A mountain of paper...

... and bills.

First of all, I'd just like to remark on the fact that since I've moved abroad, everytime I open Blogger I have a random language assigned to it. I think its because there are 3 languages used officially here in Switzerland, so everytime I connect, depending on the internet connection thingy I get a randomly assigned language of Italian, French and German. The former 2 I can deal with, but the latter...??

Anyway, one of the tasks that I have set myself this week is to buy some folders and start organising the mammoth pile of paperwork that is starting to accumulate. So far this is the list of folders I need:

- Apartment: Lease contract, bills, repairs, contacts
- Apartment: Furniture receipts, electronics receipts and warantees
- Apartment: Standing orders and general payments
- Car: Documents
- Personal: Marmoset's official Swiss papers, work contract, misc
- Personal: OH's papers, as above
- Misc: Official documentation

One of the things that really amazes me is the amount of documentations and paper that is involved in any process. For example when we went to apply for an apartment this is what we required:

- Passports: Marmoset and OH
- Work permits: Marmosest and OH
- 3 months salary slips: Marmoset and OH
- Work contract: Marmoset and OH
- Ceritficate of Credit Worthiness: OH (Because I haven't been here long enough)
- Reference: Marmoset and OH
- Certificates of Swiss Residence: Marmoset and OH

It takes a while to get these documents together, and once I cottoned on to the fact that apartments here go like wildfire, I prepared multiple copies of the dossier and as soon as I'd stepped into any potential apartment, I'd have shoved this half a ton compilation upon the poor representative, exclaiming my desire in wanting the apartment then and there.

So, after having settled into the new apartment, Phase II of moving is in action. I'm getting all my stuff shipped over from London, and this is the list of paperwork I have had to prepare just to get some old books and clothes across the border:

- Passport (copy of first three pages)
- Residence Permit or "Zusicherung Aufenthaltsbewilligung"
- Lease or Property Title of Residence in Switzerland
- Inventory (detailed) in English, German, French, or Italian, dated and signed by the customer(three copies) showing:
>Full contents of this and any other shipments planned
>Appliances, giving make and serial number
- Customs Import Form 18.44 (in duplicate and signed by Customer) and a list of alcoholic beverages needs to be completed upon arrival in Switzerland
- Returning Nationals require an Attestation of Residence issued by the local authorities
- Foreigners require a Work and Residence Permit issued by the local authorities
- Inventory for all shipments must be submitted with first shipment!
- Swiss: "Schriftenempfangsschein" (receipt for depositing papers at the Town Hall)
- Form "Erklarung/Abfertigungsantrag fur Libersiedlungsgur" (owners' declaration of personal household goods)

I'm asking myself at this stage, is it really worth all that hassle? At least I don't have a car or I would require:

- Passport
- Work Permit
- Title
- Purchase invoice
- Form 18.44
- Proof of Residence
- Valid Driver's License
- Foreign Registration Card
- Car license from previous country
- Household goods inventory
- Swiss Insurance Receipt

How I have time to work as well as get the admin done is beyond me. Also, now that OH and I have a joint account, we were presented with our 'pack' that came through the post. That's another mountain of paperwork, with different colour coded paying in slips as well as instruction forms which once I figure out how to use them I will post another blog here.

Simian here is struggling to exist with all the frigging paperwork.

NB. I have forgotten that the cable that connects my camera to the pooter is in transit. Once it arrives I'll upload the pictures.

Eyes and Ears checked...

That's what I need.


I've posted before that I get into work, and turn the television on to watch the news on the financial markets. While CEO's and analyst's drone on about the valuation of companies and sectors, I debate over the choice of Birchner Muesli I will be having for breakfast (the choices are with raisins, without raisins, with nuts, with chocolate and nuts, with berries and nuts, or tropical.)


Ever so often I'll pay attention and some newscaster will catch my eye. Sometimes I think they're cute, sometimes not. Sometimes I develop a fancy towards them (its tough when you're in an office on your own) but more often than not after looking at them for a while I realise that there is something not quite right about their suaveté. Example:




Brian Shactman. At first glance he's very clean cut, nice grin, knows his stuff. Reminds me of Leiv Schreiber (who I quite fancy, and reminds me a bit of one of my nice ex's). When I turn on the volume he has an okay voice, but the American twang really grates. Further inspection reveals a wonky exe, which is very mean of me. The tie that Brian is wearing in the picture here, is the exact same tie he is wearing today, but with a white shirt.

Then there's the other who is okay on the eye at first, then longer watching makes me think of a monkey. And another who totally reminds me of my ex colleague who had a habit of escaping to the toilet with the days papers (the FT, the Telegraph, the Times and European Wall Street Journal) and would not emerge until everything was read cover to cover. How someone could stew in such a stink is beyond me.

There was once when I saw a really dashing guy describing something on the current market situation. Dashing, wire rimmed glasses, very good looking. I turned the volume on to hear what he had to say.

He sounded like Mickey Mouse.

All settled in...

... to the new apartment.

Friday came and the move went without a hitch. I packed most things and Other Half had the afternoon off to orchestrate the move with the removals men. It seemed that everything went well.


Saturday we went to Etoy on the train. OH wanted to rent a van so we could drive there where he could have a look at cars, and I could go to Ikea hell and shop for all the bookcases and shelving units. It only transpires that the car company which OH has signed up to doesn't have cars available after 12pm on a Saturday, or all day Sunday. So we went on the train, had some kottbullar (Swedish meatballs, mmm) for lunch and lugged some stuff back, amongst which were 2 ultra cheap armchairs which we will use for the time being until the sofa which we have ordered will arrive. This is approximately a 7 week wait. Anyway, the assembly instructions for the chairs came like this:




Sunday came round and we had to go back to the old apartment to do a clean up and scrub everything to make sure it was all presentable for the estate agents check, as well as to ensure we get a good reference and all the deposit back. OH views me as some sort of Prima Donna who never had to lift a hand before, and he pointedly said to me while I was in a contortionists position trying to scrub some dirt from a crevice that the first time he'd deep cleaned a house was when he was five.



Me: Ooh, child labour. Did you call Childline?



Him: I was five, and the hotline was in German because I lived in Germany...



Me: Ah... (nodding sagely in understanding)



I then thought about the last time I had to clean so thoroughly was when I broke up and moved out from the Bastard Ex. The lease was in both our names and we had well over 1k each in deposit with the renting agents. This we got back only half because of the various 'damages' that had been sustained in the flat as well as a hefty £850 bill for cleaning services after I'd scurbbed and bleached and cleaned and paid an extra £400 on top of that to get the carpets steam cleaned professionally. Amongst the damage sustained was a £600 bedside table which was scratched from the Bastard Ex's love of Bolivian Marching Powder, a fridge handle he had yanked off impatiently when drunk once, and a broken leg off a sofa bed that he had drunkenly collapsed into once after threatening to beat the living daylights out of me because I was going to pay the taxi he'd arrived back in and refused to pay for whatever reason.



I remember vividly that my departing words to him on that day of cleaning when he turned up after work in his suit and refused to help because 'the products are corrosive and might ruin his clothes' were exactly these:



'Fuck off you inconsiderate cunt, the drugs have corroded your brain and any trace of humanity in you. Get out, and I never ever want to clean up after any other frigging mess, emotional, physical or otherwise, ever again.'


I'm not bitter, just disappointed.



It was a while before I met OH and was ready for a relationship. The Bastard Ex was truly someone I would never ever wish on anyone else.

Anyway, I digress. After moving this morning I had to take a different route into work. I found that going on the tram my closest stop to work is by a park which depending on the number I take, means I either have to walk through the park or across it. Either way it is a lovely walk, and down nice tree lined avenues with old baroque buildings framing the backdrop. I miraculously had my camera with me so I took some photos and will post them here later this evening once they're loaded on.

To Market, To Market...

... to buy a fat pig.

Or as the current climate in the financial markets indicate, the pig's broken loose and running amok, creating havoc and chaos whilst the shoppers call for someone to get the situation under control so they can once again shop in peace without all the other stalls being ruined by the panicked ungulate.

So, after devouring all this information, I naturally focus my attention to more pressing matters: Celebrity Offspring. There seems to be, according to various gossip sites and the like, a sudden spawning of babies in the celebrity world. So, a closer look at celebrity offspring and their cuteness/uncuteness rating led to a rating discussion between myself and Miss T.

(The following is an email exchange, and if you find the idea of adults bitching and dissing ugly children reprehensible, then please look away and come back in a few days for a new post)

***

Subject: Fugly children
Date: Mon, 21 Jan 2008 03:43:23 -0500
From: Marmoset
To: Miss T

Is it just me or does Bindi Irwin annoy the f**k out of you? Poor minger.


From: Miss T
Sent: lundi 21 janvier 2008
To: Marmoset
Subject: RE: Fugly children

Bindi Irwin is certainly not easy on the eye. In fact, she's downright ugly. The crimped hair doesn't help either considering how booffy her hair already is anyway. Has she made it into the news or TV over there? Please say no.


Subject: RE: Fugly children
Date: Mon, 21 Jan 2008
From: Marmoset
To: Miss T

Well, she was on dlisted.com Something about a ‘visit Australia’ campaign, and she was there with her mother, and she was doing that thumbs up gesture in some fugly dress and that fugly grin. I know its mean but its just unkind to encouage such an unfortunate looking child.

The whole world is laughing at, not with, her...


From: Miss T
Sent: lundi 21 janvier 2008
To: Marmoset
Subject: RE: Fugly children

The bad thing is they really ARE laughing AT her and not with her. She's working off her father's name and it won't last. She's completely under the radar over here now. Thank god.


Subject: RE: Fugly children
Date: Mon, 21 Jan 2008
From: Marmoset
To: Miss T

Good. No point in letting her head getting too big. It already looks fugging big with the hair.

And she might end up like What Happened to Baby Jane?


From: Miss T
Sent: lundi 21 janvier 2008
To: Marmoset
Subject: RE: Fugly children

Well, she could do with some makeup, and Baby Jane was good at that.

***

Anyway, we know we're going straight to Hull, so we continued compiling a list of the top3/bottom 3 celebrity children.*

Top 3
- Violet Affleck (awww... makes me want to have a little girl child)
- Suri Cruise (still think she's an Icelandic orphan)
- Junior Andre (so unbelievably gay looking, apple not far from tree etc)

Bottom 3
- Bindi Irwin (cf, conversation above)
- Britney's kids (erm... yes. They always look downright grubby)
- Shiloh Jolly Armpit (looks like Jon Voight)

I hear that pigs make good pets, and don't answer back though, so I may consult Other Half before deciding on the aspect of children.

*Please note that the above list is compiled by rating the offspring based on pictures and images available freely on the internetweb.

Things I've Stolen...

one of my favorite websites to log in to and read random comments and amusing stories is b3ta.com (link on side). This is by virtue of the screen being a dull gray with lots of text all over it, so if my boss were to sidle up to me, provided he doesn't look at the screen and read what's on it, from far it looks as if I'm doing some research.

Anyway, one of the Questions of the Week was about shoplifting/stealing, and it got me thinking about the things that I may have deliberately or unwittingly stolen or shoplifted:

- I stole a pack of stickers when I was 8 and was into fancy sticker collecting. I was so paranoid that I didn't even check what I was shoplifiting and when I got home and examined my haul it was one small sheet of white box labels, 4"x6".

- I once picked up a book at Tesco's and popped it under my arm while I picked up other groceries. When pay time cam I paid for all the groceries and walked out with the book still under my arm. The beepers didn't do off and to be fair, I had bought 2 bottles of champagne and had totally forgotten about it.

- I once went to a party where everyone was so wasted they kept giving me their rolled up 20 pound notes. I tried to give them back but they kept saying I'd given them the notes. So I got home and I was 140 pounds richer.

- I once went to TopShop and tried on an ear cuff. It was luminous pink and I forgot to take it off and walked out of the shop with it.

- When at Uni, Small Flatmate and I had a mad old time nicking things. She was however, the queen of kleptomania. Under the gaze of a bouncer she brazenly mounted a bike that some guy had just got off outside a bar, and proceeded to ride home completely drunk.

- We woke up one day to find the staircase obstructed with traffic cones.

- Just before our finals we had one last night out. On the way back we somehow schemed and managed to nick a bouncer's walkie-talkie. This was very amusing at the time, until when we got home I asked her what was the point of one walkie-talkie, and her then boyfriend including Other Half started to make us even more paranoid by saying that these things had radio trackers in them and if we were found we'd be persecuted and locked up, as well as expelled from Uni. Next day, Small Flatmate and myself were ashen faced as we headed back to the bar and I pretended to lean over the counter to retrieve a menu, but surreptitiously dropped the walkie-talkie behind the cash machine.

More to follow, if I can think of any...

A Year of Happenings...

... and one near mishap.

So far the year 2008, 3 weeks into its infancy, has proved to be quite eventful. From having only one apartment in Geneva, Other Half and myself now find ourselves in the posession of three. Granted that one is in London (and that belongs to me) and the other 2 are rented, nonetheless, because of the crazy way that the property market works in Switzerland, you often snap up what you can even before the lease on your current place expires.

As a result of negotiations, we now have a mere 10 days to pack and to move. On top of that, I've been making a list of all the things that we will require in the new apartment. From toilet tablets to water jugs to sofas, its all rather daunting, both in the mammoth task of execution and of cost.

So now we have a nice 3 bed apartment, with a balcony, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, a spacious lounge and diner, a basement laundrette, an underground car parking spot, and a cave which is like a storage space in the basement.

The cave is by far the most interesting aspect of the new apartment (I think), as the first time I went down to have a look at it I was struck by the number of doors you had to get through to the alloted space: First there was a set of 3 fire doors, then there was a weird grille, then there was a big metal door that was impregnated with about 15" of solid concrete, then you find yourself in an antechamber, with what look like locked toilet cubicles. Then there's another set of concrete doors that lead off to what looks like a warren of prison cells, with cheap wood dividing each space into a seperate area.

Yes, I am now the proud tenant of an apartment that is fully equipted for any enventuality, even a Nuclear War. As OH said to me once, if the Swiss ever had to face nuclear bombs then basically the whole world would be, well, fucked.

2007, as my friend Career Girl said, was the Year of the Cardboard Box. Between 2007 and 2008 I've moved a total of 4 times, and I hope that this will be the last for a few years.

And the near-mishap? I went skiing for the first time this season, and in my bravado I went down a wrong turn and ended up on a red run. This was somewhat scary, especially after I found myself rotating 360° and landing face first in lots of fresh snow with my head at a weird angle and my legs skewed. Luckily no damage has been done, apart from a small bruise on my right calf.

Ouch.

Okay?

Part of my job requires me to watch the financial news and stay abreast with related matters.

This morning I'm watching a clip on a discussion about the likelyhood of a US recession. The man who was being consulted managed to fit in 38 'okay's at the end of each sentence. This habit of adding any noun or irrelevant word at the end of sentences really bugs me. I mean, where has the art of elocution gone?

It really irritates me.

Okay?

Happy New Year...

...to everyone.

So where do I start? Ups and downs of 2007 will be put to rest and I am determined that 2008 will be the Year that Everything Comes Together. Started off in style, 1 bottle of champagne became 3 and by the morning/afternoon of the 1st my head was dull and I had to get up and pack up the rest of my stuff as Other Half and I were booked to come back to Geneva that evening.

After a meal of Nando's (we shared a whole chicken, a ton of chips and a bowl of coleslaw) we traipsed back to the flat and got everything in order. I then logged on to the internetweb to check the booking reference and almost burst a blood vessel when OH calmly pointed out that I had booked it for the previous day, at the wrong time to which I thought I'd booked, at the WRONG airport. Luckily for us OH was thinking on his feet and managed to rebook us onto the next flight out from a much nicer airport (London City) on a much nicer plane (Swiss, instead of Easyjet).

So, we're back and we're detoxing. On the Lemon Detox Diet. Only I've also given up alcohol for January (and by proxy, smoking too) so when you're not eating, and your dietary options are limited to syrup, lemon juice, peppermint tea and water, its pretty bloody boring. And because Geneva is a pretty bloody boring place to be when you're bored and nothing is open, we cracked and shared a pizza.

Half a pizza each, I'm not feeling guilty.

Anyway, my parents meanwhile have been busy on the other side of the world and have won an award. As a result our planned family holiday that was supposed to take place in a resort in Bhutan has now been changed to St Louis, Missouri, USA.

If anyone knows of anything exciting to do there please let me know.