Chrissy's Teens, Casper and a little bit of ah Bisto!

Hello my merry readers!

Following from a recent, and very random, conversation I had with my sister, and as nobody seems to be suggesting any golden sort of path to my dream job, I have come up with a selection of the jobs that, in an ideal world, I would be amazing at. Prepare yourself, this is all kinds of clever!

A logical place to start (that's me- the logical queen!) is from whence (WHENCE is a great word) this whole thing began. Recently I've been working as an English Tutor and the main thing I've learnt, as well as that anything  a 12 year old boy finds funny I will too, is that the only pupils I get are boys. It is English tuition, I suppose. And I enjoy it. This got me to thinking that if the world in my imagination was real, I'd be Jo March and start my own school for boys.

I can just see us all: gathered around a big rustic oak table, me with a sensible outfit and nice hair bun, my German professor husband at the opposite end, our array of miscreant and mischievous boys in between. They'd be a messy, funny bunch and I'd teach them all sorts of lessons aside from their school subjects. How to apologise after a fight. How to treat a lady. How to become  a little gentleman. And we'd have all sorts of rollicks around the surrounding countryside, and trips out in the wagon, or on wild horses. And they'd be Chrissy's Teens, rather than Jo's Boys.


Come and learn, one and all!
 

Possible pitfalls: I'm not married to a German professor. (More's the pity) I don't have a rich relative likely to leave me her lovely old historic house upon her demise in order to start my school.

Plus points: It would be such fun! And Jo March has always been a bit of a similar character to me I think.

Should this obviously fool-proof plan not work out, I have several other options. Obviously.


Next on my list is the highly lucrative and useful occupation of being the supernatural element in a house/car/supermarket. There'd be a great audience for it. Everyone loves a good scare. Except me. But I AM the scary thing so that works out great! 
Picture the scene, friends. You show up at the haunted house and there's all sorts of crazy inexplicable things happen. Somebody knocks a chair over. You feel a shiver on your neck. You hear someone brewing an old-school kettle. You hear someone playing Guitar Hero...but no one turned the game on. Spoooooky!

So, obviously, there aren't going to be too many downsides to this role. Here's a few pitfalls and positives.

Positives: Getting to be mischievous for large parts of the day. Getting to sneak around in soft-soled shoes with or without a white sheet, depending on authenticity level needed. Not having to worry about your appearance/getting to dress in period costumes and getting to snoop around cool houses.

Pitfalls: Long, lonely hours. Spending so much time alone that you start singing 'Everytime' by Britney Spears and pretending you're in a music video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YzabSdk7ZA

 

   Should yet another brilliant scheme not work out, I have a plan three. One of my favourite things in this great and random world is the Roast Dinner. A British classic. Any family member or friend I've lived with can vouch for my obscene enjoyment of this Sunday treat. There was the time I was dared to drink a load of gravy. Obviously I was successful. There were the long years I was told off for my terrible dinner manners and eating speed on Roast Dinner day. What could be a better job for a maniac like me than being an official Roast Dinner taster?? Doesn't even have to be good quality, I'll eat any and happily mark it!

Picture it: I could while away my hours eating endless roast meats, the delicious nectar that is gravy, as much broccoli as my little heart might desire, and SO. MUCH. POTATO!!!!

Pitfalls: I will get really really fat. I will spend a large part of my life shouting "Ah Bisto!!!" to everyone's mutual chagrin. I might get sick of Roast Dinners? On second thought, no I won't. Ever.

  If even that genius plan doesn't happen, there's one more option (that I can think of today). The spotlight is calling me. Well, specifically, only one single spotlight is calling me. It is the spotlight of the Christmas TV Movie. The cheesier the better please. I can just see myself: Wearing red jumpers, sharing toasts with other shiny actors and actresses, listening to an endless stream of Christmas song covers, getting to be covered in fake studio snow all year round!!! What unparalleled delights for an  attention-seeking Christmas fanatic like myself. My range would be soooo diverse: elf, cupid, female Santa, Mrs Claus, unlucky in love Christmas fanatic, estranged mother/daughter looking for a reunion...the list is endless!

Positives: A constant supply of Christmas cheer, red jumpers and themed props.

Pitfalls: Constant exposure to plastic turkeys so if I risk the anger of a manorexic Brad Pitt wannabe on set it is the perfect murder weapon- blow to the head by plastic turkey. Oh boy, what a way to go!                                                                                
 So there you have it, guys and girls, four of my very possible job roles if my imagination could invent a need for these. If anyone has anymore options, I will consider. Until then:

Merry Christmas, my ghostly teens! I hope you enjoy it and many more Roast Dinners to go. Ah....Bisto.

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. 

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!