night.
I was reading one of those crappy free newspapers that you get on trains yesterday and there was a small article about Australia's abysmal stance on climate change.
A rough and heavily abridged guide to what I did yesterday:were in Berlin: we got to the first place we were staying at.
It's good to see that Our Thorpey, now that he has
given up on swimming, has something else to occupy his time.
Well, it's Switzerland Day (which is not what they call it here, but it's what I have decided to call it), which apparently means it's fireworks time.
Something funny was going on in Aarau yesterday.
Today when I was at the supermarket (lots of my stories seem to involve those words. How depressing) I got a free sample sachet of sweet chilli sauce.
Looking at wedding rings and brochures, grr ..
Aah Aarau, how I will (do) miss thee.
Silvester The Cat
Last night at the NYE party that I went to we were all thinking of what our highlight of 2007 was. Possibly because I didn't give enough thought to it, mine was getting engaged. I have decided that this year's highlight will be more to do with me and less with other people. Hmm.In other new year's eve news, apparently the Zurich fireworks don't start until 12.20am, not on the dot of midnight like absolutely everywhere else. This is without a doubt the weirdest thing I have come across so far this year. And nowhere near as charmingly mis-timed as when, at 2pm yesterday afternoon, I got all sorts of lovely drunken texts from friends in Australia saying "happy new year!".
Saturday, 29 December 2007
Best Christmas Cracker Joke
What does an auctioneer need to know?
Lots!
Ha! My future brother-in-law, who is English, managed to procure some ludicrously expensive Christmas crackers. Apparently Switzies are generally not familiar with them, so it was really lovely to see how long people wore the hats for and how seriously everyone took the jokes.
Lots!
Ha! My future brother-in-law, who is English, managed to procure some ludicrously expensive Christmas crackers. Apparently Switzies are generally not familiar with them, so it was really lovely to see how long people wore the hats for and how seriously everyone took the jokes.
Friday, 28 December 2007
Far Out
Reto and I went on a sentimental trip down memory lane today (back to Aarau to return all our library books before we zip off to Aus) and while we were there we discovered that the library has turned into a spaceship! It has been being revamped since early November or so, and has just reopened with it's new spacey look. It's all whiteness and windows and wacky lighting (that leaves excellent patterns on the floor) and the seats are like puddles of mercury or something (red ones, but still. Maybe just puddles, actually) and the bookshelves are .. well, they're just bookshelves, but they're round and kinda spacey too. And there's a designated eating type room and I went in there and even though I didn't actually eat anything, if I had it would have been like EATING IN SPACE (minus the zero gravity floating stuff). It was super.
Thursday, 27 December 2007
More Of An Authority Than I Realised
I feel bad about it (it seems vaguely like spying), but as you may recall I have one of those stat counter things on my blog and every now and then I have a squiz at what it's doing. The most interesting thing about it, as far as I can tell, is to see what words people used to find my blog.
Lately, it seems, I am popular with people searching for information on "naked stretching" (two separate searches from different search engines on different days. Interestingly, naked yoga came up in the book I am reading at the moment but that is the extent to which I consider myself an expert on the subject. Or even remotely informed, actually), with people who want to know how to pronounce things (specifically löwe, bräu, gesundheit and philistine) and with someone who looked up "swiss whips lenzberg". Hmm.
Lately, it seems, I am popular with people searching for information on "naked stretching" (two separate searches from different search engines on different days. Interestingly, naked yoga came up in the book I am reading at the moment but that is the extent to which I consider myself an expert on the subject. Or even remotely informed, actually), with people who want to know how to pronounce things (specifically löwe, bräu, gesundheit and philistine) and with someone who looked up "swiss whips lenzberg". Hmm.
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Christmas Review
Well, apart from this having been the Worst Christmas Ever for reasons I don't particuarly wish to go into here, it was actually quite an okay Christmas. We ate a bunch (apparently the Switzies choose meat wrapped in pastry at this time of year. My Switzies do, anyway), we drank a bunch, we sat around a bunch, we slept in a bunch. Reto and I got up strangely early one morning and went to church, which was strange*, and then today, a day late, it snowed.
It was all quite nice, but it seems to me that unless we are all sitting around and eating a lot of stone fruit (peaches and cherries, mmm) and peeling prawns and making about 18 types of salad and complaining about the heat, it's just not very Christmassy.
* I come from a non-churchgoing background and didn't know what to expect. Reto was explaining it all to me a bit before the service started, and at the very last second (just as the curtain went up or the dude came out or whatever it is that signifies the start of these things) he said to me "oh, and there might be some hand-shaking at some point". I goggled at him and whispered "hand shaking??", picturing some sort of wacky rural Swiss catholic-shaker crossover cult thing, but as it turned out all he meant was that I might have to shake hands with some people. Which was far less exciting and bloggable than it could have been.
It was all quite nice, but it seems to me that unless we are all sitting around and eating a lot of stone fruit (peaches and cherries, mmm) and peeling prawns and making about 18 types of salad and complaining about the heat, it's just not very Christmassy.
* I come from a non-churchgoing background and didn't know what to expect. Reto was explaining it all to me a bit before the service started, and at the very last second (just as the curtain went up or the dude came out or whatever it is that signifies the start of these things) he said to me "oh, and there might be some hand-shaking at some point". I goggled at him and whispered "hand shaking??", picturing some sort of wacky rural Swiss catholic-shaker crossover cult thing, but as it turned out all he meant was that I might have to shake hands with some people. Which was far less exciting and bloggable than it could have been.
Monday, 24 December 2007
Christmas Disagreement
In spite of my total lack of religious knowledge, tonight I had an argument with someone (several people, actually) about the alleged date of Jesus' birth. I don't think I have ever heard anyone suggest it was any time other than the 25th of December, but now apparently the 24th of Dec has been thrown into the ring, and now that I look at Wikipedia I see that any time between October and January, or maybe May or August, is also arguable.
Did anyone else know that this is controversial?
Did anyone else know that this is controversial?
No Snow, But ...
... look what it looks like here!
Grimly grey and depressing, yes, but for the last few days there has been relentless frost that never melts and just gets frostier every day. It's really lovely, actually, because it's so much more delicate and interesting-looking than snow.
Grimly grey and depressing, yes, but for the last few days there has been relentless frost that never melts and just gets frostier every day. It's really lovely, actually, because it's so much more delicate and interesting-looking than snow.It also means that it's ridiculously freezing, to the extent that I might not go outside again until it becomes absolutely essential (which really means for a week and a half, which is when I leave for Australia! Hello summer!). I'm pretty sure there's enough food in the house to sustain me..
Sunday, 23 December 2007
Year In Review
Well, that's that practically over, and what to show for it?
2007 was my year of the Grand Romantic Gesture (or GRG as I used to enjoy saying), and I suppose that part worked out quite nicely. I flung away the trappings of my old life in a ridiculously cavalier gesture and rushed off to some loopy country on the other side of the world to live with my pretend boyfriend. And then he proposed to me on the Eiffel Tower and now we spend our time arguing romantically about where we should get married and whose surname (if anyone's) is prettier*.
I read a bunch. And I also kept a list of everything I read, which it is surprisingly interesting to look back on. Sadly I only managed to read one more book from the Angus and Robertson top 100 books list thingy (The Book Thief, which was super), but an extremely impressive two from the Waterstone's list (The Book Thief again, plus The Shipping News, plus I saw Atonement at the movies and The Name of The Rose on DVD and I bought The God of Small Things (but haven't read it yet) and I gave Vernon God Little and Cloud Atlas a good try, so really I feel almost smug).
I failed to be particularly integratey. I do do my laundry at 40 degrees these days**, I enjoy kissing everyone all the time, and I no longer think 7 CHF ($7) is an outrageous price to pay for a newspaper***, but I'm not sure that really cuts the mustard. Happily too much integrating would have been a bit of a waste anyway since we are off to be semi-french next year anyway.
I ate some cheese. I think I had a pretty high rate of cheese consumption before I came here, but this year it has really skyrocketed. Meals composed of almost nothing but cheese don't even cause me to raise an eyebrow any more. My main change has been in my staple cheeses - possibly as a consequence of Reto being Swiss and therefore automatically strangely patriotic about such things, we spend most of our time eating gruyere, whereas in the past I had much more international flavour. Sadly I can find havarti for neither love nor money in this country****.
I embraced (and this is where you should turn away briefly if you have any sort of squeamishness about the wonders of the female body and all its glorious tendencies) relatively environmentally friendly menstrual accessories, in the form of a menstrual cup. I think maybe they talk it up more than it deserves on the website, but I am nonetheless relentlessly enthusiastic in recommending this as a far superior alternative to tampons and so on. Just encourage me a bit and I'll rant all day about menstrual cups. Or at least for 5 minutes or so, because people tend to get a bit awkward after even that long.
I made some shiny new friends. I realise that shiny new friends should really come before my menstrual cup, and in the everyday process of life they definitely do. I realise that they also warrant a longer paragraph, but in the spirit of being a bit paranoid about people's privacy, this is all I am going to say. They're great people and I am glad to have them.
I also maintained some shiny old friendships. There's nothing like moving to the other side of the world and never seeing people any more to separate the chaff from the cream. It becomes quite apparent (as if I didn't know already) who my really great friends are who I am bound to stay in touch with no matter where I live.
I lived in a tiny wee town for the first time in more than a decade and I really enjoyed it. Aarau is charming. It has enough of everything (movies, cafes, general vibrance) to not feel like I was missing out, it is only 20 minutes or so from Zurich and Basel, I could walk absolutely everywhere (which was my favourite feature by far). That being said, I am definitely looking forward to moving somewhere bigger and more exciting next year (and yet still somewhere eminently walking-friendly).
I also embraced total unemployment for the first time in a long time. It took surprisingly little getting used to, and apart from sporadic bursts of boredom I enjoyed it enormously. The worst thing about it was all those people who ask "but what do you do all day?" and then look at you as though you must be the sort of person who finds staring at leaves really really interesting or who can't function in normal society*****. Or perhaps that's just me being paranoid.
So that's 2007 pretty much over, and far more interesting is the question of what next year might hold. Employment? French-speaking? Cat-owning? Marriage? Strange.
* I think the answer is no one's. Well, his certainly isn't and I doubt he would ever agree mine is.
** Because I don't have a choice
*** That's not for any newspaper, but it is the price for the Guardian International, my paper of choice
**** I haven't actually looked very far at all, and I doubt that I would go so far as to pay for it with love.
***** Not that I'm saying I can function in normal society here. It would be easier if I had any idea what people are saying.
2007 was my year of the Grand Romantic Gesture (or GRG as I used to enjoy saying), and I suppose that part worked out quite nicely. I flung away the trappings of my old life in a ridiculously cavalier gesture and rushed off to some loopy country on the other side of the world to live with my pretend boyfriend. And then he proposed to me on the Eiffel Tower and now we spend our time arguing romantically about where we should get married and whose surname (if anyone's) is prettier*.
I read a bunch. And I also kept a list of everything I read, which it is surprisingly interesting to look back on. Sadly I only managed to read one more book from the Angus and Robertson top 100 books list thingy (The Book Thief, which was super), but an extremely impressive two from the Waterstone's list (The Book Thief again, plus The Shipping News, plus I saw Atonement at the movies and The Name of The Rose on DVD and I bought The God of Small Things (but haven't read it yet) and I gave Vernon God Little and Cloud Atlas a good try, so really I feel almost smug).
I failed to be particularly integratey. I do do my laundry at 40 degrees these days**, I enjoy kissing everyone all the time, and I no longer think 7 CHF ($7) is an outrageous price to pay for a newspaper***, but I'm not sure that really cuts the mustard. Happily too much integrating would have been a bit of a waste anyway since we are off to be semi-french next year anyway.
I ate some cheese. I think I had a pretty high rate of cheese consumption before I came here, but this year it has really skyrocketed. Meals composed of almost nothing but cheese don't even cause me to raise an eyebrow any more. My main change has been in my staple cheeses - possibly as a consequence of Reto being Swiss and therefore automatically strangely patriotic about such things, we spend most of our time eating gruyere, whereas in the past I had much more international flavour. Sadly I can find havarti for neither love nor money in this country****.
I embraced (and this is where you should turn away briefly if you have any sort of squeamishness about the wonders of the female body and all its glorious tendencies) relatively environmentally friendly menstrual accessories, in the form of a menstrual cup. I think maybe they talk it up more than it deserves on the website, but I am nonetheless relentlessly enthusiastic in recommending this as a far superior alternative to tampons and so on. Just encourage me a bit and I'll rant all day about menstrual cups. Or at least for 5 minutes or so, because people tend to get a bit awkward after even that long.
I made some shiny new friends. I realise that shiny new friends should really come before my menstrual cup, and in the everyday process of life they definitely do. I realise that they also warrant a longer paragraph, but in the spirit of being a bit paranoid about people's privacy, this is all I am going to say. They're great people and I am glad to have them.
I also maintained some shiny old friendships. There's nothing like moving to the other side of the world and never seeing people any more to separate the chaff from the cream. It becomes quite apparent (as if I didn't know already) who my really great friends are who I am bound to stay in touch with no matter where I live.
I lived in a tiny wee town for the first time in more than a decade and I really enjoyed it. Aarau is charming. It has enough of everything (movies, cafes, general vibrance) to not feel like I was missing out, it is only 20 minutes or so from Zurich and Basel, I could walk absolutely everywhere (which was my favourite feature by far). That being said, I am definitely looking forward to moving somewhere bigger and more exciting next year (and yet still somewhere eminently walking-friendly).
I also embraced total unemployment for the first time in a long time. It took surprisingly little getting used to, and apart from sporadic bursts of boredom I enjoyed it enormously. The worst thing about it was all those people who ask "but what do you do all day?" and then look at you as though you must be the sort of person who finds staring at leaves really really interesting or who can't function in normal society*****. Or perhaps that's just me being paranoid.
So that's 2007 pretty much over, and far more interesting is the question of what next year might hold. Employment? French-speaking? Cat-owning? Marriage? Strange.
* I think the answer is no one's. Well, his certainly isn't and I doubt he would ever agree mine is.
** Because I don't have a choice
*** That's not for any newspaper, but it is the price for the Guardian International, my paper of choice
**** I haven't actually looked very far at all, and I doubt that I would go so far as to pay for it with love.
***** Not that I'm saying I can function in normal society here. It would be easier if I had any idea what people are saying.
Friday, 21 December 2007
Congratulations, You Two!
Congratulations to my cousin and his girlfriend (who I am deliberately not naming because people can be weird about that on blogs), who just got engaged! I seriously doubt that they even know of the existence of this blog, but since I also don't know their non-work email addresses and they are somewhere mysterious in Copenhagen (ie. also unphonable) this is really the best I can do.
I have heard from numerous sources that being engaged and getting married makes you want to harrass other people into joining up too. As far as I can tell this hasn't happened to me (I like my friends. I don't see why I should like them more if they are married) but I do nonetheless feel a certain sense of excitement about the fact that other people are engaged. Possibly because my cousin and his fiancee are in a similar situation to Reto and I (Australians and Crazy Foreigners with visa difficulties!), possibly because I now know how to have conversations about engagement rings and wedding reception venues and so on (only with very little useful advice to give but plenty of powers of complaining and empathising). Possibly I am just filled full of the joy of love and togetherness and all that stuff.
Whatever it is, congratulations! It's great news!
I have heard from numerous sources that being engaged and getting married makes you want to harrass other people into joining up too. As far as I can tell this hasn't happened to me (I like my friends. I don't see why I should like them more if they are married) but I do nonetheless feel a certain sense of excitement about the fact that other people are engaged. Possibly because my cousin and his fiancee are in a similar situation to Reto and I (Australians and Crazy Foreigners with visa difficulties!), possibly because I now know how to have conversations about engagement rings and wedding reception venues and so on (only with very little useful advice to give but plenty of powers of complaining and empathising). Possibly I am just filled full of the joy of love and togetherness and all that stuff.
Whatever it is, congratulations! It's great news!
Freezing In Fribourg
Reto and I spent yesterday complaining bitterly in Fribourg. Complaining firstly because it took us two long hours to get there (which I admit is not a long time at all. We had to change trains 5 times, though, which was extremely annoying), then complaining because it was so cold (-6 according to a thermometer we saw, and that was at lunch time), and then complaining because the ground was so icy and slippery (why make pedestrian crossings out of stuff that is treacherous at the first sign of anything inclement?), and then complaining because we ate too much cheese at lunchtime (we had a fondue aux herbes, which was sort of delicious and sort of oppressively herby, and all together too cheesy. We didn't even eat all of it, so we didn't get to really appreciate the yummy burnt bit on the bottom!) and then complaining because it was cold again.
Otherwise, it was actually a really great day. We met up with my friend Olivia, who is always wacky and fun and full of unexpected stories about the strange things she does. We went and looked at flats we might want to live in next year (and, totally unexpectedly, we actually found one that would be sort of perfect! It's big but not too big, cheap but not too cheap, it's got lots of nice big windows, it's in a building with a reasonable laundry system (just do it whenever there's a free machine, none of this relentless signing up for things and being yelled at for the terrible crime of washing outside your allocated time), the kitchen looks functional (and the fridge is only moderately tiny instead of tiny tiny), the view is entertainingly excellent (although we only saw the entertaining part, because the allegedly excellent bit (mountains) was hidden by fog and clouds), and the building is close to everything), we ate lots of cheese and drank lots of coffee and broke it all up with short periods spent walking around in the freezing.
I like Fribourg. I am really looking forward to moving there next year, and although the language thing is a bit on the annoying side (having spent quite some time learning german, it's not really ideal to have to start again from scratch in french) it will at least be good to live in a place where the language I learn is the language they speak (none of this swiss german gobbledegook). Not that learning french really solves many of my problems, since we don't plan on staying in Fribourg (or in french-speaking areas in general, I think) for more than a few years at most, and since none of Reto's rellies speak french at all, but I still think it's a positive move. There's nothing more annoying than every single Swiss person you ever meet saying "No one ever learns swiss german. You'll never learn it, ever. Ever" to make a girl not feel at home. Good riddance miserable germans, I say.
Otherwise, it was actually a really great day. We met up with my friend Olivia, who is always wacky and fun and full of unexpected stories about the strange things she does. We went and looked at flats we might want to live in next year (and, totally unexpectedly, we actually found one that would be sort of perfect! It's big but not too big, cheap but not too cheap, it's got lots of nice big windows, it's in a building with a reasonable laundry system (just do it whenever there's a free machine, none of this relentless signing up for things and being yelled at for the terrible crime of washing outside your allocated time), the kitchen looks functional (and the fridge is only moderately tiny instead of tiny tiny), the view is entertainingly excellent (although we only saw the entertaining part, because the allegedly excellent bit (mountains) was hidden by fog and clouds), and the building is close to everything), we ate lots of cheese and drank lots of coffee and broke it all up with short periods spent walking around in the freezing.
I like Fribourg. I am really looking forward to moving there next year, and although the language thing is a bit on the annoying side (having spent quite some time learning german, it's not really ideal to have to start again from scratch in french) it will at least be good to live in a place where the language I learn is the language they speak (none of this swiss german gobbledegook). Not that learning french really solves many of my problems, since we don't plan on staying in Fribourg (or in french-speaking areas in general, I think) for more than a few years at most, and since none of Reto's rellies speak french at all, but I still think it's a positive move. There's nothing more annoying than every single Swiss person you ever meet saying "No one ever learns swiss german. You'll never learn it, ever. Ever" to make a girl not feel at home. Good riddance miserable germans, I say.
Friday, 14 December 2007
Seeing The Light
This seems to happen here a lot.
It's the sun coming through the clouds, which I realise isn't all that remarkable, but here at HOT you see it allllll the time. Occasionally I feel a bit like I am being forced into thinking I am having a religious experience. At other times it just seems pretty.
My Boyfriend (Fiance) The SmartyPants
Congratulations to Reto, who has just passed the bar exam! No more studying, no more whinging, no more procrastinating, no more unemployment*!
* Unless you count the next 3 months, of course, with regards to unemployment. And there will probably be some wedding-associated whinging and procrastinating, too. Definitely no studying, though!
* Unless you count the next 3 months, of course, with regards to unemployment. And there will probably be some wedding-associated whinging and procrastinating, too. Definitely no studying, though!
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Today In The News
Switzerland-wise, there is the exciting news that Christoph Blocher is gone from the federal council, and has been replaced by Eveline Widmer-Schlumpf* (or rather will be replaced at the beginning next year, when it all takes effect, apparently).
The federal council is a group of 7 people, representing the 4 main political parties here, and each councillor is sort of like a minister in Australian politics, I suppose, but they do more than just that (read about it here instead. I don't really know what I am talking about) and they take it in turns to be the president (or whatever it's called) for a year each. Normally federal councillors are re-elected forever and ever (until they retire or die**) but during these elections Blocher was beaten by another candidate from his party when a bunch of centre and lefty types banded together to get him out. Blocher, as you might have gathered, is a bit on the hardcore-right side and is unpopular with many people, and is widely associated with the whole black sheep thing earlier in the year.
Widmer-Schlumpf won the election thing yesterday, and then she took until 8am this morning to decide whether she would accept the position or not (time she no doubt spent being harrassed by various factions within her party. Frankly given the fact that being a federal councillor is the pinnacle of Swiss political achievement and practically guaranteed for as long as you care to do it - as long as you aren't too controversial or too much of a trouble-maker - she would have presumably needed some pretty impressive persuasion to decline). She did accept the role, and consequently the SVP announced that they do not recognise Widmer-Schlumpf and the other SVP person in the federal council as representatives of them (ie. sort of kicked them out of the party), which means that the SVP, the party that got most of the vote at the last election***, is essentially unrepresented in the federal council, and so there is bound to be all sorts of infighting and disagreement and probable splitting (?) of various SVP factions.
In other shiny and exciting news, Marcus Einfeld, former Australian Federal court judge, will be off to trial next year for allegedly perjuring himself and perverting the course of justice when he submitted sworn statements saying that it was, among other people, a woman who was dead at the time, and not he himself, who was driving his car when it got a speeding tickets or ran red lights at various points over the last few years. Ha, I say. And I also say, what's the point in saying it was other people? Yes, you can avoid the fines (a few hundred bucks?) and you can avoid losing the points on your license (it only happened 4 times. Had he lost lots of other points? Was the car going really fast? I don't really remember anything about how many points you have on your license or how quickly you can get them back but it strikes me as reasonably unlikely that he would have lost his license for long, if at all. And what would have been so bad about forcing other people to drive him around for a while? Or taking taxis?), but now maybe he will go to jail for 14 years****. Hah.
* Apparently Schlumpf is the word for "smurf" in german, and, as you would imagine, leads to everyone making boring and predictable jokes about her.
** Wikipedia tells me that 4 federal councillors have been voted out, Blocher now, another dude in 2003 (when Blocher took his place) and two men in the 1800s, so this really is comparable to John Howard and his Bennelong debacle.
*** By which I mean a bigger percentage of the vote than any other party, not an actual majority of the vote. And let's not forget that the proportion of people who actually bother to vote is only half-ish.
**** I believe this is the maximum sentence for everything he is being charged with.
The federal council is a group of 7 people, representing the 4 main political parties here, and each councillor is sort of like a minister in Australian politics, I suppose, but they do more than just that (read about it here instead. I don't really know what I am talking about) and they take it in turns to be the president (or whatever it's called) for a year each. Normally federal councillors are re-elected forever and ever (until they retire or die**) but during these elections Blocher was beaten by another candidate from his party when a bunch of centre and lefty types banded together to get him out. Blocher, as you might have gathered, is a bit on the hardcore-right side and is unpopular with many people, and is widely associated with the whole black sheep thing earlier in the year.
Widmer-Schlumpf won the election thing yesterday, and then she took until 8am this morning to decide whether she would accept the position or not (time she no doubt spent being harrassed by various factions within her party. Frankly given the fact that being a federal councillor is the pinnacle of Swiss political achievement and practically guaranteed for as long as you care to do it - as long as you aren't too controversial or too much of a trouble-maker - she would have presumably needed some pretty impressive persuasion to decline). She did accept the role, and consequently the SVP announced that they do not recognise Widmer-Schlumpf and the other SVP person in the federal council as representatives of them (ie. sort of kicked them out of the party), which means that the SVP, the party that got most of the vote at the last election***, is essentially unrepresented in the federal council, and so there is bound to be all sorts of infighting and disagreement and probable splitting (?) of various SVP factions.
In other shiny and exciting news, Marcus Einfeld, former Australian Federal court judge, will be off to trial next year for allegedly perjuring himself and perverting the course of justice when he submitted sworn statements saying that it was, among other people, a woman who was dead at the time, and not he himself, who was driving his car when it got a speeding tickets or ran red lights at various points over the last few years. Ha, I say. And I also say, what's the point in saying it was other people? Yes, you can avoid the fines (a few hundred bucks?) and you can avoid losing the points on your license (it only happened 4 times. Had he lost lots of other points? Was the car going really fast? I don't really remember anything about how many points you have on your license or how quickly you can get them back but it strikes me as reasonably unlikely that he would have lost his license for long, if at all. And what would have been so bad about forcing other people to drive him around for a while? Or taking taxis?), but now maybe he will go to jail for 14 years****. Hah.
* Apparently Schlumpf is the word for "smurf" in german, and, as you would imagine, leads to everyone making boring and predictable jokes about her.
** Wikipedia tells me that 4 federal councillors have been voted out, Blocher now, another dude in 2003 (when Blocher took his place) and two men in the 1800s, so this really is comparable to John Howard and his Bennelong debacle.
*** By which I mean a bigger percentage of the vote than any other party, not an actual majority of the vote. And let's not forget that the proportion of people who actually bother to vote is only half-ish.
**** I believe this is the maximum sentence for everything he is being charged with.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Thoughts For The Day
The idea of doing things (like going to work) when it is still dark* strikes me as uncivilised. I got up at 7.30 this morning (unheard of, frankly) and it was pitch black (sort of), snowing and miserable. Reto turned on the TV and we watched all this political brouhaha (voting in Berne leading to the potential chucking out of the most controversial of the federal councillors, which is really very exciting and unheard of, not dissimilar to John Howard losing Bennelong. We won't know what the outcome of it all is until tomorrow, though) and there were all these politicians loitering around and arriving and being interviewed and it was still pitch black (sort of). Shouldn't everyone still be all warm and toasty in bed?
In other news, I was just looking at smh.com.au and I saw the headline "Laws to protect Pope"**. "That's a strange turn for a retired septugenarian", I thought to myself, but as it turns out the truth was much less amusing.
* Obvious exceptions: people whose jobs require them to work at night. Shiftworkers.
** That link takes you to a page that says "Tough laws to protect Pope", which is much less funny, but the shortened version for the home page of the site left out the "tough".
In other news, I was just looking at smh.com.au and I saw the headline "Laws to protect Pope"**. "That's a strange turn for a retired septugenarian", I thought to myself, but as it turns out the truth was much less amusing.
* Obvious exceptions: people whose jobs require them to work at night. Shiftworkers.
** That link takes you to a page that says "Tough laws to protect Pope", which is much less funny, but the shortened version for the home page of the site left out the "tough".
Friday, 7 December 2007
Christmas - Coming Along Nicely
The christmas trees/lights/decorations are up (not ours, but the ones in the streets. Actually, the HOT gets into the Christmas spirit too, so there are actually decorations all over the place), Santa-substitute has come and gone (which involves having fruit put in your shoes if you have been nice, or apparently being kidnapped and possibly thrown in a river if you have been naughty), Christmas markets have begun (well, the local one here started last night and Reto and I had the best of intentions of going but then it started raining so we stayed at home and scoffed mountains of pfeffernusse instead (at least I did. Reto, weirdo that he is, doesn't really like them). Happily the market goes all weekend so we are in no danger of actually missing out on going or of eating lots of roasted chestnuts.
The interesting thing about this Christmas (apart from it being all backwards and northern hemispherey) is the volume of shopping that I don't have to do. Reto's family don't really give Christmas presents to each other, and the vast bulk of my friends and family are all miles away frolicking in the non-freezing weather (and I will see them in Jan, so any Christmas present shopping for them is non-urgent). I only really have Reto to worry about, and now that he has been fandangled into marrying me and he can't make an easy getaway, I'm sure I can give him any old tat and it won't matter. Hurrah!
The interesting thing about this Christmas (apart from it being all backwards and northern hemispherey) is the volume of shopping that I don't have to do. Reto's family don't really give Christmas presents to each other, and the vast bulk of my friends and family are all miles away frolicking in the non-freezing weather (and I will see them in Jan, so any Christmas present shopping for them is non-urgent). I only really have Reto to worry about, and now that he has been fandangled into marrying me and he can't make an easy getaway, I'm sure I can give him any old tat and it won't matter. Hurrah!
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
Aarau's Top Five - Our Window
We had such a nice window in our flat in Aarau. We lived in the tallest building for miles around (10 floors!), so every day you had a nice view over the town, on clear days you could see the castle in Lenzburg (well, not enough to know it was actually a castle, but had you come over I would have pointed it out and told you it was a castle so you wouldn't have been mistaken) and whenever it was foggy you could stand at the window and exclaim about how little you could see. The window was at its best when it was snowing and you could lie on the bed and look out the window, able only to see upwards into the cloudy grey sky and the snowflakes falling towards you, and you could imagine you were living in a snow dome.
Happily the HOT has an excellent view of some mountains (like the Eiger, my favourite of the Swiss mountains. Not only is the Matterhorn a bit too much of a show pony, I don't really like Toblerone and it (the Matterhorn) doesn't have a train track running through it. Incidentally, did you know that Toblerone is apparently doing a fruit and nut version at the moment? And have I mentioned the dark chocolate Lindt balls that are around, too? Only 60%, but a step in the right direction!), and conveniently you can't really see the mountains most of the time (because of all the fog/cloud) which makes it all the more special when you can see them. And they also do a nice line in sunset here, too.
Monday, 3 December 2007
Recycling - Fun For The Whole Family
Something sort of excellent that we have discovered here in our new home is the way in which PET bottles are recycled. You take them to your local supermarket (as we did in Aarau) and put them in this hole in the wall, but the novelty of the recycling method here is that the holes in the wall for the different types of containers are surrounded by paintings of alieny type monster-people, and the recycling holes are the mouths of said people. Anyway, you put your plastic bottle in the monster mouth and then something in there shreds the bottle, making this entertaining mechanical munching sound as though the monster is eating the bottle.
It's not much, but it's what we've got.
UPDATE: I have just been to Migros again and as it turns out the bulk of what I wrote up there is a total lie. The alien-monster-people are actually kids and plastic bottles (not even morphed into hideous bottle children, just normal kids and bottles), and the kids faces aren't painted around the holes to make them into mouths. The shredder thing still exists though, and it's wacky.
It's not much, but it's what we've got.
UPDATE: I have just been to Migros again and as it turns out the bulk of what I wrote up there is a total lie. The alien-monster-people are actually kids and plastic bottles (not even morphed into hideous bottle children, just normal kids and bottles), and the kids faces aren't painted around the holes to make them into mouths. The shredder thing still exists though, and it's wacky.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Aarau's Top Five - Thai House
Aah Aarau, how I will (do) miss thee.
On Thursday as a reward for all the ridiculous rash-inducing cleaning, we went out for lunch at the Thai House, which has a lunchtime buffet thing for a mere 25 CHF (a snip, all things considered, and a real novelty given the general dearth of Asian food in this country). We scoffed mountains of mysterious curries and stir fries and then I had a really excellent plate of mysterious tropical fruits (some of which I didn't even recognise, which was exciting) and some absolutely excellent banana icecream, and then Reto almost fell asleep in his chair. For some odd reason this was only the second time that I had been to the Thai House, and the first time I had actually eaten there. The other time I went was in February or so when Reto and I decided to have a drink at the bar there, and that occasion definitely makes it onto my list of Top 5 Memorable Aarau Moments.
The bar looks bizarrely colonial, all heavily-stuffed leather couches and dark brown wood and pictures of royalty (Thai royalty, but still). The night we went there the entertainment was a man with a keyboard, a shiny, spangly outfit, a microphone (totally unnecessary given that the entire bar was even smaller than our flat, ie. very very small) and a wide repertoire of cheesy songs that he would sing in an entertaining mixture of english, german and mumble (at one point he made a short and slightly discomfiting speech about how he wanted to dedicate the next song to the queen of Thailand, and he respectfully indicated a portrait on the wall, and then he launched into "Sex Bomb", which was great). Anyway, he was quite the entertainer, and encouraged the clearly awkward audience (about 10 of us, who filled the bar to capacity) to join in, to dance, to request songs and to generally stop being so shy. As it turned out, the drinks Reto and I ordered were more successful at achieving this than the keyboard man was, and not as a consequence of their high alcohol content or anything like that. No, our drinks were entertaining because they posed a significant risk to everyone's safety.
We had ordered liqueur coffees. Not controversial at all, you would imagine, but then the waitress came out with a tray full of bottles and jugs and glasses and things, plonked it all down in front of us and then proceeded to set things on fire all over the place (really only sugary boozy liquid that she was caramelising in some gigantic glasses, but the way she twirled things around made it look like the whole place was ablaze). Everyone stopped looking at the singing man and started looking at our fireball drinks, and the whole thing went on for such a long time and was such a production that we were all totally awestruck and gave her a round of applause when she was finished. It seemed a shame to have to drink them in the end, but drink them we did and by that stage everyone had such a sense of camaraderie that there was much more singing and dancing and chatting and applauding and requesting of songs going on. Aah, the Thai House.
On Thursday as a reward for all the ridiculous rash-inducing cleaning, we went out for lunch at the Thai House, which has a lunchtime buffet thing for a mere 25 CHF (a snip, all things considered, and a real novelty given the general dearth of Asian food in this country). We scoffed mountains of mysterious curries and stir fries and then I had a really excellent plate of mysterious tropical fruits (some of which I didn't even recognise, which was exciting) and some absolutely excellent banana icecream, and then Reto almost fell asleep in his chair. For some odd reason this was only the second time that I had been to the Thai House, and the first time I had actually eaten there. The other time I went was in February or so when Reto and I decided to have a drink at the bar there, and that occasion definitely makes it onto my list of Top 5 Memorable Aarau Moments.
The bar looks bizarrely colonial, all heavily-stuffed leather couches and dark brown wood and pictures of royalty (Thai royalty, but still). The night we went there the entertainment was a man with a keyboard, a shiny, spangly outfit, a microphone (totally unnecessary given that the entire bar was even smaller than our flat, ie. very very small) and a wide repertoire of cheesy songs that he would sing in an entertaining mixture of english, german and mumble (at one point he made a short and slightly discomfiting speech about how he wanted to dedicate the next song to the queen of Thailand, and he respectfully indicated a portrait on the wall, and then he launched into "Sex Bomb", which was great). Anyway, he was quite the entertainer, and encouraged the clearly awkward audience (about 10 of us, who filled the bar to capacity) to join in, to dance, to request songs and to generally stop being so shy. As it turned out, the drinks Reto and I ordered were more successful at achieving this than the keyboard man was, and not as a consequence of their high alcohol content or anything like that. No, our drinks were entertaining because they posed a significant risk to everyone's safety.
We had ordered liqueur coffees. Not controversial at all, you would imagine, but then the waitress came out with a tray full of bottles and jugs and glasses and things, plonked it all down in front of us and then proceeded to set things on fire all over the place (really only sugary boozy liquid that she was caramelising in some gigantic glasses, but the way she twirled things around made it look like the whole place was ablaze). Everyone stopped looking at the singing man and started looking at our fireball drinks, and the whole thing went on for such a long time and was such a production that we were all totally awestruck and gave her a round of applause when she was finished. It seemed a shame to have to drink them in the end, but drink them we did and by that stage everyone had such a sense of camaraderie that there was much more singing and dancing and chatting and applauding and requesting of songs going on. Aah, the Thai House.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
