Chocolate, chuckling and chatter

So there I was, coughing with my mouth open, hands not available to stop the germ-laden spittle from shooting out and splatting the window. 

The driver behind us saw my red wheezing face staring back at him with shock. Why on earth was this woman seated in the back of her car, hatchback flap open, simultaneously hugging and sitting on an enormous IKEA flatpack?

Because the car was too small, it was an uphill journey on the way home with a risk of the box sliding back towards Vernier and we had guests arriving, that’s why.

First up was Taka, father to our much-beloved but impossible-to-take rabbit Skipper. With the impressive – and many opportunities to mock – title of Manager of Emerging Technologies, he’d been sent to Paris and Sweden to hobnob with similarly-titled cyber smarties from other companies. A three hour second-class train trip was all it took for him to arrive, tired but typically Taka, late at night. 

The next morning it was a relief to hear that he found the bed very comfortable.

Being Good Friday and the first week of Sapphire’s school holidays, all of us were on hand to show him the sights of Geneva. A walk to the UN, a stroll around the lake and into the Old Town with a final, not-negotiable browse in some tacky gift shops. When you’re the father of two girls under the age of ten, bringing back a souvenir is mandatory. Luckily he had the hard-earned wisdom of Sapphire to help him select a soft St Bernard and cow (complete with pink udders) backpacks to cram into his suitcase.

You know you’re a hopeless whitey when it only takes half an hour of 13C weak spring sunshine to burn your nose and neck. The dog and me sat outside while the others climbed the St Pierre cathedral tower and my usual magnet for direction-seekers was still on fire. No less than three different couples asked me where the

1) oldest house in Geneva was;

2) the entrance to the Reformation Museum; and

3) which direction to the tram stop in Rive. 

I smugly report that I could help all of them. Shame that none of them warned me about my sizzling skin in return. 

No sooner had we farewelled Taka on Saturday morning than the sheets were whipped off the bed, bunged in the washing machine and draped over the dining table to dry in time for the arrival that afternoon of the Fraj Family. 

I’d worked with John-boy over twenty years ago in London as we tried our best, in a busy office filled with Aussies, Kiwis and Northerners in flat caps and broad accents to pull TSB bank out of their bad lending quagmire.  We even bungy-jumped together on a boozy winter weekend in Normandy, France, that resulted in AJ Hackett himself shortening the cord so that we didn't smash our heads into the frozen river below.

Several hours later, Sapph and I took the bus to the airport to greet the Fraj Four – John and Rebecca and their two daughters Francesca and Alexandra. As soon as we spotted them, we phoned Love Chunks who drove in our spunky but only-holds-five car to pick them up as Sapphire and I found the number ten bus to take us back home again.

Perhaps it’s a clichéd thing to say, but there are some friendships that you can pick up where you left off, even if, in our case, that was five years ago in Adelaide. The girls have grown and all the parents’ hair is greyer, but the jokes, reminiscences and effortless conversation hadn’t changed.

Dinner was fondue, whether they wanted it or not. They, like myself once, were polite but possibly not that enthralled by the idea of eating a badly-done memory from the 1970s when it was suggested to them – that is, until they tried it. Instant adoration ensued with every single drop of melted cheese disappearing quicker than the ears of an unwrapped Easter bunny. It must be the combination of the homeland, the right cheeses (Emmental and Gruyere) and the atmosphere of Geneva’s oldest restaurant (try 400 years) that wins everyone over. Even celebrities and diplomats eat there – old, mismatched plates and plain furniture but the right mixture of ingredients and location. Being attended to by the, frankly, gorgeous Remy the waiter who makes Brad Pitt look like a hog with halitosis was another plus.

The rest of the holiday is now a bit of a blur. A carbon-copy of Taka’s day in Geneva (but the weather far less warm and a lot wetter), a boat trip to Chateau Chillon and Montreux; Chateau Gruyeres, cheese on every meal on offer everywhere; the Cailler chocolate factory and a long meandering drive through lush green farmlets, tiny villages and the scenic background of the snow-capped Swiss alps always in view. Stoically suffering through the dreary cold and rain at Neuchatel and Yverdon but hopefully also actively imagining how lovely they’d look in the summer..... 

Then there was a train trip to Berne – chosen because it was a direct route and somewhere we hadn’t been before. It was truly worth it – a very historic city that has six kilometres of 15th C buildings with covered walkways and is famous for bears, Einstein (who lived there for two years when working as a patent clerk) and rather ornate fountains. 

Another day was spent ‘relaxing’ (code for ‘all the girls want to have a sleep in’) and shopping (‘the girls want to find chocolate to take home for their friends’). We were successful on both counts – I think the Frajs’ took home around 8kg of the Swiss stuff at the risk of blowing out their luggage limit as well as their waist bands.

Throughout the past fortnight my flu hung in there but I did my best to cough discreetly away from anyone else, honk quietly (well, for me, ‘quiet’ is less than a hundred decibels and not blasting a hole through the tissue) and generally ignore it which is why, after everyone’s left and the house is festooned with washing (the tops of the doors were wiped clean in order to drape damp bed sheets on them), it seems to have returned for another bout.

Still, a few quiet days of housework, blog writing, searching for quick and easy (and paid) writing gigs with Milly at my feet and eating some fresh-from-the-UK Creme eggs will sort all that out.

I miss ‘em already. The friends, not the Creme eggs!

Oh okay.... and the crème eggs.