Tuesday Wednesday break my heart, Thursday doesn't even start

Hey guys, it's Wednesday here on my blog, and you know what that means...sorry, totally borrowed some terminology from my favourite Youtube Vlogger, Daily Grace. I wish I was a Vlogger. But I don't have a good enough camera. Or enough gumption to make the effort with makeup on a daily basis. Or enough of a strong will to not be scared of the mass amount of trollers who peruse Youtube just looking for trouble. Has anyone else encountered severe nausea when they see a comment with loads of replies? Or when you see a comment has been hidden due to low rating and you just have to click the 'Show the comment' button...and then are promptly shocked and upset by the sheer volume of terrible grammar, spelling and vast illogic of those comments you read.

Anywho, enough of a rant. Today it is only three weeks, 21 days, until both D-day and my B-day. I will be at the airport checking in in three weeks time. What?? In a way, I am so incredibly shocked that the time has gone so quickly and that I already have to leave. But in another way, I feel like the past few weeks have been in stop motion extra slow time in a sort of space time continum and I've been waiting forever for the actual moment of departure to arrive. There's a couple of last minute things I have been stressing about sorting out. But luckily I seem to have gained a handle on most of these and am not really worried about anything. Except for my baggage allowance at the airport. I considered maybe buying just 3 extra kg of weight so I could bring a few more shoes or coats home but it was going to cost me 80 pounds for just three!!! So that's not really an option. I also considered just stuffing my hand luggage full and trying not to wince or fall over when trying to lift it into the overhead locker. But, apparently, they've now started weighing hand luggage in lots of airports and if it gets to be over 10kg then I'm in big trouble. I'm taking home Christmas presents as well, so there's even more extra weight. Then I was advised that maybe I should ship a load of stuff home. But knowing the way things go in this country, it'd cost me an arm and a leg to pay for just one box. So, here it is, the only solution: I have to give a load of stuff away to charity (if I can find a drop off point) or else just throw perfectly good clothes out. First world problems.

Think I finally understand what Hall and Oates are singing about...

Otherwise, things are pretty much sorting themselves out. I'm feeling very good about moving home and possibly have a few prospects lined up. One of which might involve a certain place I've only seen in my dizziest daydreams....a place so cheerful and saddening that I can only express my emotions via the medium of this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tJoIaXZ0rw...and you can bet I'll have just the same spring in my step as Joseph Gordon-Levitt when going there.

Totally Photo Jacked...

Student Loan Company have sent me, along with every one else currently surfing the graduate wave of misery and worry, a lovely letter with the threat of a cheery fine, if we do not make sure to tell them ASAP about why we haven't gotten a job in the U.K and/or signed on to benefits. As someone currently abroad, I have been expecting this letter- which is a mix of panic and excitement on their part, like some Beliebers accidentally at a One Direction concert-with much apprehension. Thank goodness for mothers! My mum has replied to say, 'I'm sorry that my daughter has not filled in and signed your form straight away, she is returning home in a few weeks so please just wait until then.' I wish they'd just learn that, there's no point whatsoever of me filling it in just to say that I am signing on...or in the glorious and extremely rare chance that I do get a job, there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'll be earning enough to pay off my loan anyway so I'm only going to be replying to say 'Sorry, I can't pay the loan back'...which they're already aware of...so it all seems a bit arbitrary! Is it just me? This is, however, one of the happiest things about moving home. They'll be able to track me much easier when back in the U.K so their letters will hopefully stop when they see that truly I am not in a very well-off financial situation.

Lately though I've been reading this book 'What Color [sic] is your parachute?' which is the worldwide best seller for job seekers...and it's amazing! I've gotten such new clarity about what I want from life and where I want to be and who I want to be there with, and that's why I've only started looking for jobs that I feel I will really be happy in. Because isn't that the most important thing? It's actually easier, I think, when you've never been rich, and never had the brains to be a doctor or a good lawyer (note the good...) or an astronaut so was never going to have a wealthy career, and you've never really desired to be rich, because I'm finding it pretty okay with myself to just look for happiness rather than money. And most importantly, I want a chance to use my key skills: creativity, sense of humour, planning, and charisma..and I'm just hoping something shows up that let's me use all of these.

I also wrote a list of every lesson I've learnt while living here...and it's an illuminating list, that's for sure, with upwards of 10 life lessons learnt. I'm really proud of myself for learning.

OH BOY!!!

I've been some fun with friends...and, as can be seen in this picture, I'm attracting a high calibre of interesting and unique people.
Two questions: *Does man A have a mini torch around his neck??
*Does man B have a brush in his hands or has his air guitar suddenly materialised as a real life guitar??

Everything here in Basel is so beautiful at this time of year and it is a stunning place to experience my favourite time of the year. The lights are just astounding. And they've really gone all out with the Christmas market. Plus, Starbucks has a festive coffee here that is unavailable in the U.K. Cranberry and White Chocolate Mocha. Haven't tried it yet, because I'm still trying to work out whether I find it gross or yummy. It looks really pretty when someone orders it...but cranberry makes me think of the preventative measures of my parents to stop our dogs ruining the grass when they pee....and one time I had a white chocolate hot chocolate with a TAD too much water and it was...DISGUSTING! So, not really geared up to try it yet. But I will. For you guys.

So, that's really it for this week's entry, I will finish with some dialogue from a favourite movie of mine. Bonus points to any readers who can NAME. THAT. MOVIE.!
"You keep on living the dream, Tim."
"DONE!"

It's the Most Wonderful time of the year....if you're a stinky plant

As the end of November rapidly approaches, like a lion with a deer's hindquarters in his periphereal vision, so do the spectacles of the Christmas season start to appear. There is much of it that is so delightful, and the Baslers have really done a superb job of decoration with some really classy lights spread over all their shop fronts, and the streets so beautifully lit up. Plus, last week giant Christmas trees were deposited throughout the region, ready to be hung with cheer.

Tomorrow the Christmas market is starting up here and it's quite exciting to go to a genuine German market, rather than an imitation one in the U.K. Perhaps the coolest thing in my opinion though is the WunschBuch, or wish book, which is being set up in the town hall, for locals and tourists alike to write down their wishes for the future, their Santa lists, or just their general thoughts. The temptation to dedicate an entire page to me, myself and I, is pretty overwhelming. A word of caution to myself, don't give yourself too much free reign...who knows where your terrifying mind will take you! Such a lovely idea though, everybody should get to write in a wish book!

Of course, the Santa Claus equivalent for Switzerland, Nikki Nacki, is coming to town the 6th December so the children will be all sugared up and ready to go mental even earlier than they would be at home. It's interesting how the celebrations differ.

I found myself yesterday being a bit of a street cynic. There I was, rushing to Starbucks for an hour of my much loved me time, where I indulge in reading something on my Kindle, having a coffee, and usually some sort of pastry and enjoying the free Wifi for checking my emails. It's my Tuesday afternoon tradition. As soon as I got off a tram, a woman clearly addicted to drugs, struggled over to me to beg for money. I wasn't about to give away my last francs to an addict when I myself was basically unemployed and, if not for kind friends, would be homeless. I shook my head no and rushed on. Next, a man tried to get me to do a survey about something. I just couldn't be bothered trying to say 'I don't speak German' so I just ran past him to. Eventually I got into Starbucks and had my blissful time as normal, but my mood soured a bit when I was once more back on the streets. This time an entire family, I think they were Spanish, were singing some music together while the father played the guitar. Now, why do people think that children singing automatically renders a tip?? There was this one child in the family who had the most horrible nasal tone of voice who was murdering the song. If it had just been the father singing I might have tipped them, he had a lovely voice like an acoustic Enrique Iglesias but I just didn't want to tip them because then they would have assumed it was because a child was singing and I didn't want to award a lack of talent. I felt like Simon Cowell. She just didn't have the X Factor. Gimicks don't impress me much, or Shania either.


Last Friday I went out to Paddys with my Hungarian friend Rita. We wanted to go to the nightclub. We arrived at 9 something and enjoyed a drink or two and talked to some people. Then we decided we would go outside for five minutes to get some air. In the mean time the bouncers had arrived. So we need to go through them to get back in. One of them asks me for ID. Bit unusual but I hand it over. He looks in confusion at it so I say 'It says I'm 21. I'm 21' thinking to myself, I'm legal in every country! Then he says 'Sorry, you have to be over 23 to come in.' What??? What sort of a stupid cut off age is 23?? Furiously we stand outside, watching everybody else get in no problem, majorly annoyed that if we hadn't gone outside, we could have gone straight into the night club no problem. We contemplated whether someone would help us climb up the wall in through the smoking room, without getting caught by the bouncers. We saw some blonde girls standing smoking. We go over and Rita asks 'Can we borrow your ID?' They instead give us an idea. Handing our coats and bags over to the girls inside, we tied our hair back and marched towards the bouncers in our bare arms in one degree temperatures. Looking casual, we saunter around the queue and say 'We just stepped out for a minute, can we just go back in?' They reply 'New policy, you have to re-queue' No mention is made of previously seeing us there, or us being 'underage'. We queue. When we reach the front, we are waved through no questions asked, to the tumultous anthem of 'Celebrate, good times, come on!' Laughing hysterically, we are set to enjoy an evening full of Fake Gyllenhall, coincidental Hungarians, hair touchers, fights and lots and lots of shouting of 'Cheers!' What a good night. This Friday: me and the girls are going out again. 

On the radio, we were all in hysterics over, amongst other things, puppets and stinky plants because, that's right, Basel is the proud owner of the world's biggest and most stinkiest plant. Apparently it smells like rotting flesh. Delightful. Must pay that one a visit!

In other news, I had such a relaxing shower this morning that by its conclusion, I literally felt like that Buddhist monk who meditated for so long that his legs simply dropped off. He is real. Look him up. So is the guy who is responsible for dressing street gods in their day time clothes and night time clothes in their little box. 'Do street gods wear pyjamas?' The title of my autobiography, coming soon to a back alley near you.

I'm just soaking up the last few weeks of my time here, which feel like they are passing by as fast as seconds. I'm majorly gutted to be leaving so many great people here before I've really had a chance to see what Switzerland has to offer for an entire year. Plus it's an absolute nightmare of a headache to try and cancel stupid obligatory health insurance and if I wasn't leaving then I wouldnt have to cancel it...but on flipside, would have to keep paying it. Hmmm...okay, maybe it's not so bad to try and cancel it.

I wish I wasn't stressed out about terminating my employment early, cancelling health insurance, baggage allowances, de-registering as a citizen because if I wasn't, I'd be able to completely let loose and go mental for these last four weeks- four weeks today actually aaaaah what??? Even so, I'm going to let loose. No flipping way am I going to work that last Monday and Tuesday. Nosiree, definitely stopping work the week before. I have to seek assurance from important people in my life that I am allowed to let someone down. I am, right? They fired me! Left me up Shizzstream without a paddle! I can not work those days, yeah? I don't really feel like getting insulted by two children as my last memories. There's places I'm dying to travel to before leaving...

a trip to Lucerne is on the cards, pleeeeeease yes let it happen!
and a trip to Bern hopefully
and a leaving party? I feel like I want to say goodbye to people, but can't be bothered organising an event if nobody is actually going to show up. There's probably only about five people who actually want to say goodbye to me here and they probably know who they are.

I definitely accidentally threw a glass of water at myself today. Perfection. Billy Joel was standing in the corner of the room, as I desperately mopped up the mass of water in soggy socks, gently strumming his guitar and singing 'She's Always a Woman to Me'. And he was right. 

The five pretty irrational things that have got me excited this week...

Dear Readers,

As I have recently taken to eating vast amounts of pureed fruit products (I am currently chowing down on some apple and plum- ohne zuckerzusatz of course!!-) it got me to thinking about all those kind of crazy things I used to get excited about when I was little. Actually, that's a poor choice of words- I am still quite little, just not so young anymore. On that point actually, only five weeks today until I turn 22- what?? And therefore also only five weeks today until I leave here. These next few weeks are rapidly turning into a busy and exciting and saddening rush of meeting new people, going new places, doing new things, and saying goodbye along to the way to everybody lovely I've met here. I am a little bit sad about the whole thing, because if it was possible to stay here just for the social aspects I absolutely would. Anybody else reaaaaaalllllly hating the job market right now?? But I knew it was time to leave when I couldn't even get a job in McDonalds because I didn't have fluent German... :s

Small victory: managed to do my entire Starbucks cashier interaction in German and knew exactly what she was asking me and how to reply without her changing into English mid way when I slip up as normally happens- YESSSS!!!! If nothing else, this has made my trip a success

So anyway, hastily leaping off the fastly fleeing tangent ship I was aboard, doggy paddling frantically, and regaining my breath upon the Island of On-Topic, I have been having a think about what weird things there have been that have got me reaaaaaalllly excited lately. Usually it doesn't take much...but some things have just had an insane level of impact on me. So without further ado...or much ado about nothing (though I love a bit of Mr Wilde's dramatic works *winky face*)

1.  The All-Blacks Haka on Sunday. There I was, sitting on my bed with computer set to capture live BBC 1- Scotland v New Zealand. I love Irish rugby, don't get me wrong, I went the night before to watch their match against South Africa, I sang along with the rugby anthem in the pub, I cheered for their scores, I ooooh-ed and aaahhh-ed like the best of them. But we lost. And that was a bit of a downer. I still love my country. And our team. But why don't we dance?? For all who haven't seen a Haka:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebZVMc0NKZs&feature=related. I could hardly contain my legs for shaking with excitement for the five minutes before they were due to come on the field and do their thing. My coffee granules spilt everywhere when I was making a beverage. I could barely breathe. I can't tell you why it gets me so excited. But when it was happening I couldn't think of many things I'd rather be doing than watching them do their thing. They've just got such style.

As does Dumbledore.

Let's take a moment to reflect on the sheer splendor of this image to our right. Dumbledore. Has Got. Style. And I really like his hair here, wish mine would sit so nicely :)

2. Gruyere cheese was on offer. Get in. I was doing my usual budget shop around Migros when I saw that my absolute favourite cheese was on offer and therefore the lucky cheese I was going to buy. It's just so darn good. Wish I had stocked up!


3. My first successful all-nighter club evening. Yes. I went to a night club. And danced all night. I literally danced all night. I've been going to Paddy Reillys for months as you know, readers, but only on Saturday did I learn that there is an actual downstairs night club section. I thought everybody just rocked around the bar area and that was it. Mind blown. So yeah, there I was, one minute watching the rugby match at 6.30pm, next minute going to bed at 6am. Crazy times. Of course, I went clubbing in jeans and a jumper because I had only gone to the pub to watch the match, but at least I had the foresight to wear high heeled boots. Not a total fuddy duddy. Of course, there was an abundance of absolute creepers who tended to descend any time you were alone unchaperoned, and sure my only chaperone was the brother of a girl who I vaguely know and who quite frankly hates my guts, but I still had a good time. I am proud of myself for surviving. Now I am very wary of Ne-Yo's 'Give Me Everything' though because in the line 'Grab somebody sexy, tell 'em hey' I could see a creeper lurking near by and I had a moment of dread and then the worst happened and he meandered up to me and well and truly said 'Hey'. Uggh. Never could have imagined I would have got so much attention on a night out though. Swear times have changed since my teenaged years...those two times I went out. Or maybe I've changed. Cool.


4. At this point in my blog writing, I have just returned from the wash room, armed with some freshly cleaned clothes. And amongst them is fresh bed clothes. Ahhhh! Is there any thing more exciting than the first moment you get into bed the night of wash day?? Especially if you are partial to the cold bed dance as I am...AND it's really cold rendering the dance not just fun but necessary...AND the bedclothes are fresh fresh fresh! I for one am already a little bit overwhelmed for tonight and it's still many hours until I will be going to bed. If you're looking for me this evening..I may be curled up with some sort of Hilary Duff movie and my lovely clean bed clothes- bliss.com

5. The final thing I'm excited about right now is the kick ass sunny evening we're having here. The sky is blue as Prince Eric's eyes, the autumnal sun is making the autumnal leaves evening more golden orange, the air is crisp but mild enough for exercise, and I have an ipod full of new songs I have downloaded and want to listen to. The scene has well and truly been set for an epic walk. Here's hoping I don't accidentally wander an hour towards Germany this time. As soon as this next load of washing finishes, I am out of here to get some much needed oxygen.

So, that's all folks, the five things I could think of on short notice that have really tickled my fancy the last few days. Not to mention, of course, my ongoing fun with the radio, and the friendships I have just made, and the original friendships I made here that have been rekindled...and here's to the not so fun moments too. But let's not go into them. Cheers/ Slainté/ Salud!

QOTR

That's when I noticed the aubergine was burning...

Hey readers, how are you?

Today I write to you from my plinth of perspective. Not a literal plinth, of course, I don't have the budget for that sort of prop. There's some sort of theory, though, isn't there that having a raised platform automatically gives you the advantage over your enemy, right? It's the sort of logic programmed into a human being from ancient battles- if you're up a hill with your spear and an enemy is running upwards, you're gonna skewer him right up like a kebab at a BBQ. If he comes from behind, however, then we discover the true meaning of getting stabbed in the back. Why can't we all just be friends? Peace and love and country music- that's what makes the world go round...well, my world anyway. Where was I? Ah yes, I find myself having an outer body experience...or at least a raised level of understanding. I think.

Basically, last night I couldn't sleep. This might seem like not that big a deal to all you insomniacs out there, but it's a big deal to me. I can literally count on ten fingers the total number of times so far in my life that I haven't been able to sleep. Most of those have been when I was ill. Even after being sick I've been known to go back to bed and sleep like a baby and feel refreshed. I tried to go to sleep at 10.30 but it wasn't happening. So I read my book until midnight and thought that'd be me sorted. I tossed and turned for a while but eventually dozed off. Then, for some reason, at 4 in the morning I woke up. And couldn't sleep. For an entire hour. It was bizarre- I felt tired but for some reason it just wasn't happening. The reason, readers, is due to the absolute stress marathon I'm having at the minute with this monumental decision I'm having to make. I feel like I am only one panic attack away from developing a stomach ulcer.

Last blog I said I wanted someone to ask me to stay. The opposite has happened. I know it is probably a selfless gesture on their part of not wanting me to rush into making a decision just because I like the people and I like the country, but being told that I don't have to stay, and shouldn't necessarily choose that path, well- it hurts. Particularly as I spent the entirety of yesterday applying to jobs here in the hopes that someone will employ me. Now I have to receive an abundance of rejection emails- they never cease to hurt my feelings:

Rejection Letter

‘We’ve decided not to take you on’,

           Punch in stomach,

                          heaving gut.

Another possibility is gone,

crossing out and

                          moving on.

The endless dragging twist of fate,

that saw you

being

                    stuck

                    here

No hope. That

jabbing forefinger

of fate:

you didn’t

                  become a big

 do-gooder.

You didn’t manage to save

those lives.

You didn’t

                  help old ladies

cross the road or de-worm orphans

in a third world home.

                         The shaking

unsurprising finish,

the sighing

of another try

                         the subtly cringing

enter key,

Do you really want

to send CV?

                        Betrayal,

finding out,

by email, post or text,

‘We

don’t want you, there’s

                         someone else.’ (This was taken from my Poetry Portfolio, still applies a year later)

It's true though, hearing that yahoo email arrive on my phone makes me feel nauseous. But I'm actually pretty thankful. Because I realised that I was thinking too hard about upsetting other people if I left, and about the opportunities for real life experiences (which don't come around often for me) that I was taking a chance on- and it was terrifying and wonderful- but when I narrowed out my emotions and I just thought about what I wanted, a miraculous thing occurred. I discovered I had ambition. I discovered I had a game plan. I finally realised what I'd be longing to discover for the last five years: what it was I wanted to do for a career, and was there a career that I would ever actually enjoy. And when I thought about it, I realised that I really think there might be. And I need to go home for it. So, you heard it here first, I'm coming back to the U.K at Christmas and I'm staying. And it feels like the right decision.

Because, as much as I wanted to stay here- for a person or two rather than for a job- there isn't anything I can be truly qualified for here because I don't have fluency in at least two languages, I'm not a Swiss national (and gosh do I wish I was working in the EU), my qualifications don't translate well here, and really there's no job that I really want to do that I can apply for because the jobs where I would have been able to use my creativity and my love of writing and reading and entertaining at home, obviously wouldn't work here because I don't speak the right first language.

So, there you have it. I wonder if any of you can work out what the career is I'm talking about? Bonus points if you can tell me. Really, it was all confirmed when I discovered this week that I was actually pretty good at it, and that people were actually impressed by me even as a beginner in the field, and couldn't believe I was just starting out- and I realised that maybe all this time (even as far back as my work experience I did at school), I've been gearing towards just this sort of job. I just needed to see that I could be funny. And strange. And that it was still okay. 

Still, there's so much more mental things I need to sort out here. How can I leave? Not now, at the one chance I've had so far in life to be truly, on a personal level, happy? And how can I break the news? This can't be the ending, can it, of my one great romance I've had so far? I really don't want it to be. I can feel the anxiety ravaging my insides. (Damn it, ulcer, go away! I don't want any holes in my stomach, thank you very much, all the mass amounts of Gruyere cheese I consume, will tumble out.) Anyone got any advice?

And I need to ship a load of clothes home. Crap. That's gonna be a complete rip off in the country where a sneeze costs 10sfr! The temptation to sell all to a second hand shop is tempting... 

2009 length

Also, I'm considering cutting my hair off. Don't worry, I'm not doing a Britney. I'm just wondering: which is a better look for me?

2012 length

All opinions are much appreciated, it took a long time to grow my hair...a loooooong time! And William Wallace was delighted to finally have a hair compatriate! 

So, that's this entry, I know I've given you a lot to chew on. Speaking of, I'm hungry as usual, time to rescue my slightly frazzled aubergine from the oven yum! 

And the Hoff said 'Hey!'

I know it doesn't look like it, but it is snowing

As the sun sets over the Riehen countryside, I finally get around to breathing long enough to write a new blog entry. I've been such a complete eejit lately for not keeping all of you up to date but I've just been all over the show lately, working some jobs, meeting up with some people, listening to a lot of Brad Paisley, seeing snow, mourning the lack of snow, riding a ferris wheel, going to a Halloween party, reading news live on air, reading my books for next week's book meeting, going to class, putting off doing actual studious things...so, you get the gist, I've been anywhere but in my room at my computer in the frame of mind for writing.

Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall!

I'm scared, truth be told, to stop and think too long. If I stop and think about, say, the fact that I have only 6 more weeks to find a job before I go home for Christmas, and if I don't find a job by then I might not be back here after the holidays, then I start to feel a little bit nauseous. The other night after class, I went to the really wacky fountain near Bankverein in the city centre and I got out my notebook and pen, and some pensieve music on my ipod, and my Fanta zero (I did NOT know there was a zero kind!!) and I wrote some lists. I wrote a pro and con list for staying here v moving home, and let me tell you, it was close.

And yesterday afternoon, when I stopped for a rest in rushing around, and I found myself feeling a little bit bummed out about some things, I started to think 'Do I want to stay here? What is there here for me?' and then the conflicting rush of confused emotions came barrelling at me all at once. There are so many wonderful, interesting, exhilirating things I have found here, or done, or people I have met and I can't imagine that it'd be any way easy for me just to walk away, no regrets, when there's so much more I want to experience and some people I really want to continue to get to know and live some time with...but at the same time, I'm so lonely sometimes even when surrounded by people, and those friends and family I have left at home in Ireland and in England who truly know me and love me anyway, make me really wish I was at home with them, laughing and talking and sharing these years together and it's such a confusing mix of thoughts that I find myself short of breath, on the verge of a panic attack.

The stupid thing is that I really want someone here to say 'Don't go! Everything will work out, but don't deprive me of your wonderful, wacky company!' or else someone at home to say 'You will always have a place here with us, you're welcome to come home, there's jobs you can get here, where you belong.' But I know this is ultimately my decision, and someone else can't choose for me, but it's times like these I really want to be able to see ahead in my future just a little bit, so I know where I'm meant to be in a few years, just so I might have some idea how I could get there.

But, hey, these moments are when I stop to think. So I'm putting off thinking as much as possible.

View from Ferris Wheel

I recorded an event which happened last Saturday night, which can only be retold in a dramatic manner, because it was a dramatic happening, so here we go, as I wrote it down word for word:

Getting tram home on Saturday night. Mid journey, while the snow magically drifted around, a group of 8 multilingual 20 something men dressed as the cast of Baywatch (Yes, the show from the 90s where everybody was really good at running really slowly). They cohorted merrily for the duration of the journey, clasping their blow up life rafts, singing the theme song in a glorious array of harmony and excellent musical timbre, with their baywatch shorts leaving their legs exposed to the minus degree cold. In order to get off the tram, they had to pass me. There I was, surrounded by them, regretting my choice of seat next to the door. One taps me on the shoulder and says 'Lustig, eg?' (Funny, eh?) so I laugh and say 'Baywatch. Cool.' They chortle so I ask 'Who is Pamela?' The American guy with the long blonde wig flicks his hair and says 'Me, of course.' One member of the group puts his leg up on the window ledge in front of me, impressing me with his surprising dexterity, slapping his thigh in a true 'Undercarriage' Bridesmaid moment. They gesture to the handsome youngster at the front of the group and say 'He's Denny. He was the only one with chest hair so he had to be.' I laughed. They proceed to say 'He doesn't look like it, but, weird things happen.'
The Denny impersonator grins at me and says 'Add me on Facebook, girl'. They all proceed to whoop. Then I realise, this is also my stop. I proceed to stand up amongst them. They all cheer and think, one or perhaps all, have pulled. The last I see of them, as we gracefully dismount the tram together, Pamela is gyrating in front of a taxi and the rest are slow running in true Bay watch fashion into the night club. It was beautiful. All this while I am wearing a woolly hat and Heidi plaits, no make up and a Bambi jumper. (I didn't think it was that embarassing a jumper, but someone reacted to me wearing it the other day by exclaiming 'Oh for Goodness (toned down by me) sake!'

You can almost tell I actually had company! Not my jacket ;)

While Babysitting, I got asked by the children, 'What age are you?' '21' I replied. *Look of shock* 'You look about 15 or 16!' Wow, thanks. Suddenly I don't mind looking young. This hasn't happened to me since I was 15 or 16- even as a 16 year old, the bus driver wouldn't believe I was 15 and I never got that discounted ticket. Tragic.

Beautiful bridge, stunning river, amazing cathedral...and a large flume.

 Also in my life, I made it to a bit of the Herbst Messe. What I think, the trams are too busy, the people are too rowdy, the fair is serious 90s UK chav-chique, it's very over-priced. In saying that, I was glad I went down to it.  I enjoyed my ein bisschen teyer (a little expensive) trip on the ferris wheel, it was cool to see the sights from up high and a good time to be on a date to get out of paying for everything yourself! Also, we went to a Cornish Pasty stand (of all things???) and I had a rather unconventional (but yummy) sausage and mushroom one. Other than that, I stuck to other places like the pub and Starbucks (for the beverages portion of the day. It was too f-f-f freezing for much outdoor wandering!

He's lying down

By Tuesday, the snow had faded into a distant memory, leaving only a few lonely snowmen who still had some work to do. Like this poor fellow here, discovered while in the play park. But here he stands, evidence that just two days earlier, there was a lot of snow! If you were lucky enough not to live city centre anyway...where there was no snow.

On Wednesday, I made my way to St Gallen for a Halloween party at night time. It was a long ass train journey as usual, but I enjoyed the party and it was good to see people I hadn't seen in a while. There was MUCH more snow there!!! It was in like piles, all scooped up, to clear the roads. That felt like the real deal a bit more.

I made my real debut on the radio, and was told I had a certain 'bounce' to me that would serve me very well in radio journalism. Long may it continue. Now, if I would only hurry up and do my research for the next show in three days time aaaargh! I'm majorly lazy today...oh well, there's always tomorrow to move my bum.

I returned this morning from babysitting in France, had a yummy fresh almond croissant for breakfast, and cuddled a very cute dog while I watched Kristen Stewart give probably her least constipated performance in 'Snow White and the Huntsman.' Charlize Theron, you legend, you stole the show on this one! 

We'll meet again soon, I hope...Unless I lose my mind and try to end it all by jumping off the bridge into the Rhine. It would be a pretty place to end, I guess!