30 Second Rule

Great news for students and parents of small children everywhere. There has been research done (I don't know who by I am making a blasé statement based upon what someone else told me was true) that investigated how many microbes get onto something that falls on the floor. They studied it over various periods of time and apparently for up to 30 seconds hardly anything does. No more rushing to rescue it within 5 seconds and if you are fast enough any surface is clean enough to eat your dinner off!

Thanks to Miss Spitfire for that little gem :-)

Coffee and Sacraments

It's been a whole day since I blogged. You think you've suffered, imagine what it's like in my head with all the latest ideas swimming about. Think about it, if I can publish 7 posts over 2 days when things are quiet imagine how much I have to write about when I've been too busy to blog?

So, what will this one be about then? I think I shall write about today now and then maybe do yesterday this evening, if that makes sense. It’s not that I think I have to give a detailed account of my whole life on here (well, it would be ideal obviously but a little over reaching me thinks) and indeed I am still behind when it comes to cool stories from two weekends ago. It's just I’ve just had lots of fabulously cool things happen and 'profound' thoughts crop up that I want to share.

First off, I am in Starbucks writing this. And it is the one by the hairdressers (Rive); AKA the one with the mean lady. I arranged to meet Robyn here after music practise and the risk factor didn’t occur to me until I was in the queue and saw her behind the counter. It was definitely her and short of upping stakes and heading to the other side of the river (which wasn’t really an option) I was going to have to ask her for my coffee *expresses look of trepidation*. So, I decided to pray. Just a quick bless her and bless my Venti Frappuccino Mocha Light avec noisettes. Do you know what, it worked. I got service with a smile, she doubled checked my order and it all came through perfectly. I even went back, skipping ahead of a long queue, to ask for 2 Internet access cards and she gave me them with a smile. Now, that to me is like honey from a rock.

Rubbish, I've written loads of junk without even going into the revelations I had planned. Tell you what, I’ll make a quick comment about the post-baptism week instead then write another one later to break it up for you.

It has been cool. I feel really different. I am quite delighted by this fact give that at the time it felt like a big risk and I was scared of a let down; more so than in coming to this Starbucks. I suppose last Sunday was a little bit like today. I was standing in that queue and saying “God, I could walk out right but I have a lot staked on this (a good seat, a settled friend and no nearby alternative) so could you just take over the situation please”. Similarly last week as I waited to get dunked it was all about “God I have a lot staked on this and absolutely NO alternative but there is still a lot ahead that terrifies me so would you be able to take over”. Tenuous analogy but true. So, really what I am saying is that even over one week I am more convicted of the decision to do it. I am a New Creation and really feel like it is the start of the rest of my life – a proper rebirth. He does comes through for you. Woohoo! :-D

Yeah, baptism is great, it is a physical act that works in the spiritual world and makes an actual tangible difference within. You do need to have some faith else it is just getting wet, but a mustard seed’s worth is enough for God to do great things with. Even now I find myself liking the obvious sins less and less (leaving it clear for me to notice and struggle with the less obvious ones mind!) and that is ‘cause I am changing. And once He has you He won’t let you go and you will only become more and more part of his 'flock' (check out John chpt 10) so I am excited to see how I will feel at 2 weeks old. Yeah there is temptation from all sides and regular hiccups (and that is only the ones I am aware of) but I am not the same person I once was and that in itself gives me a fighting chance.

In everything pray. You will grow more, glorify God better and get the coffee that you ordered complete with a smile!

Another thing about French Class

I don't know what I have said about my French teacher but she is called Bee and she is Great! We met a few weeks after I came to Geneva and she offered really early on to give me lessons for free: one of the many wonderful things that happened surround my departure/arrival that pointed me towards the big JC (Jesus Christ not Johnny Cash, who is by the way the medium JC).

Anyway, Bee has had an amazing life. She was a really '68er and, well let's just say she has some stories. I should get her to write a blog it would be much more interesting than mine. Bee is also a German, though her French is totally perfect and her grammar much better than most actual French people (I am so not the one to talk!).

Her English is pretty amazing too; occasionally I teach her new words but only colloquially (that's fun), or the correct pronunciation of manure. There is one thing that she says though, or the manner in which she says it, which stands out every time. Sometimes when you translate things there is a bit of a gap between the languages and the intended message does not come across quite as it might in it's native tongue. For example, I am apparently a REAL freak. Sincerely and honestly; but it's OK 'cause she likes freaks. As time has passed I've established that there are a good many of us, herself included, that fit into this category; and decided that I quite like the definition.

I admit though, tonight I was thrown. I was wearing my hair slightly differently (face-length bob with a fringe right now and I had a half french plait, for those that care) and had on brown and gold tones. Bee always like to comment (with absolute truth) on my appearance and today she looked at me totally shocked and delighted and said:
"You look really pretty. Strange that you look so nice!"

Thanks.

Now, I am not totally insecure and I have been there with the linguistic short-fallings before, so it was mostly just amusing that even as the evening wore on I was getting occasional glances and the odd reiterated "Amazing, really amazing".

Is it that shocking to you?!

My favourite is when she tells me she doesn't like what I am wearing; or what I was wearing at church last week. I feel it's important, particularly when I am getting the magnitude of compliments I was tonight, that they always come with this healthy pinch of salt. The "I love your outfit today" is so often followed up with a "Shame you weren't wearing it on Sunday" that I can't ever become vain.

Thanks for helping me keep it real!

Little bit of an understatement

Today when I went to French we spent the whole evening making CDs! I shouldn't admit to this 'cause it is a little bit cheeky but my teacher has the most amazing collection of worship music and I am a little bit on the sparse front so she got all excited about me burning my own. It was only 2 and I'll buy them as time goes by I promise... Anyway, I've invested my emotions and staked my reputation on this, surely I don't need to put down cold hard cash just yet?

Being facetious aside, I did it. Judge me. The fun part is that I got to put stickers all over the sleeves and we literally spent 2 hours making up a Noah's ark scene on one and putting typical 'lady' favourites on the other (kittens, flowers and the silhouette of a women holding a parasol). Not very relevant but very cute and there were some tract stickers too.

So then, when I showed it to Robyn, the best bit happens. Reading aloud from one of the stickers I say:
"A cheerful heart is like a good medicine."
...and she says:
"Ooooh, it's got little sayings on it."

Yes Robyn, little sayings. Did you know they've put them together in a book called Proverbs? Then that got put in an even bigger book that you have chosen to build your life upon.
Bless her!

One other thing I liked about the CD making was seeing a group called Watermark. I got all soppy, what with me being "watermarked" now. Getting baptised was so the right thing to do and I have even had my first resisting of a major temptation! Whoop!! (As opposed to whoops...)

Final observation on this topic. The song with Graham Kendrick feat. Matt Redman. Talk about a collaboration, big names from across the decades, like some kinda bangin' Timberland track mixing up the styles but always keeping it slick.

Christian music. I am looking forward to discovering you...

Good Food Diaries, part III - Recipe for Kat(i)e's 'Brownie' Surprise

So I'm being lazy. I wrote this last November and just copied and pasted from a Facebook note. I know it's not particularly inventive and more than a little irrelevant but I have to get to French. Anyway, some of you may even remember eating this shit; now you know how it was done...:

If you have several hours to kill and the desire to impress new friends with your baking abilities you may wish to try this exciting patisserie dish... Or possibly not:

Ingredients
A Swiss Brownie kit with cake mix inside and instructions in French, German and Italian
100g of butter (partially melted, partially congealed)
3 eggs
0.5 litres of water
400g of chocolate (just in case)
200g hazelnuts
any old breakfast cereal you have lying around

Taking the simple to follow instructions make the decision to try and amend the recipe. Melt a 1/4 of the chocolate in the microwave in a non-microwaveable bowl and watch your kitchen start to smoke and smell of melted plastic.

Meanwhile, chop up whole hazelnuts, because you don't believe in paying extra for ready ground.

Empty the packet labeled 'melange pour gateaux' into a large bowl and add the required eggs and butter (don't bother melting it properly, the excess water will ruin it anyway) then add ten times the required 0.5 dl of water. Mix it up and feel the realisation dawn on you that you have just created chocolate soup. Don't forget to note that the mix inside the box is for 'gateaux' which you are pretty sure is French for 'cake'.

Persevere. You can not give up now, this has cost you 15CHF. Maybe it will condense down as it bakes.

At this point take a break (with more chocolate in the microwave) and check your facebook status. Note that friends are offering you exciting recipes for tasty baked goods and you are struggling to follow 'Dr. Oetker's' simple brownie mix. Watch your mixture congeal as you reply to pointless wall posts...

Carry on melting the choc a line at a time until you remember the safer and more professional method of a bowl in a saucepan of hot water. Marvel that you manage to burn the chocolate but remember, that was the last of it so it goes in anyway. As you see the water bubbling into the mix and realise the sides are too high to remove the scalding bowl note that you will never make a good wife.

With the burnt chocolate setting hard, exectutively decide to add it to the rest of the mess. And the put that whole bowl into the saucepan of hot water to encourage the butter to melt and the chocolate to mix properly. Realise a little too late that it is the same type of plastic that melted in the microwave. A familiar smell returns...

Quickly fish out the bowl. Your back up of chocolate cornflake cakes is gone since you used all the chocolate in an attempt to salvage the brownies. What the hell, might as well waste some more food. Crush and mix in almost a whole box of Kellogg's Cornflakes (other brands are available) and smile that the mixture is indeed thickening. Get bored as you chop the rest of the nuts (very badly by this point) and don't forget to change your status at least three times throughout.

This should have taken you approximately 1 1/2 hours by now. The mixture is considerable larger than you anticipated and it dawns on you that there are no cake trays at all, let alone sufficient for this monstrosity. Never mind, a couple of shallow oven trays later and a lot of mess, as you have to go back and grease the tins after pouring the mixture, and you are ready to cook them. OR should they be put in the fridge? Who know. Choose any setting you like on the oven and place them inside for an undetermined length of time.

Check often and pray.

SMACK that

Service Makes All Communities Kinder. The motivation behind the community service aspect of the IB middle-years program.

I love that the system emphasises this aspect of education. I love that they chose the acronym SMACK.

Coincidence?

I had a really cool experience last weekend, while my friend Gemma was visiting. Rather fabulous in fact and contrary to the question mark in the title I am pretty sure this was not just a Coincidence.

It was on the train returning from the beer festival in Martigny (pronounced Martini to all who went) and we were 5 spread out across two 4 seat booths in the carriage. Hence, when the train stopped at one station and a few more passengers got on we ended up with two attractive and lovely (yes I mean it, not just being English!) ladies sitting in the midst of us. A tall red head and a short and curly brunette. They were lots of fun and we had a good laugh at the expense of the drunken meandering man who was rather keen on self promotion; apparently his appearance is quite a regular experience. I liked them 'cause when I offered cake they accepted - and why wouldn't you? It was spiced loaf. (I later found that one of them had been craving ginger earlier! Coincidence?) Anyway, they got off at Coppet I think and we did not even swap names. Just one of those things: we mused that it was funny you could meet such cool people and never see them again.

The next day Gemma and I went to church, had a drink by the river (that is a whole other experience to be told anon) and then walked to Parc des Bastions to take in the chess and the reforms and what not. Milling about taking photos we hear a shriek and running and a short feisty brunette is making tracks to embrace us, followed by an elegant ginger who was no less forward.

It really was quite remarkable and I can't help smiling now as I remember how I met these two wonderful women, both of whom have since become real people in my life that I text and Facebook (ok, that's not real) and meet up with and everything.

We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking wine and eating biscuits and cashew nuts (more than paying back a squishy piece of cake!) with them and their friends, while we pretended to play chess then actually did play uno. It was lovely and one of the most random experiences I have ever had.

Yet, I don't think it was random, not really. For one, they were both Christians (I'm not saying that if they were not Christians it would have been less cool just that it is something we have ended up sharing together quite a lot and, well also to me it means God is in control.) and one in particular was looking for a church to attend in Geneva. She already came to YAGs last night and they are both coming to EBCG next Sunday (they tried to come last week for the baptism but only found the Lutheran Church - no full immersions there!). We also have loads of other stuff in common and just a right laugh together so it is looking to be some pretty sweet friendships. Now, how often do Strangers On A Train actually end up like that? (I just hope they don't blackmail me into committing murder, else I rather think my point may be lost.)

So that got me thinking. Yesterday off the cuff I called something, which admittedly was less significant, a coincidence just 'cause the word came out naturally. I'm not sure I liked it.

In 'The Screwtape Letters' C.S.Lewis suggests the idea that words can be introduced by Satan into everyday vocabulary to help undermine God and what he stands for. Now, please don't think that what I have to say is not relevant in a secular context (if anything it is equally irrelevant to all!). One can still think that common vocabulary undermines how we view the world without attaching it to spiritual beliefs.

I just worry that by using "Coincidence" as default we are basically belittling every good thing that happens to us as a mere act of chance. When we wonder if something is a direct act of God's involvement (or say fate, the universe, or whatever other higher power you may subscribe to) we always seem to stop and go "Well, it may just be a coincidence". Yet you never hear people say "Don't get carried away with thinking it's a coincidence without considering the possibility of miraculous or purposeful intervention" do you.

It is a word that not only attaches no meaning whatsoever but actually removes the significance an extraordinary event may naturally suggest.

I see nothing wrong with questioning God but sometimes, given that I believe He is capable of all things and on top of that wants to give good gift to His children, perhaps just perhaps I should question the mundane at least as much as the miraculous.

Unhappy Clappy

My sister told me this weekend that clapping in church is no longer cool. Not in England anyway. Now, I don't know about this because I haven't been to church in England for a while, say 6 years or so, but it seemed to be quite popular then though definitely denominationally dependent. Problem is, what do we call the 'evangelical free churches' if they are no longer 'Happy Clappy'?

In Switzerland there is still clapping. However it is not really happy, more try hard and sometimes painful. It does happen though so maybe we are a few years behind the fashions; things tend to hit mainland Europe after the UK and I can't see why clapping habits would be any different.

I like clapping in church, when I don't play the piano. It can be tricky to do when not many others are into it but I have a loud clap and last Sunday we did such a funky gospel number (Soon and Very Soon) and it was my baptism, so I was very up for giving it a go. Got a bit of a following too, my dear clap fan friend was sitting in front and we carried on gallantly for a good verse and a half. Daddy taught me well about hitting the off-beats and I wasn't really paying much attention, just enjoying the moment.

Until...

Someone on the other side of the Oratoire started very stubbornly hitting the on-beat.

Now that threw me. For one thing I'm not very good at identifying which beat is which when I think about it, I just go wid da flo, so while that felt wrong I wasn't sure and thought maybe they were correcting me. Needless to say I stopped and soon after my friend was adjusting to their time keeping. I could not bring myself to do it and was sad to miss out on the rhythm praise but I also did not claim to know better. Plus, the idea of a clap-off seems ridiculous and church the wrong place to do it. And ridiculous.

One of the vocalists was desperately trying to click it out for us in the manner that I had started so with hindsight I suppose what I was doing was right (if you can have a right and wrong about what beat to clap on) and really I just lacked confidence at the crucial moment.

But if I can't go for it when God is calling me to clap for Him, even with the guidance of a more mature time keeper, what use am I?

I say clap. Clap with everything you have. The on-beat faux pas didn't last and there was silence... don't let that be you.

Miracle Child

I like these lyrics from a song by the Newsboys. A friend put me onto it 'cause it reminded them of my life/conversion and I can't help but agree. Plus, the words are great in general and really inspiring:

When you got there
I was sure you'd come too late
We all pay you lip service
Then address our prayers to fate
Sister gone
She tripped and fell
A prodigal hell
And do I dare believe you'll reach
Such a long lost cause
Wrapped in gauze
As good as dead

She's breathing...

My Lord
She's a miracle child
I know
She's a miracle child
And I saw
How she'd chosen the grave
My Lord
It's a miracle save

When she woke up
We were dumbstruck at the sight
Like coming out of a coma
All she asked for was more light

Fluttering eyes
Life from a tomb
You flooded her room
With a fearsome mercy
Torn from the devil's grip
From the clutches of fear
I can hear her dead heart beating

My Lord
She's a miracle child
I know
She's a miracle child
And I saw
How she'd chosen the grave
My Lord
It's a miracle save

We lose hope
We mumble our prayers
We seal off the stairs
And never dare believe your reach
Can pass through stone
Can lead a child home
Can make the dead start blinking

Lyrics: Steve Taylor, Peter Furler

You can find it on YouTube if you are interested in listening...

Guset List

I was sorting out my document files and came across one titled "Guset List". It may not be spelt correctly but it still made me wonder what a list of gussets would look like.... Une idée amusante, non?

It's the little things

Robyn has moved back in. This actually happened last Thursday. The trial separation really made us see what is important; that floosie from Canada is long gone and going to Africa can really give back some perspective so, fresh off the plane from Liberia, Brooker-Bright gave it another go...

It was always going to happen I realised. Our relationship was far too significant to give up on without trying one last time. The whole time she was away I became increasingly aware that I could not turn her away were she to return; the love was not at all dead. Every little reminder drew a tear to the eye - from a carrier with an out of date Matin Bleu and the last piece of a chocolate bar (mmmm!) to an old bag with mouldy rye bread and dirty 'socks' in: I tidied up the rubbish, ate the tasties and did the washing as I awaited her return.

The thing is she gets me. For example last night after dinner - which we cooked together ate together and left on the washing up pile together - she offered to me to scrape her plate of the leftover "zucchini" (I think you mean courgette), scrambled egg and maple syrup, 'cause she knows how much I hated waste.

It's the little things isn't it?

I really ought to have better things to do with my day than write yet ANOTHER blog

This was my Facebook horoscope today (bearing in mind they change sporadically and are seldom-to-never right but always entertaining when they do happen to overlap with real life):
Aries: Someone will try to put an idea in your head that goes against what you believe, but you won't fall for it.
Does anyone else see the irony that the day after I get baptised I am forewarned about temptation? Good thing I will succeed in resisting...!

Sommat else about Frenchness

My discovery of French Who Wants To Be A Millionaire was exciting enough to make it as a facebook status. However, when one of the questions was "conjugate this verb for first person conditional tense" it was promoted to blogworthy. I love the fact that this language is so mental, being able to spell as a native is valued at 10,000 €.

Why, thank you?

Strangest compliment ever came from a friend yesterday whilst talking about some spy that got shot down from a plane and survived the fall. She just looks at me and says "I think you would be the kind of person that would survive a 70,000 ft fall..." When I received this with a puzzled expression (indeed exclamation) she said "That's a compliment, I wouldn't last 5 ft."

I don't know what is more bewildering. The idea that there is a type of person that could survive that, the suggestion that I seem to be of such set or that she envisages herself as someone that having fallen 5 feet through the air would instantaneously perish?!?

Good Food Diaries, part II

I was just drinking fennel tea and noticed a bag of figs on my bedside table (best place to keep 'em). It hit me, Figs and Fennel are an amazing flavour blend. Try it: as a salad, maybe roasted together or in some kind of pie. Else just dipped into tea. I know I will...

Taking The Plunge

Today I got baptised. That is exciting but it is late so I will probably not say too much. I do however want to write sommat rather than nothing.

I was going to tell a cool story all about God manifesting Himself to me/a huge coincidence that looked to me like God manifesting Himself but I am tired and don't think I would give it enough credit so instead I will make small talk about what a nice day it was.

I also want to note that I am aware this entry misses out a lot of gaps in the story between thinking God exists and becoming a fully fledged (though very much baby) Christian. This will just have to remain so until I slot in some random insights (or not so random incites) that may go part way to explain, though cannot account for the mystery that is faith.

It was very scary for me to do this 'cause I am not one for major commitment or indeed final decisions (you should see me in a restaurant and then try and translate this to life altering choices) and baptism is kinda like getting married to Jesus (with a bit of a funeral for sin thrown in) so I find it to be quite a significant option. However, fear is a good thing to conquer and so that is what we did. You gotta take risks at some point or nothing will ever happen and the good thing about God is He makes promises that He has to keep so though it is like getting married to the invisible man He can still be held accountable in the physical dimension. And, bonus, by definition of omnipotence and such He is better husband material than most.

After a lovely if not overwhelming morning, vast lunch gathering at Spaghetti Factory and Starbucks with my wonderful sister (she flew over for the big event even when I made a big disclaimer that I may not do it) and my fabulous Canadian lady-husband I suddenly found myself 'absconded' by them to a surprise 'B' party. That was cool 'cause they themed everything around the letter which is GREAT when that involves Brut Bubbly, Bread, Brie, Biscuits, Brown chocolate (tenuous but well worth it) and Beautiful Brian! It was really touching both that they fore-planned this and that the dearies that organised it went totally against my secrecy wishes in order that it would happen 'cause they were sure I would 'take the plunge' even if I was not!

So, I just cut out half of this post 'cause I'd written a final thought last night that grew too big and I know what you people are like about getting bored halfway through. Now there is no good ending I shall just tail off...

S'pose when the subject is baptism I don't have to be all conclusive, what with it being about a new beginning an' all.

Butterflies of Love

The French are such a romantic nation are they not. Did you know that, since the verb to love is 'aimer' and to like is 'aimer bien' (love well?!) you cannot construct a imperative form of like. That is, you can only command someone to love you, not to like you (Aime-moi.). They are all about the passion...

And fitting into the whole love vibe are 'Papillons d'Amour'. Directly translated as 'Butterflies of Love' (note the truth that love the noun is different to love the verb) you would not wish to encounter these amorous insects on your Parisian minibreak. Mistaken you may well be for our classic 'butterflies in the tummy' feeling for this is what I would consider a misleading expression. Trust the French to romanticise pubic lice!

Everything is meaningless...

Well, I just spent an amazing weekend doing loads of cool stuff in Geneva. Classic tourist trips like the UN tour and Red Cross museum coupled with enchanting random days full of new friends and strange experiences. What did I say at every turn? "I'm going to blog about this". And what am I now going to write about? Coffee shops and hair dressers...

Today I had a music lesson. It was not as progressive as I would have liked: spent most of the time gossiping and having a hoarse throat (not least after the as yet undescribed weekend) but it was quite fun. From here I decided to grab a Starbucks as I had a good book in my bag and an hour to kill before my colour appointment. This was a bit of a treat as I have been abstaining for a long time; partly due to general busyness couple with a *slight* need for detox... So I went for one of my two favourites: hazelnut mocha with non-fat milk and whipped cream (the non-fat justifies the whip). I got it venti (with a maple scone) and it came out grande so I sent it back. There is a big difference and I had been looking forward to this for ages so saw nowt wrong with getting from a service what one has asked, particularly when I put them under no pressure and did it with a smile. It was not my mistake... but sending it back sure was - there was no hazelnut syrup next time which I was partially devastated by and the cup was not even close to acceptably full. The look that returned my smile said "I have the power to destroy this small pleasure and I have just done it". Still, I tell myself that there is more to life than coffee and to give her the satisfaction of making me miserable was not where it was at. I read I eat I buy shoes (lovely brown leather 'thongs' to be precise). A bit concerning my card didn't work but hey, I had cash and I coped for over a week last-time without even that.

Hair time. Finally. I had REALLY been looking forward to/in need of this one. Mirrors of late have not been my friends. Les racines were showing big time and as I am currently growing it longer I decided that it was time to steer away from porn star blonde and into a more sophisticated 5-star blend.

Foolish to have expectations on arrival: never before Switzerland have I met more opinionated hair dressers. It may have something to do with the fact I don't speak great French but whenever I suggest one thing (using images are good for this) they suggest the opposite. Like the tousled choppy look that turned into a short bouncy bob or, on this occasion, the strawberry blond/dark red low lights that would look better in... purple.

Apparently my colouring does not suit rouge. What the hell does my colouring suit then?? Helloo... Ging-a. I was already unconvinced by the platinum and I now wonder at the mix of platinum, violet and dark brown that has blended together in a very fashionable, Solomon would be envious (if he weren't so damn Godly), silvery-grey.

Still. I read my book, I wait patiently and I think about a home dye job. My hairdresser was nice and I got to practise my French. Could have been worse I tell myself. Then I get to work, sit around for hours watching a kid draw a picture he is copying off the internet and helping him with bad French grammar (my specialty). All the time getting quite into the collection of letters I am reading to drown the boredom, if not more. I am really late there and had to go straight to French, both making the mistake of not telling my teacher I wouldn't be there till 8pm and not getting the chance for dinner either.

All told, sounds a bit like all the things I should have enjoyed were a little bit sour. But you know what, it was a ruddy bloody lovely day. 'Cause all the important things were great! Robyn turns up in Geneva and though it was stupidly early and she was a bit smelly (jokes! Not at all :-D) it was the best start ever. I get a text from a new friend who is really cool and totally exciting to meet up with again. I had a wonderful time with my French teacher despite the aforementioned circumstance (because that is all it was) and was reminded of the value and blessing that is our friendship. I even had the chance to keep an otherwise boreder (English grammar ain't so hot either!) 13 year old boy from watching cartoons and rotting his mind. Really, with all this in play, who cares about hair and coffee and money and supposed freedom from work?

And it did help that the book I was reading all day long was The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (there may well be a review to come...) which just kept reminding me fabulously of how unimportant the trivial niggles are in the grand scheme of things, yet how much they can get in the way of what is real and relevant. Hence I ended up feeling particularly free from all that shite as it ridiculed what value we can give to such things; showing what it can lead to yet how we really don't need to be subject to it at all! I loved the moment when a French woman on the bus said to me "un bon livre" and we shared a common appreciation and emancipation.

For sure I fell into about a million traps of anger, resentment, vanity, gluttony, superiority, judgement, selfishness, indifference, slothfulness and more. But who doesn't? The fact is, I am going to go to bed in a minute (with my Canadian hot water bottle) knowing that all that crap can't come with me and palpably sticking up my fingers to all the nasty works of the world that tried to bring me down today. Careful mind, trying to keep my humility intact... Damn it, there it goes.

Eh bien. Tomorrow is another day... :-)

P.S. Starting to really love the new colour and am interested to find out how silver foxes are treated in Geneva versus brassy blondes...

The sun may have his hat on, but do you?

Bearing in mind the sun is the source of life for all the planet, I think it is pretty cool. Aside from providing all the energy that we require to function however, it also manages to invoke a large amount of stupidity in the human race. Well, pasty white westerners anyway.

What is with opting out of suncream and such? There may well be people out there saying "I'm not that much of an idiot" but this year so far I have know at least 6 people, with degrees and proper jobs and everything, to get very red and just shrug it off as a means to an end. I want to shout out "skin cancer" but unfortunately I'm not a big fan of hypocrisy. One well respected member of my locale community, no names mentioned but you know who you are, declared to me that he did it on purpose cause he didn't have time to waste going brown slowly. Yet another dear friend, who is desperate for a mention in my blog though possibly not like this, still had a red forehead 3 days after a lovely Sunday afternoon by the lake. (I won't shame him by labelling in this one 'cause I am just too nice!) I myself am no better, immediate satisfaction is my biggest weakness and the golden glow payoff wins every time.

Silly silly sun people.

But sillier still, I find, is sunbathing at 8pm at night when the clouds have covered over, people aren't even in their swimsuits and the tits are out in full glory. No problem with topless bathing (this is "the continent" it would be futile to care) but in those conditions isn't that just indecent exposure?

That all said, the storms hit GVA this week (just as I came off revision duties) so I haven't got the option to be unwise in the electromagnetic spectrum. Bring on the biere fest this evening, there are other ways to be foolish!

For all you creationists out there...

...I was interested to learn that one of the official (in IB Biology anyway) theories of the origin of life is that clay molecules were a precursor to DNA/enzyme shenanigans, formed inside prokaryotic lipid membranes... Kinda dust from the ground stuff!

Good Food Diaries, part I

Well, I think it is about time that I started a regular topic in this blog. If Darryl can do it then so can I.

And one of the things that I am passionate about is FOOD. So this is a chance to talk about classic and new favourites as I remember or discover them (which I have been doing a lot recently). Feel free to share, particularly if you have a good recipe but even just so you aren't salivating alone. I mean, who doesn't love food?!

Today I have no particular recipe to hand, but I thought I would write about nice things that I have consumed recently and that which Switzerland has added to my culinary experiences...

First off, Maple Syrup.

Not what you may have expected granted and I had tried it before with appreciation but never to such extent. I genuinely believe that it is the best thing EVER and goes with just about anything. I was recently reminded that this is an ethos captured in the film Elf which only goes to increase my appreciation since that may well be one of the best Christmas movies EVER as well.

Second, and a partway derivative of the first, is Pancake Dinners. Sausages, syrup and fat North American style pan fried doughy goodness. I almost feel guilty but it is SO good and great for foody parties (N.B. Can also be substituted gladly for French Toast which, incidentally, I never realised went so well with sugar and cinnamon).

Now, clearly I have been too far influenced by my Canadian chums over here so let's got for a bit of European cuisine. It would not be Switzerland without Fondue, and though I have eaten far too much of this artery clogging delight to justify ever doing it again there is nothing quite like a day skiing in the mountains rounded off with a big pot of melted 'mouldy fat' and a stale loaf (particularly if it has been manhandled around the restaurant). The only thing that completes this idyllic day is a glass of Vin Chaud when you stop off at lunch time.

Hmmmm, that is an overload on fat/dairy/wheat-based death so what about for the health conscious moments?

Well, salads with any fruit I always got but have never enjoyed so much and this extends incredibly well to pear in stirfries (particularly when you add a bit of maple syrup). Nothing is better than mixing up sweet/savoury/nutty/seedy/cheesy stuffs on lettuce and my knowledge of this is growing under the influence of dear friends so any recipes (I know there are a few good ones out there... Emma if you're reading I want the one with cranberries etc!) please leave them in comments; or email me privately if they're too good to share!!

I just want to round this up with the fact that I have been lucky enough of late to leave work with some very tasty gifted morsels, which are the partial inspiration of this post. Luxury handcrafted chocolate mini muffins, fresh mangos (they were wow) direct from Indian and only half an hour or so ago I did sup on a late dinner of Sushi - which incidentally I discovered first in Geneva and am so very glad about it that it gets to be put in bold!

Next time I have a good dinner you will hear about it, with a blow by blow guide to recreating the experience (where available). I have decided to learn all about food and so we shall be doing this one together. Unless there is no-one reading...

P.S. Mum, I know you're reading. Please, when you work out how, would you put up some of your soup recipes 'cause they are the best :-D

Left Behind

Today I was in a French health food shop (good intentions have started!) with my friend Sara. At one point I wonder off and when I went back to look for her she had moved and left her basket where it was. In that moment I was reminded of something funny that happened to me about a year ago when I was still living a Woodies...

So, Woodies is a church in Bristol which has student flats in the roof and I lived there from 2005-7 with a whole bunch of other students/volunteers/crazy evangelists! There were 16 rooms and we shared a large (and dark) kitchen and living room together. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of my flatmates in both years were Christians, though there were always a few of us 'Heathens' to keep them on their toes. One day I came downstairs (bedrooms were on the 4th floor with beams and sloped ceilings and the communal areas were the next level down) and it was unusually empty for the middle of the afternoon in a student house. Yet the lights were on in every room, there was food in the oven and someone had left the T.V. tuned in to Neighbours. Ordinarily you might shrug and acknowledge that this is typical behaviour for 'our type'. Except, I was well aware that 'our type' was not the same as 'their type' and I confess that the first thing I though of was... is this the Second Coming?! (Please don't get caught up on my theology, I was not and still am not very well informed.)

I spent a few minutes seriously not sure what to do, no-one was in their rooms and this did not bode well for my theory being proved wrong since the saved to non-saved ratio in the place was high. Finally someone returned home and my concern (fear is too strong a word though it certainly did make me wonder, hard) was alleviated. Until I realised that there was a chance my new companion (no names mentioned) was just not sufficiently holy!

Jokes. Evidently it was not The Rapture (theologians bite your tongue) and normality established we had a good old laugh together, particularly over my brief suspicion as to his/her salvation status. Funny what makes you stop and think even if, with the moment passed, you are all too willing to go back to avid disbelief.

One step too far

Warning: this one may seem a little bit more for the ladies.

What with all the pressure to look beautiful these days (resisting feminist urge to moan about the expectations that men put on us being to blame!) there is a bit of a mantra that has seeped into the standard regime of western women. Cleanse, Tone and Moisturise. I read an article once that explained this all to me: we wash (I justified that one myself) but then the pH of the soap and the water is too alkaline (pure water at 7.0 with soaps even higher and skin naturally at 5.5) so our skin overproduces oil to compensate; therefore we use toner to readjust the 'levels' before applying moisturiser to rehydrate since we have no natural oils left. Logical to me, I embraced the theory and will defend it to the death. Or would have if they had not pushed it a step too far...

Convenient for all the beauty product companies that I and thousands (if not millions) of other women bought into this, that we may fit better into some modern day image of attractive. However, I will be duped no further. No more convincing arguments for me, I refuse to accept that what I now need to do is add a 4th step to my regime: 'beauty serum'.

Even the name makes me cringe. How can they seriously market a product that is claiming to be a serum of beautification? It's worse than 'bifidius digestivum' the conveniently named bacterium that aids, what now...? At least that is for inner beauty!

They have pushed it too far now and I am questioning everything I ever believed in to do with these crazy step systems. Clearly the con is on. So, given the flawless argument that previously justified C-T-M, I can only suppose there is a fallacious premise going on at some point. Alors, I conclude based upon all the evidence that the problem is this: we take cleaning as a given. The only reason we need to T and M is to counteract the first so this is my plea to you all... STOP WASHING. After all, there was probably a marketing campaign to get us to do that once upon a time.

How far can you be pushed before you begin to question what you have accepted as given? Oh look, a point!

Linguistic Potholes

Kebab houses in Geneva are different to the ones back home. For a start you can order red wine in them, and sit on a terrace with a plate. You can even have a rice based meal... Crazy. They also differ in the sense that on the whole you are expected to speak French: beware. More dangers lurk in this language than in the meat you are eating there. Scary.

There is one truly consistent thing about kebaberies though: the people that run them. Always the same type of man that is incredibly flirty and in the really irritating sense, such that he likes to tease and patronise women (I do not like this technique, pas du tout). They find this a lot easier to do when one does not speak very good French and the other day, having gone for a pint by the lake (do not get me started on how beautiful that is) with a friend, kebabs seemed the natural progression. In this, Mr Donor got the perfect opportunity to perform the standard unsuccessful mating ritual and at the same time publicly humiliate me.

Pronunciation is key in French and it is not always easy to perfect. If I were to give you one piece of advice it is this: never say "Thank-you very much" to a sleazy Turkish man.

There are a few words that you run the risk of being gravely misinterpreted with. Beaucoup (a lot) is one such. When I responded with the natural "Merci beaucoup" (thanks a lot/very much) I had momentarily forgotten this and boy is that one scenario where you shouldn't be flippant. When he asked me "Quoi?" I was well aware that I should not repeat myself but perhaps I would have been better off ignorant, since the damage had been done and I understood enough to know that the entire shop had just heard me say "Thank-you nice arse".

However, since I had also made the second worst mistake in a kebab shop (to not say "sans piquant" in time) it turned out that having inadvertently seduced my server I could get whatever I wanted (as long as what I wanted was a fresh kebab bun without hot sauce). So I suppose I learnt that sexual impropriety does pay off. Hmmmm. Ponder that one...

Hobophobia

So, that could not be more politically incorrect or judgmental. In fact, it may not even be relevant to what I wanted to say but I like how it sounds so it stays.

There are quite a few homeless people (or at least those scruffier than me) in Geneva and particularly around Cornavin one can feel like they are running a bit of a gauntlet. After a few conversations on the topic and questioning of my own view point I have rather recently decided to embrace a culture of giving and just say Yes. I mean, there are many arguments for why not but I sort of reasoned it down to the fact that they are poor and sad and want money, I have some to spare and think that showing love to fellow man is a nice thing to do. It's not really my money anyway (yes, I am the ring leader of an organised crime agency, hence location...). Plus who am I to say what they should do with it, if you lived on the streets maybe you would want to get drunk too. [Please feel free to fervently bash my flippancy I can happily debate this for hours.]

Anyway, it is easy enough for me to fish in my small change purse, dole out the silvers without missing the cash and the benefit is a warm fuzzy feeling. I'm not trying to buy a smile (which is good 'cause seldom does it get one) but it is pointless to try and deny that when we do things for other people it does feel nice.

I quite like local beggars too, they are a characteristic of a place and evoke a feeling of familiarity in the same way that the jet d'eau or giant floating football do; but today something so extraordinary happened that I did pause and say hang on mate, there is a line and that's just rude. Fortunately it was so hilarious that it leaves me with no lasting grudge.

I was walking to town to buy a train ticket ('citing but another story) and was in the park just behind the station when this guy on a bench asks me for some money. I am a bit rubbish in these situations and often pull the "I don't understand but I do care card": smile, thrust a token amount of jangly their way and wish them a good day (Queen of Glib). To my shock and hindsighted delight, the gentleman reviewed what I had offered (admittedly not that much, maybe only about 1CHF altogether) and returned to me the 5cent pieces.

Maybe he felt patronised; like the performers in Covent Garden who announce that this is their art so please don't bother if you aren't giving a pound or more. Sitting on that bench may not look like fire juggling but he sure had perfected it.

The ironic thing is, the week before when I had lost my card (turned up in the COOP btw, when I thought to ask for it 10 days later, which was nice) I had collected all my coinage together. Those 5cent pieces were what I had considered my salvation when I was temporarily without income.

So I guess it goes to show that no matter your 'status' in life you can still sit firmly above it. I'm not sure I am the hobophobe in this situation. Maybe Swiss vagabonds are just a little bit weller-to-do.

On Thursdays I'm Sexy

For the second week in a row I have had the most absurd experiences whilst traveling home from French , all involving Francophone men which does not help with the stereotype at all.

Indeed, any woman that has passed through Geneva will not leave without at least one story about bizarre unwarranted attentions from the stranger members of the night-time crowd. I would add an aside at this point, particularly for my mother, that at no point am I in any danger. Unless I were to choke from excessive laughter, or in a case of particularly bad B.O.

So, I thought I'd recap some of the funnier/bizarrer (adjective check?) stories; either my own or ones that I can shamelessly steal from friends and legends...

Tonight it started at a tram stop when a motorbikist passing across the way appeared to be waving at me. I ignored this as probably a traffic signal and definitely not pertinent to my future marital status so was surprised to find a few moments later that he had decided to turn in the road and come say hello - or "bon soir". Now usually I would of course ignore the strange advances of strange men in the night time. However, given the Anglophone-heavy nature of my life in Geneva I have begun to take these as golden opportunities to practise colloquial French speaking. I was delighted to find that I could both understand and refuse an offer for a lift and compliments however trite do sound better in French.

Now, I am being brutally honest when I say that even I do not think I am worthy of this attention today of all days. I ought to have washed my hair this morning and the rolled down ankle socks with summer skirt look is not that hot. All before mentioning the major circles under my eyes (been up too late watching House... mmmmmm) and random assorted bag-like garments that I was wearing. However, this did not put off bikeman. Neither did it prevent the oddball opposite me on the bus a little bit later on from persisting to make eye-contact till he got off (the bus) and then proceeding to my window and making gestures towards my face and other generally enthusiastic beckonings. With hindsight I suppose I may have had something on my nose but this ought not to have preoccupied him right up until the point that the bus overtook.

Last week made an impression simply because as the three of us were walking back from dinner to Cornavin (you ought to be avid enough to recall the post that referred to this evening and thus who sad three are) there was a passing cyclist who really shouldn't have turned around 3-times to try to 'connect' as he rode up Rue du Mont-Blanc. I was kind enough respecting the danger his life was in to not try out my latest put-downs at that point. It did seem a little silly though and as such the memory has stuck.

None of them are fussy either. I was once on my way home carrying a whole load of 'stuff' that was effectively rubbish I found in the street (kitsch objets d'art) and the only issue this posed to the man of the moment was whether I would mind moving it so he could sit next to me on a practically empty bus.

A particular favourite anecdote is when a friend had a man join her under her umbrella (sorry to steal Andrea but it is good!) and try to chat her up whilst invading her personal space and ensuring she was getting wet round the edges. Always a sure bet. I have also heard of full-on marriage proposals happening at the bus stop and even when the predator and prey do not speak a word of the same language that does not stop them wanting to call you up!

I just don't get what it is that these guys think they will achieve from all this..? Are there actually women out there who, when swooned, stared or muttered at, melt at the knees and go "oh yes, I want some of that" and it is they who are encouraging these men to persevere with such tactics? Surely they should have worked out by now from the spectrum of reactions, that I can only imagine range from polite and silent disgust to actual bodily harm, that these well intended advances will not in fact make them any luckier.

OK, so one guy was really quite smooth and did in fact have a potentially winning line. It was in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon and thus obviously a different class of perv was aprowling. After some good practising of français he offered me his card telling me he was a photographer and was looking for some new models. Now ladies, that is of course difficult not to blush at, look coy and inadvertently satisfy his aspirations of making a good impression. As he leaves I look down at the card and am confronted with a black and white image of a bare-chested woman languishing under the website address. Gutted I kick myself:

aspiring political careers are always spoiling my fun...

Rat Gambling

As everyone who has ever Googled "rat gambling" will tell you, the predominant thing that comes up is how iron deficiency during pregnancy affects post-natal blood pressure.... Strange, no?

The Cat Is Dead

Got your attention?

Cleopatra, despite all my dreadfully negative paranoid proclamations, is thankfully still with us. She is however bored witless of my company and looks forward to returning to mummy this evening. Cats I find are attention-loving creatures and I am about 90% self involved so while we have a content coexistence I am not, as it turns out, a good feline companion. On to plan C...

So which cat is dead? Not Schrödinger's (well, maybe) but rather a different analogy that deals with facing the reality of one's situation. Particularly relevant to those people who refuse to listen to something (or anything) that life, the universe or God is telling them. So, just about everyone at some point then eh?

Today I am going to be insightful.

I find it fabulous how life seems so designed to teach us lessons. Given half a mind to listen - and potentially even apply - it seems to me that all sorts of revelation can come from the simplest, or even cruelest scenarios. I will not dwell on the source of these mechanisms (not because I think it is irrelevant but that is a whole other discourse) but I do find that we have the potential, every day, for personal growth and development if we choose to accept what we are learning in life. Before you tell me that it's easier said than done remember that I am being purely theoretical... Tune in next time for the beginners guide to executing change!

Why the morbid feline parallel? Well, this is in fact a real situation that I have borne witness to at some point in my life, the relevance of which did not go un-noted. A dear friend lost their wonderful cat companion in a very untimely manner. Sudden and unexpected loss/pain is something that most people are not unaccustomed to and this particular scenario seemed to so clearly represent the options one has when reacting; either choosing to let themselves move on and grow as a person or to give in to the grief and learn nothing (I am happy to say that said friend falls very much into the first camp).

So, from now on I clarify my options into three distinct camps:

A Pretend that the cat is not dead. It was all a big misunderstanding that will work itself out so just don't give up hoping. This would have been easy to do since no body was actually seen and the cat was in fact a rare and expensive breed. The signs were misleading seeing as there was lots of evidence that suggested otherwise - like a patch of dug earth that was very small and unconvincing and a suspicious lying cat sitter who kept saying different things.

B Get a new cat. Find a way to quickly put the situation behind you without any overhanging pain. Cover it up with a cuddly new kitten. It will all build up and you will find your heart sitting on a pile of dead decomposing felines(!).

C Let the cat rest in peace and learn ....... [insert relevant message here]. Whatever your dead cat is, there is a lesson to be gained from the experience. Say goodbye, have a cry and be a better person for it at the end of the day.

So, what I am trying to say (aside from flagging up my pretentious, overdramatic should-get-a-proper-job status) is this: The cat IS dead. Don't let it be in vain. Option C is the way forward...

Cleopatra comin' at'cha and other incites

It seems that Cleopatra is feeling at home... I am sitting on the bed with a cat licking my toes and walking over my keys. Awwww. Yet a little arggggh as well! Does she not know I am disturbingly attach to my laptop?

Well. Apparently I am a blogger at heart now. I have spent a most fabulous day-off in Geneva doing all kinds of wonderful things and being rather insightful throughout (or not as it turns out) but the consistent thought I have had is: "This would make a good blog." Oh dear. Particularly since most of the time they were not very good things at all! So, the following entry is a random hotchpotch of everything that half amused or endeared me and I do hope it does not begin to look like a list but given the lateness of the evening I fear that it is inevitable. I hope more that I will eventually find a way to balance real life with cyber stories else it will become a pretty pitiful existence...

[Aside: there is an adorable tabby chasing a wooden mouse around my parquet. If only we were all this easily satisfied.]

Today is (well, it was) the Swiss national holiday marking Ascension. Isn't that cool/weird? I suppose it stems from the days of reformation and Calvin (am I convincing you with this feeble unresearched postulate?) but I liked it 'cause it meant a lie in (OK, everyday is a lie in for me) and I could then hang with my hommies from midi de minuit. It also meant that I got another gift from my generous benefactors - tradition has it that you give lilies of the valley and mine turned up in a cute vase and are stinking out the place in the best possible way.

First thought and a very important one: probiotic yoghurt drinks suck, don't bother. I tried one that Robyn left here and it minged to high kingdom come. Anything dairy and banana flavoured ought to taste like milkshake; needless to say, this one did not. I'd rather be bloated thank you very much.

Having moved the cat in and secured all possible escape routes (I'm not sure why she would want to leap off a first floor balcony but the risk was posed) I then "left her to make herself at home" and headed to my producer's place to do some serious jammin'. En route I walked past a car with a small child in the back seat. Not that unusual. I was however slightly perturbed by the fact that he had decided to victimise me with the worst attack he knew how and was sticking his tongue out in what can only be described as a violent manner. Turn the other cheek aside, this kid needed to learn some manners - it was clear what I had to do and I must admit I took great relish in returning the favour... only to worry for the next few minutes that he had in fact been eating a pink ice lolly (it was a warm day) and I was the meanest passerby in the history of pedestrianisation and had scarred him for life. Luckily I don't think about anything for too long so the guilt quickly passed.

I particularly like jamming with Caro 'cause we make some pretty special harmonies together. She struggles, apparently, with syncopation... and I can't stick to the beat if I try. I'm sure glad her flat mates are francophone 'cause at least I can't understand the comments. I also made a great discovering this afternoon - I can play the guitar. I am not sure how I forgot this fact but sure as hell there were at least two songs that I could join in with. I am rather delighted!

So today was pretty good, and I must say it's ones like this - sharing with beloved friends, music, deep conversation, learning and glorious walks in the sun - that really make you happy to be alive. I am fabulously chilled out, but perhaps a little too much. It turns out I have lost my bank card and with some thought I can honestly say I haven't seen it for a week. How does one go about dealing with issues like this when you don't know who to ring or what to say when you get through? Oh well, I sorted through my small change and 5 cents, approx 2.5p (I remember when it was 2p...), suddenly look a whole lot more appreciable. I really am far too blasé about the whole thing seeing as when I left Caro's I still headed to Starbucks pre-French class. But I did only get a 'grande coffee maison' (anyone else note that un caffee ought to be grand?) so I was almost being frugal. Hmmm. I do hope my card appears miraculously over the next 12 hours as this weekend will be pretty crappy on 8 CHF.

This brings me, in an almost cohesive manner, to my French lesson. Now, I am not being glib when I say that at the moment I genuinely feel like one of the luckiest girls alive; and my French 'class' pose no threat to this. Aside from the fact that it is a beautiful language with wonderful culture (and I am not saying this 'cause Bee might be reading... she is German anyway!) but really and truly I don't think that learning French ever has or will be this fun again. The general form is that I turn up around 7.30/8pm and gossip (these days in a mixture of English and French) about our week and we always have at least one praise point :-). We have a bit of a pray, a bit of food and then manage to throw in a bit of dictation without even really noticing! Today was a particularly fab time - I had to leave early as I had a last minute "I invited you to dinner today but forgot to tell you" from Anna so we squeezed in 2 lessons and a week's worth of news over a table top picnic of sausage, cheese, olives, nuts and red wine! Bee even gave me a gorgeous pair of bronze earrings. This is a far flung experience from the days of Mrs ...? (how have I forgotten your name scary ginger teacher-points for anyone who remember GCSE French) who chased me down for bunking my oral and oversaw the only school detention I ever got (not for bunking said oral but for having my nose pierced in a 'defiant manner').

Then to the eve which, glorious though it was is bringing me way over my self-imposed word count. Anna made great beef borgin-stuff which I did sample though très full and I met Robyn's new lover who is distressingly lovely. Much banter (I think the deep convos can have a separate entry) and wine/dessert/tea later and I was on the bus listening to my iPod and realising that it was time for an update. 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' is a tune but, like many fabulous things, there is a time and a place and I find it hard to delight in the arrival of spring to that wonderful ditty. Why doesn't every season have it's own songs? Maybe you have some ideas as to what the soundtrack to spring ought to be...?

Hmmm, a 'deep' last thought. My successor had a fabulous mishearing today that lead us (her, Robyn and myself) to an almost poignant question. I was describing something/someone as really insightful (it wasn't me!) and she thought I said greedy and spiteful(?!). We then asked ourselves: if you had to choose one or t'other of those things to categorise yourself as, which would honestly be the best fit? Sadly I think today's blog inevitably leaves me looking like a mean glutton...

...though I could always claim I meant inciteful: I am really good at getting other people to do stuff!