Hating with Honesty Part Three

To be honest, I don't think I'm a really vehement 'hater' and this is only my third Hating with Honesty post in seven years: the first one was published in 2007 and the last one in 2008. However, a few niggles have started to emerge beyond the obvious ones such as why is Kim Kardashian the most Googled person for 2012 and are we allowed to punch anyone who says 'for the win' yet?

Here are the things that make me want to whistle air through my imaginary dentures and waggle my crab-like finger in the air.....

Ryan Gosling















I honestly don't see the attraction.  I even - and this causes me no small amount of shame - found a second-hand copy of The Notebook; read it to find out what the big deal was and suffered for my curiosity before suffering again through the exrementally soppy movie. What is the magic oestrogen-luring essence that this man has that I can't perceive?  He looks like he should be decorating the top of my latte, not headlining movie marquees....

Boston Terriers

I'm a dog person. When Milly's with me, I have to provide a wide enough berth so that she doesn't snap at her fellow canines in jealousy, but when she's not, my trips are always made longer due to the need to stop, ask 'Is he/she friendly?' before having a pat and a chat. But Boston Terriers repel me. They seem to have scored all the leftover body parts of a Corgi, Pug, Bulldog and the many unwanted mutant features of inbreeding, put into a fur-lined blender and tipped out with an unappetising 'glug' onto the ground with the final humiliation to be left without a tail.  Like X-Factor contestants raving on about how much they love their mothers, Boston Terriers always leave me shuddering slightly.

Apple tarts / Tarte Tatin

Cake. Cake. CAKE. The French Suisse seem to believe that everything tastes better in, on or under flaky pastry. But a dry croissant for breakfast or a sheet of pastry with some apple slices pressed into it gets boring very, very quickly.  Without moistness, self raising flour, chocolate, icing or custard it's just a brown rectangle of over-priced snooze; the Tom Cruise of bakery produce. 'Oh, goodie. Here's the eleven hundredth boulangerie selling tarte tatin. How exciting and creative.'  CAKE!

Channing Tatum



















I haven't seen any of his movies but even in my advanced state of ageing I'm not unaware of the various swoonings and droolings over this bloke that occurs with sickening regularity online.

He's sort of musclier and chunkier than Ryan Gosling, but the question is the same: Why? What is this flesh and bone replica of Mr Potato Head exuding that brings all the cerebrally-challenged chickadees to his chippery?  Shouldn't he be putting on my winter tyres and topping up my antifreeze?

Zombies and vampires

Buffy whooshed by without a glance. Twilight books were endured when my eleven year old was reading them and quickly summarised as cold blooded Mills and Boon for virgins. Vampire Diaries and the plethora of zombie telly shows and movies leave me about as excited as seeing tarte tatin on long haul economy flight menu.  Why not be done with it and have the vampires (sexy, boring and murderous), zombies (irretrievably stupid on all levels) wage war with the ridiculously cartoonish Marvel characters that also seem to hold so many movie-goers' attention?  Winner is the last man (or half robot or undead corpse in love with a wolf) standing!

Bushy beards on young blokes

Fellas, most of you, when you're in your twenties, are lovely to look at.  However, when the hipster urges take over and you decided to grow a bushy beard, you take me back to those oh-so-steamy photos of 1850s gold prospectors, upstanding Victorian philanthropists and men who ate each other when lost on expeditions.  Having to hold a brief conversation with a bearded bloke with cappuccino froth dangling from his Dastardly Dan moustache was not a heavenly moment for me last week.

Land agents to renters

We pay a small - no, large - fortune to rent an apartment that has not been updated since 1970.  The balcony turns into a small swimming pool when it rains and has since flooded the apartment downstairs. Sapphire's unused bidet develops a strong ammonia and mouldy pong that permeates the bedrooms at least once a week and we were sent three angry letters (in French) when our rent payment was not processed by the bank and was subsequently five days overdue.

So, with fairly frequent contact between my good self and the man who manages the property, it was a big surprise when he wrote back to my email last week requesting that someone come and look at our stove top (two out of the four hotplates have decided that being 'hot' is no longer their bag) and announced that he didn't know how I was.

"Pardon me, monsieur? YOU and four other men knocked on my door yesterday to come and see la piscine (the pool) that was my balcony for yourselves, checking the drain and taking photographs. Have I so little charisma that you have forgotten me already?"

But you are not in my records, he wrote back.

"Erm, I must be, buddy - because you send me rent slips every month with MY NAME on them and we've been transferring you money for over eighteen months now...."

Let me check, he replied, suspicion oozing from every keystroke.

"So, about the oven and the enormous whistling draft that blasts through our living room from the sliding door..."

Yes, you are on our records, he wrote, as though he was informing me of that fact.

I KNOW THAT, stupid rental man!  "So the oven...."

Please email me tomorrow when I'm available to read through tenant's concerns before forwarding them on to the owners for consideration.

Horrible ugly stupid rude rental man!  I decided not to email that as my reply.

BBC News channel

The Beeb is mostly known for being a stalwart for consistency, fair-minded reporting and for looking beyond their own borders.  Having a news-only channel would, we thought, be a brilliant way of keeping up with current events all around the world in a language we could understand (unless the story came from Wales).

Sadly not so, unless you are only capable of absorbing three stories at a time.  Even then, those three stories are repeated over and over and over for at least two days, so that breakfast time on day two will see the same video footage from the day before. No, not overnight so that muesli munchers can come up to speed with things that occurred while they were still snoozing in their doonas, but the day before.

Sometimes, the typer of the ticker tape thingy that runs along the bottom of the screen can only be arsed to write a single sentence on a single story that rolls by at a snail's place ad infinitum.  Surely, if sending reporters to all corners of the globe and footage and editing is prohibitively expensive, Tony the ticker tape typer can pop in a few more sentences for us to read?

'Rate me' Facebook photos



















Erk.  Any photo where the subject matter is one's self, especially holding an iPhone where the subject can gaze at one's self during the taking of it, is enough to make all prospective viewers want to heave and (fairly) surmise, "No wonder he's single, he's already found his life-long partner in love."

And the girls ...... oh dearie, dearie me.  Being friends of friends with buddies and acquaintances of Sapphire has shown me that the cleverly angled iPhone photo that enlarges the eyes, gives the duck pout credence and recedes the chin into the far distance - all done while pushing the shoulders unnaturally forward to produce a credible replica of cleavage - makes up approximately 98% of all photos loaded up onto Facebook pages by girls aged between eleven and twenty nine.

"Like my new winter hat," asks Bubble, which is sitting so far back on her head in order to show off the pulled forward shoulder length hair, off-the-shoulder tank top and double-handed upside down peace signs.  Or, "I'm so ugly today," says Twinkle, leaning forward in her black bikini, fluttering her kohl lined enlarged eyes and pouting in pink frost lip shimmer.

If I wasn't so old and supposed to be a role model or sensible mother or some other such tomfoolery thing like that, I'd say, "Yes, you are. No go and put some clothes on and turn your account off."

Nicki Minaj / Kei%$#a / Rihanna et al

Notes for all of you:

If you need auto tune, quit the business.

If you can sing - then for Lindts' sake go have a good scrub in the shower, put on some clothes and stop putting out videos that ram it down young girls' throats that it's only when you behave like nymphomaniac pole dancin' gang molls does your 'song' hit the itunes charts. Please.

Kate Moss interview in Vanity Fair

Ah, the chat that was going to reveal the secretive, never talkative Ms Moss. The one that would delve deeply under the surface to find out how she thinks, what her motives are, the life lessons learnt.  A quarter of a century in the spotlight; she must have some witty anecdotes to share. Vanity Fair will make sure that we find out what charitable causes are close to her heart; how she priorities her time to develop her skills as a responsible parent; the contribution to society that drives her to unselfishly devote her energy to further her knowledge and understanding of homelessness/poverty/discrimination/disability and people with bad dress sense.....

Hah!  The majority of page space was given to Kate's topless poses generously peppered with glowing quotes (in bold type) from various fashionistas and around six vaguely coherent sentences uttered by Kate herself. The end result was about as revealing as my triple-pile, 180 centimetre blue beach towel.  The much-touted hidden depths were the equivalent of the film that you peel off between a boiled egg shell and the egg itself.

Muesli bars

Why do they insist on calling them 'bars' when, unwrapped, they're about the equivalent of two teaspoons of sticky oats?  Why are they 'breakfast for busy people' when people usually like more than 21 grams of solid food to satisfy their hunger?  Why are the packets 15 centimetres long, but the 'bar' only eight?

Cup cakes

Like low rider jeans, saying 'swag' and Lady Gaga, you've had your fifteen minutes of fame, cup cake.  This obsession has escalated to ridiculous levels where icing has been pooped out from a great distance and is, in fact, larger than the dry/boring/tasteless cake itself.  Maybe the next craze will just be the icing and decoration without the cupcake underneath?

How I Met Your Mother

This show is on constant re-run on one of the British second-tier freebie channels, so even when I try to avoid it, it is manages to wedge itself into my consciousness at least once a day when I'm channel surfing to find things to record for later.  The lead guy possesses the same amount of charisma that I clearly do for my land agent and the little red headed girlie who used to be in American Pie is one of the worst actresses I've ever seen. No, cuteness doesn't make up for lack of talent.  The irony doesn't escape me that Neil Patrick Harris (Dr Horrible) plays Barney who, if the world was fair, would have his own sitcom and leave the other four 'characters' in the Seasons 1-8 remainder bin.

Fingernail 'art'














Apart from endless iPhone facebook 'selfies', nothing says 'I spend too much time on myself' than fingernail 'art.'  Painting cartoons, logos, flowers, stripes or dress-matching designs onto (usually) fake fingernails also implies that the owner of such tacky travesties does very little work.  Nails with mini sequins embedded into them are not going to be much use when zipping up a small child's winter parka, popping open a long life milk box or scrubbing off the scum around the plughole.  Oh, and they don't distract the viewer from less desirable body parts either.

There. That's enough for now.  Time for a trip down to the Dog Forest with Milly.

BOGUE

As a cash-strapped lowly-paid freelancer living in the third most expensive city in the world I'm grateful for any freebie beyond muggings and the flu.

A French Vogue magazine from August (Aout) 2011 was lurking in a pile of English 'Hello' glossies given to me by Anne, a terrific Kiwi nurse living seven floors below. Both types of magazines were gratefully received but just as incomprehensibleas each other. 'Hello' features British celebrities that are unheard of beyond their post-Coronation Street stint in rehab and/or broken engagement to a soccer player and, to me, French Vogue is, well, French Vogue.

However, I did still flick through it and noted that the glossy advertisements comprised over three quarters of the pages. The remainder featured models in poses so ridiculous that I showed a few to Sapphire.

An idea was born.

Could this 43 year old farty pants replicate any of those poses in real life?

Let's try this one:

Fabric inexplicably sliced off her left shoulder but thankfully allowing her unfettered public access to her left boob.

Very practical Versace, and a pose I adopt quite often myself:

Exhibit number two sees a woman in danger of having her face eaten by a hoodie exit her huge home; hands on hips and looking determinedly to her left.

Yep, I can do this when Milly next needs to head outside for a whizzer in the Dog Forest:

This one is clearly your typical supermodel-with-a-handbag pose. Sultry, saturated and sort of slumped. 

Perfect when waiting for the bus.

Ah, Chanel. How do we love thee?

..... about as much as I love my greenie grocery bags.

I knew an ex-model in Adelaide who told me that they were always instructed to walk with their arms well behind their shoulders. "It looks good in photos but is hell on your back, which is why no-one does it in real life," she said.  A Posh Spice-alike is demonstrating it here:

And my Adelaide friend was right. It DOES look and feel mighty stupid when done by someone wearing a Target Top from 2009; Levi's purchased during a Singapore trip, Diana Ferrari factory outlet boots and Marks and Spencer sports-strength underwear.

But why is this chick so annoyed? Surely she got paid $10,000 to get out of bed?

...unlike my good self, who is nudged awake by a wet nose and dog breath (and I don't mean Love Chunks) and is surely more deserving of a sulk?

Hot model; check. Sitting on a retro American car; check.  Looking 1970s steamy; check.

"Go outside and sit on the car, Mum," said Sapphire, now rather into her role as fashion director.

"No love, I'll dent the bonnet."

"OK then, but you have to look really sexy and not smile."

"Check."

THIS one takes the cake - not that she'd ever have come close to inhaling cake - for it's sheer lack of sense.  Was she shot in the stomach during an acid flashback?

We'll probably never know.  What we DO know is exactly who does love eating cake. And bacon. And cheese. And chocolate....

Inevitably, the physical, mental and emotional strain of holding up enormous 29 kilogram bodies on 6 foot-long legs gets exhausting, especially when sugar levels drop and brain cells die:

I did empathise; and was grateful that Lyndon had almost finished BBQing the steaks just out of shot.

Sensual telephone services or Bogan Vogueing - just two new career choices to ponder.

Post influenza huskiness put to profitable use

“Hello and welcome to Call 1800-UGH for your dose of sensual reality....Kath speaking.”

“Er, hi. What do you, um do?”

“I’m glad you asked, er – what’s your name....?”

(Pause). “Trevor. Yes, it’s Trevor.”

“Okay, ‘Trevor’, this is the deal. I describe to you a typical Wednesday night for long-time-married couples. No soft rock soundtrack or flattering lighting but all the squelches, stumbles and housekeeping requirements of the real thing. You are my star in this particular scenario, my darling. All you need to do is sit back and listen. Does that float your boat?”

(Quietly) “Yes.”

“I can see (taps away at the keyboard) that your credit card number has been approved, thanks for that Trevor. Shall I start?”

(Louder this time) “Yes!”

"Trevor? Are you ready for bed? Thanks for putting the bins out, love.

Why dontcha log off the computer and make yourself nice? The dishwasher’s on, Cody’s staying over at Jackson’s and Zoe is already dead-to-the-world with her Skype headphones twisted around to cover her eyes instead of her ears. It's only 9:30pm and there's nothing good on TV. (in a sing-song voice) It’s Wed-nes-daaaaaaaay.....

Oh sweet heart..... you flossed!

But could you – before you jump in – fold up your trousers and put them on the chair? Unless they’re dirty and then could you put them in the hamper? Loveypuss, I know you'd rather whip them over your head like a lasso before flinging them out into the hallway and it was hilarious and erotic the first time you did it but not now. And can you close the door - you know how curious the dog gets.

.........No, I’m not trying to spoil the moment but it is hard to feel raunchy when you’ve got to shake the dust bunnies off a heap of clothes in the morning and squeeze them into the second load.......

Let’s try again, shall we? You wait here – no, don’t start without me – while I go for a twinkle and clean my teeth....."

(clearing his throat) "What are you doing now?"

"Bear with me, Trevor dearest. I'm going through my nightly ablutions. You don't want almond meal between my two remaining teeth or have to dodge my dragon breath, do you?"

(Hurriedly) "Definitely not. Continue. Please."



"Alrighty, Trevor. Don’t you DARE turn on the reading light or I will not leave this ensuite!

There. I’m in. Oh yeah, the tap water is cold, isn’t it. Guess I should have rubbed my hands together for a minute or two before touching you.

Feel your way baby. That’s not a spare tyre, they’re speed bumps on the ride of your life.

What the....? Never mind, a bandaid just slipped off your elbow. Are we shagging or swimming, heh heh.....

Ooops, pardon me. All this thrusting ends up pushing a bit of gas out.

Sorry about my legs, too. Forgot to shave them this week, so it seems like we’ve sort of created a weird hairy Velcro effect, haven’t we....?"

"Oh Kath, you've nailed it; you really have. I'll be back again next Wednesday."

Honk Honk

When you have house guests over to stay, unless they’re your immediate blood relatives, you do try and keep yourself nice.

For a while.

By ‘nice’ I mean no nude runs from the bathroom to the bedroom; keeping the bra on after 6pm, toe nails to remain unclipped in front of the telly and perhaps even refraining from slipping into pyjamas until it’s actually time to turn the lights off.

With our recent guest Taka, I kept myself nice because the duration of his visit was way under the Three Day Limit of the Kath Lockett Code of Compulsory Consideration of House Guests. Two days: barely enough time to say, “If you want a cup of tea, then you know where to find everything for yourself.”

When guests stay for four days onwards, things get real. Well, sort of. Still no obvious nudity and any wanton bralessness is always carefully hidden under an oversized t-shirt and sloppy polarfleece jacket, but rules do get relaxed.

The Farj Family will attest to this. During their week-long stay – which I must stress was fun and extremely enjoyable (for me, at least) – my hostessing skills took a nose dive from Day Four.

In Australia I used to go to great lengths to hang the daggy smalls at the back of the line so that only innocuous items such as towels and sheets were visible from the dining room. Here in Geneva, conversations with all four Farj Family members were continued as I walked around the living room festooning damp underpants, bras and socks on clothes horses, door knobs and the backs of dining chairs without worrying about what aspect they were being viewed from or pausing for breath.

“So you’re now lead cornet in the town band, Frankie?”

Being ‘on’ for house guests – no matter how anticipated and beloved – can get tiring, especially if sparkling breakfast wit at 7am ends with slightly sloshed clinking of wine bottles in the recycling bins at 1am without a break. But on Day Four, it’s perfectly acceptable behaviour under the Kath Lockett Code of Compulsory Consideration of House Guests to say, “You know guys, you go on ahead to the tulip festival without me; I’ll just have a short nap.”

The risk of missing out on potentially one of the country’s most exciting afternoons out is worth taking if it means that the household continues to experience coherent sentences, a regularly unpacked dishwasher and semi-acceptable facial features from my good self for the rest of their stay.

Boiling your own beverages, wet jocks and naps notwithstanding, the most significant sign of Free Reign post observance of the  Kath Lockett Code of Compulsory Consideration of House Guests by far is my guiltiest daily pleasure, always avoided when non-family members are visiting.

The nose blow in the shower.

Honk honk hooooooooonk!

There’s no way to disguise the noise – it’s either that or a silent nose pick which has never been my style. Sinus-blasting sound over sneaky snot-squiggling any day.

Day Four onwards - Honk honk hooooooooonk!

The Farjs politely feigned deafness but the Gregorys did not. I’ve known Jill since I was a baby and her husband for over twenty years, so they got the Day Four Watery Schnozz Shooting match right from Day One. 

We laughed about it over breakfast but Jill was merely biding her time.

On Day Four, I was dying for a run. Would anyone mind if I just popped into my room, shut the door and went for a sesh on the treddie whilst they finished downloading holiday snaps and Love Chunks was doing the roast chook? The noise should be minimal with the door shut....

I couldn’t have cared less about the noise – privacy and avoidance of shame was always my biggest concern. The thought of being seen puffing, sweating and panting; bits-a-jiggling, bum bag around my Michelen-Man-enhanced waist, groaning out a lyric or two made me fart in automatic self preservation as I bent down to tie my shoelaces.

Still, as usual, the hallowed Zone of running was entered, and I was off. Random thoughts, songs, reminiscences, ideas..... all punctuated with drops of sweat spattering on the kick guard. Eleven years I’ve stuck at this; helps blow off the cobwebs and partially accounts for the industrial-sized loads of chocolate inhaled.

With a Playlist pounding in my ears, eyes straight ahead ostensibly staring at the wall but in actuality into my own brain, I didn’t notice the door open.

CLICK!

“J-i-i-i-i-i-i-l-l-l-l-l-l-l!”

Next time she comes to stay I’ll honk in the shower on Day One. And walk out of the bathroom, starkers, before sprinking her freshly-made guest bed with my toe nail clippings and saying, ‘Get your own damn cuppa.”

She’d probably prefer it that way too. 

Visitors make me realise just how much we’ve achieved in less than a year and how beautiful this part of the world is. Love to all of you who have been brave enough to stay with us.

1984 and 2012

Kath’s mother Pauline circa 1984: 
“So what is it you’re saving your babysitting money up for, again?”

Kath (patiently)
“To buy a ghetto blaster.”

Pauline
“That’s a tape player, right?”

Kath (taking a deep breath).
“Yes. But it needs to have detachable speakers so that I can really enjoy the full on sound and must have a double tape deck so that I can tape tapes.”

Pauline
“To tape tapes?”

Kath (sighing)
“Yes. Not like how you did it in 1979 by putting your reading-for-the-blind cassette machine flat on the carpet next to the radio gram – in glorious mono – and then pressing down the play and record buttons.”

Pauline (bristling slightly)
“Well, we all managed to hear Neil Diamond and Roger Whittaker clearly enough on our Queensland holiday and you used to sing the entire Sesame Street cassette tape soundtrack word for word....”

Kath (interrupting)
“True Mum, sorry about that. What I meant was that I really love listening to music but Robert has other tapes that I’d like to tape and I just realised that the public library has heaps of cassettes that we can borrow and copy and----“

Pauline (interrupting)
“----Cassettes are tapes, aren't they, not records?”

Kath
“NO, not records, Mum – records are so out of it, they scratch and they’re really big and you can’t put them in a walkman, can you?  Tapes are IN, Mum and they're here to stay.”

Pauline
“Oh. So when are you going to buy your (pauses to align fingers into the newly-learned quotation mark gesture) ‘ghetto blaster’?”

Kath
"Grandpa’s going to get it for me."

Pauline
"Grandpa?"

Kath
"He and Nanna are off to Seoul next month and he said if I wrote down all the specifications, he’d take it into the Duty Free and get me one. I trust him.”

And I did.

AND he bought me back a gold Sanyo ghetto blaster with double tape-to-tape dubbing with variable speeds, detachable speakers, bass and treble knobs, FM tuner and – as an extra cool bonus – a graphic equalizer. I loved that beast! (and Grandpa too.)


2012

Sapphire
“Mum, you know how my birthday is coming up really soon?”

Kath
“In around two months, you mean?”

Sapphire
“Er, yeah. Anyhow, I’d really like Spotify.”

Kath
“What’s that, a stain remover?”  (Put hands on hips to laugh at own joke).

Sapphire
“Oh Mum, you’re hilarious. No, it’s an online music system that’s better than i-tunes because you can listen to entire songs not just snippets, create playlists, send them to your friends who are on it and find everything ever. And my iPod has somehow gone weird and the only music left on it is Enya and Katy Perry for some reason and it goes flat if I take it out of the docking station for longer than five minutes.”

Kath
“Oh. Can’t you get Dad to put it on your iPad as one of those app thingies?”

Sapphire
“No, Mum, because we don’t live in Australia any more, everything defaults to Switzerland and denies us access to lots of really cool apps. It has to be set up as a new and separate paid account which will then mean I can use it on my iPad and not just sit at the desktop all the time as the only place I can listen to music.”

Kath
“Oh, OK. So you want this account for your birthday?”

Sapphire, brightening in relief that her meat-headed mother finally understands.
“Yes, Mum! It costs about the same as it does to get Dolly magazine every month but I’ll also be able to create an account for you and for Dad and recommend you songs and you’ll get to see what I’m listening to and you can ask me for playlists that I can set up on your treadmill by plugging in my iPad to the control panel and----“

Kath (overwhelmed with techno-talk).
“Fine, fine. Chat to Dad when he gets home.”

Later, on Sapphire’s facebook.
“Have Spotify. DAD IS THE COOLEST GUY EVER.”

Kath, sticking her head into Sapphire's room.

"Er hey, grateful girl, I just read your status update.  Remember it was me that spoke to him about Spotify."

Sapphire

"Er no, Mum, au contraire, tu vache.  I could see that you had no idea so I showed him the site, we searched for the app together and he did the downloading and registration."

Kath

"Oh."

Sapphire, seeing her mother's transparently crestfallen face

"But Mum, there is something else I need..."

Kath

"Yes?  Those Hungry Games books?  No Direction album?  'I love blocks' Minecraft t-shirt?"

Sapphire thinks about mocking the glaringly obvious ignorance for a moment, but decides against it.

"No, but some headphones that are more than just foam circles and fly wire would be nice."

Kath

"Yeah, I could think about that. What sort are you talking about?"

Sapphire

"'Beats' ones by Dr Dre."

Kath

"NO WAY Jose. I know what they are. They cost three hundred francs and everyone walks around looking like they've got cheeseburgers on their ears!"

Sapphire

"But my friends have them and the sound quality is really, really good. Plus they eliminate all external sounds and you can select white or brown noise when flying and..."

Kath

"How about Sony ones, for one sixth of the price, and I'll give you my own version of brown noise for free?"

Sapphire pauses, torn between mocking her mother's naked uncoolness and bad sense of humour and considering the reality of getting some still-good headphones.

Eventually, she utters what Kath knew - deep in her muddled mother's heart - she was going to say.   

"I'll talk about it with Dad."

On repeat

Love Chunks noticed it first.



"Kath, you seem to have a pretty definite theme emerging from what you wear."



"Oh, what is that?"



"Well, let's just say it's never a surprise when you take your latest purchase out of the bag to show me."



I pretended to take offence.  "OK, so I'm not exactly out on the edge in terms of taking a risk, sartorially-speaking, but nobody seems to be laughing and pointing at me when I venture out onto the streets."



"Fine, fine, forget I said anything."  He bent back to his iPad before changing his mind. "Actually, no. You like to accuse me of not noticing what you wear when, in fact, I notice this pattern more than you do."



After a rummage through the Anneboda wardrobe and Malm drawers, it's time to concede that he does have a point.

I really do need to embrace some green.

Open windows

We've never lived in an apartment before we came here and now we're up amongst the tree tops on the eighth floor of an eleven storey building.

Apartment living can be cramped, but this place is significantly larger in size than our snug little one-and-a-half fronted cottage in Flemington. Milly has adapted to the lack of garden and back door facilities extremely well, being content to snooze and snuffle around from room to room until it's time to head downstairs via the lift into the Dog Forest. Where she once trembled in fear when the elevator doors clanged shut and it descended to the ground she now wags her tail, because a ride in the lift means a walk.

Upstairs there's no garden to tend (fine by me and LC) and two hallways that would easily be converted into bedrooms if we were back in Melbourne with a budget for renovations.

Despite this - and having three toilets - we only have the one living space for eating, piano practising, telly watching and view gazing. Furnishings are kept to the minimum for ease of access and my beloved luxury item number two* is stored in LC's and my bedroom.

The treadmill. An expensive towel rail for some but a vital part of life for me. With an ageing body that now hosts a dodgy achilles, a bung calf muscle and plantar fasciitis, my runs are now down to three days a week for 6 km a time. I'm slower now too - no longer galloping at 12.6km per hour, but a relatively sedate 11.2 for the first five kilometres and last gasp 12km/hr for the final km.

Still, with that trio of trots and a long morning walk with Milly, my heart rate is a mighty fine 56 beats per minute while resting and I seem to be able to continue to inhale all matter of chocolate, wine and cheese-related Swiss specialties without looking too obviously rotund.

I've written before about the benefits for me beyond the cardiovascular. It helps keep my Black Dog at bay and gives me time to reflect, think up new writing ideas and reminisce about all kinds of weird and wonderful events. And, to be utterly honest, there's little that makes me feel more proud of myself than knowing I've slogged and sweat my butt off before breakfast, even if it doesn't look like I have.

So, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, after Milly and I get back from our walk, I change into my runners and plug in the treadie, strap on my bum bag and headphones and switch on the iPod.

"Annie waits for the last time....."

Three and a half kms in this morning and I was in The Zone, endorphins a-coursing, positive vibes a-pumping and singing along loudly and proudly to every fourth word of each song "Annie waits ----- for a call ....was it always the same?"

Sweat flicked onto the dashboard and Milly turned around to rearrange the pillow she snoozed on at the end of the bed. The view, from the right side, was of the bare winter trees and grey clouds sprinkling a few half-hearted snowflakes.

Things were really firing up today. I audaciously flicked the speedo up to twelve km per hour right from the start and sang along to every word.  My eyes were closed as I imagined that my legs were going to hurl me down the track......

"You've got to be the prettiest girl

I've ever witnessed in the whole world
Hear me can you hear me? Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me now......"

Ratta tatta tat!

I nearly got flung into the bedside table in my shock. There, on a crane platform slowly moving upwards were two removal men, grinning at me.  'Bonjour madame!'  

I wasn't sure what to do. Stop and what, stand still and wave until they putted upwards beyond my floor or nod and keep running as all serious athletes would do? The first option seemed faintly ridiculous, but the second option would hardly work seeing as they'd already had a chuckle at seeing me sing to myself with my eyes closed like a sheltered workshop employee on a fitness kick.

So I did what I always do when faced with French I cannot speak and people I cannot converse with. I gave them the 'thumbs up' and a smile, got back onto the treaddie and kept on going, thanking the powers-that-be that they weren't putting by an hour later when I'd invariably be starkers and freshly showered.

I'm starting to love this place.

* Milly is luxury item number one

Pre-migraine Meme

I've had these meme questions sitting in the 'draft' folder for a while now, and can't remember who I stole it from. Memes are good when your brain is fried, Mr Migraine is just arriving for an unwelcome visit but you feel like writing something before he kicks the door in........

1. Tell us who the last person was that you showered with.
Just my good self armed with a puff full of douche gel. That still cracks me up - calling a shower a 'douche' here in French-speaking Geneva. Before that it would be years and years and years ...... even then it featured Sapphire who was around two at the time and we were in a hotel room that didn't have a bath. Getting in the shower with her seemed like the easiest way to get her clean.

2. Tell us about your favorite tee-shirt. 

I used to wear 'Diet Stinks' quite a lot but it, um 'shrunk' and didn't make the cut to squeeze into the 23kg of luggage we were allowed to bring over to Geneva. That's my story and I'm not going to change it.

3. Has anyone ever hit on you even though they knew you were taken?
Not in recent memory. I think I'm too old, disinterested and tired-looking to give even the faintest whiff of intrigue or availability. Actually, I did get propositioned by a bored female prostitute on a Friday morning, close to Christmas. Apart from economic necessity, it might also have been the intoxicating combination of a nanna cart, sensible shoes, fat face and my visible excitement at going to a lovely old church to participate in a second hand book sale.

4. Do you plan what to wear the next day?
Nope. I log on to check the weather forecast in the morning; think about what I'm up to for the day and what's clean and then decide. The plainer the better for me.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now? Why?
Tired. The apartment gets stuffy at night because the blinds are shutters that roll down and then shut out not just the noise and lights outside but also the fresh air.

6. What's the closest thing to you that's black?
Watch strap and scuffy black boots. Sensible flat ones of course.

7. Tell me about an interesting dream you remember having.
I'm someone who rarely remembers their dreams but, funnily enough, last night's is still with me - I was stealing hair conditioner from Migros, the supermarket nearest our home. Why I have no idea..... if I was going to risk life and limb shoplifting, surely I'd choose something more valuable. Like say, meat here in Geneva?

8. Did you or might you meet anybody new today?
Yes. Milly and I chatted in broken French to an elderly lady who stopped to give her a pat. Plus the Fratman and a door-to-door salesman who wanted to sell me an automatic security system. "Non merci."

9. If you could be doing anything right now (or perhaps after you finish this ridiculous meme) what would it be?
Mr Migraine is starting to knock at my door and I'd love to take a nap, but worry that I'd be out of it for too long and be unable to sleep tonight. It's the warm weather and a built up bank account of lost sleep and finally feeling a bit more relaxed about things and feeling my eyelids get heavy and wondering if it's really worth sweeping the floor or following up the online accounts or zZzzzzzzz......

10. Do you floss?
Every night. I have Love Chunks to thank for this. Before we lived together, I thought flossing was something the dentist did to make your eyes water during a check up. He rather politely informed me that my morning (and hey let's face it - lunchtime and evening) breath might improve if I got rid of some of the (unnoticed by me) flotsam and jetsam lurking in the gaps.

11. What comes to mind when I say China?
HUGE economic power. Always the third word after reading 'Made In' on the back of any and every product that was purchased in Australia. Here it is just as likely to have 'Made in Switzerland' on it, but cost ten times as much. Tupperware (and its alternatives) might as well be made out of platinum here for the price.

12. Are you overly emotional?
Yes damnit and I wish I wasn't. I hate it that tears are always close to the surface and I can't shake things off and get over it like a mature, well-rounded and confident person.

13.If you could listen to just one rock album (CD, vinyl or mp3) which one would you pick ?
Super Trouper by ABBA. Played over and over in 1981 when I was a miserable and lonely Aussie girl living in Scotland. Loved every song and it made me feel..... comforted. It's no classic by any stretch but sometimes music or songs have that certain element that helps when you need it most.

14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?

Insightful question! Um, lick madly at first and bite when it all starts dribbling down my hands, my wrist and drops plop off the end of my elbows. I'm not really a big ice-cream girl and rarely have one in a cone or in a bowl. Ice-blocks are more my things or I'll go straight to the chocolate and avoid the icy, melty bits in between.

15. Do you like your car?
Yes, Pierre the Peugeot 207SW is an adorable little silver spunk! Our previous car, Maggie the Magna, was sixteen when we sold her in May 2011 and Pierre is the first brand new car for Love Chunks and myself.

16. Do you like yourself?
Sort of. It's been an up and down relationship with many lessons learned, shocks discovered and things to look back on and smile about. Or wince.

17. Would you go out to eat with Charlie Sheen?
No. I never liked his stupid TV show; never thought he had much talent; never understood how he was admired for being 'successful' and wish that he'd had a vasectomy years ago - how many kids and wives have been left on the roadside now?

18. What was the last song that you listened to?
Something played by WRS - World Radio Switzerland, that caused Sapphire great embarassment. 'Beautiful' by One Direction. I haven't seen a music video in years, and it was catchy, so my hands tapped the steering wheel. Her shame and dismay at my reaction was both intense and scornful. The only other songs we've heard have been the US-dominated, middle-of-the-road soft rock classics played at every shop in Geneva we've visited. "More than words to show you feel.....That your love for me is real...."

19. Are (or were) your parents strict?
Fairly. Dad was a high school teacher so was well aware of the temptations and pitfalls. Mum only insisted on a curfew when I had my first real boyfriend - my remonstration that I'd easily be able to do as many naughty things before 1am as after didn't hold water.

20. Have you ever wondered what attending a wild orgy (if only to watch or...) would be like?
No. Movies like 'A Clockwork Orange' and 'Eyes Wide Shut' and several bad novels read under the covers as a teen dampened any interest or enthusiasm for the practice.

21. I say cottage cheese. You say:
I'm on a diet. It's boring, it's not fun but it's a food of some sort that's only in my fridge when I'm serious.

22. Have you ever met a celebrity?
In my three month stint as a barperson at the Savoy in London in 1991 I served a few - Liza Minnelli, Nick Faldo, Fergie. The biggest tipper was the Chancellor of the Exchequer!

23. What was the last movie that you watched at home?
Life of Brian, followed by 'The Holy Grail' - we thought that it was time for Sapphire to discover them. Luckily, she loved them both. "Brave brave Sir Robin...."

24. Is there anything sparkly in the room you're in?
The silver crackle on the inside of the Cailler branchee wrapper, bubbles in my long-forgotten glass of water and glints of light bouncing off the various camera/iPad/data sticks scattered over the desk.

25. What countries have you visited?
England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, New Zealand, France, Spain, The Netherlands, Greece, Italy, Indonesia (well, just Bali and Ubud if I'm totally honest), Malaysia, Germany, Singapore,Luxembourg. Oh and Switzerland now.

26. Have you ever made a phone call while you were drunk that you've regretted? If yes, do tell.
I don't think so....... or if I did, I honestly don't remember it. I do remember, during O-week at first year uni staggering back to a friend's room and trying to write down the next day's timetable for introductory lectures. The next day I slept in, felt utterly sick and missed them all which was a good thing because what was written down was utterly illegible - not even sure it was in English.

27. Bacon or sausage?
Bacon. Always bacon. Sausages are full of a heap of stuff and then, maybe, a bit of iffy meat so they're best avoided.

28. How long have you had a cell-phone?
My first was in 1998 when I was pregnant and LC wanted to make sure that I was always in contact. I had it for another couple of years after that and always felt really embarrassed by it because it was the last of the brick-sized phones. Since then I've gone for the simplest and cheapest because I hate SMSing and all that fiddly stuff.

29. Who invented chop sticks?
The song or the eating utensil? If it was the song, my mother would personally like to kill them. Her one and only rule when playing her piano was that Chopsticks was never, ever to be featured on her hallowed ivory keys.

30. Who are you going to be with tonight?
Sapphire and Milly at home as Love Chunks is in Washington for work. I was going to take Sapph to an Aboriginal art exhibition at the UN, but forgot to send in an RSVP in time and the security is so tight that it was too late to put our names on the security-checked list. So home it is. Then again, home is the best nightspot in the world with friendly locals, comfortable clothing and food and amenities close to hand.

31. Are you too forgiving?
Maybe. Although I've found that I've been furious and rock-hard angry over some incidents in life and very understanding about others. In hindsight it can be pretty interesting to think back on what was unforgivable and what was eventually OK.

32. When was the last time that you were in love?
Still am. Coming up to nearly nineteen years and counting.

33. Tell us about your best friend.
I wish there was an 's' after 'friend' - Love Chunks is my favourite boy friend.
Jill I've known since I was two days old. She's strong, beautiful, smart, funny, kind and interested in others. Just writing about her makes me smile and wish that she was sitting right here so that I could give her a hug and put the kettle on.
Milly might be a dog, but she spends more time with me than any other (visible) living creature.
And Sapphire. Darling daughter and terrific company.

34. What was the stupidest thing you learned in high school?
Algebra, sewing (I left Home Economics still unable to thread a bobbin into a sewing machine) and every single PE class.

35. What was the last thing that you cried about?
Being here in Geneva, trying to find my 'place'. It's a work in progress for me and the language barrier means that English is hard to find, as is reading matter and someone to provide you with information or the services you need. I worry about whether I'll find paid work here or what my real role is but it passes and I realise that yes, I am emotional and double yes, a huge worrier.

36. What was the last question you asked?
"Where's the squirrel?" Milly had stopped in her tracks, barked excitedly and yep, sure enough, there were two squirrels playing in the branches above.

37. Favorite thing to do this time of the year?
Almost springtime in Geneva, so it's still new to me. Open the living room windows as the heating is still on but the sun is amplified through the glass. Admire the view from both sides of our building (Jet D'eau from the bedrooms, Jura mountains from the living room). Eat the berries that are now appearing in the shops. Sleep with just a thin blanket. Take Milly for a walk in the mornings without having to wear a beanie or gloves.

38. If you had to get a (or another) tattoo, what would it be?
I'm not a fan of anything visible or words so I'm not sure. If I *had* to (ie forced at gunpoint), I'd love to work out how to have the Southern Cross put on but in a way that showed I love my origins but am NOT a bogan redneck. Not sure if that's possible though......

39. How would your best friend describe you?
Not sure - I've put her through the wringer over the years. Maybe quirky, chatty and determined? Food obsessed? Worrywart? Lovable odd ball?

40. Have you ever seen the Twilight films?
The first three, sigh. Sapphire has read all the books and yes, I took her to see the movies. Just like Mills and Boon for teens and, bad writing/acting aside, Ms Meyer is really advocating hanging on to your virginity for as long as you can - any wonder that parents are buying the books for their kids? What a relief it was when 'Breaking Dawn Part I' came out and Sapphire said that she was 'over it' and happy not to see it.

41. Ever walked into a glass door?
Many times. Not hurt myself though, just my pride.

42. Have you ever slapped someone?
As a kid, yes. Having two brothers means that a slap - as well as a good dead leg, hen peck and typewriter maneouvre - is part of the job description.

43. What hair style (for you) would you like to see return?
Mia Farrow / Jean Seberg / V for Vendetta-era Natalie Portman. I'm too old to be bothered with long hair.

44. What was the last CD you bought?
It would be too many years ago to remember - it's all itunes now, baby. Then again, we did put our CDs into storage before moving here as it was too hard to part with them.

45. Do looks matter to you?
To a point. No-one wants to run away screaming from the person with an enormous gaping nostril where their eyes should be, but someone who spends more time preening or rearranging their jeans to defy the laws of physics so that half their undies are on display but they can still walk is just as much of a worry.

46. What's the hardest bill to pay every month?
The rent, which eats up 40% of our income. Considering that our kitchen, bathrooms, wall tiles and floor coverings are all originals from 1970 it seems very steep. Living in a city that profits so handsomely from UN and overseas workers can really sting at times, especially when locals assume that we're all on enormous salaries***

47. Do you like your life right now?
Yes. LC is enjoying his job; Sapphire is happy with school and her group of mates and I feel as though I've got a group of friends I can rely on and have fun with. An income would be nice too, but I'm learning that it'll come when it comes.....

48. Do you have good vision?
Perfect. Never had a problem, but my mother has glaucoma so I have to get it checked regularly.

49. Where was your facebook picture taken?
In Luxembourg by Sapphire, with my ski parka zipped up as far as it would go. LC said I looked like a bear's gynaecologist.

50. Can you waltz?
Vaguely, but need to led. All forms of dancing - old, modern, drunken or utterly sober - scare me to death.

51. Do you have a job?
Kinda sorta. Freelance stuff that pays very little but does occupy my grey matter and my time. Have also won a position as an English tutor but now need some kids to tutor. Is it wrong to be hoping for a couple of kids in Geneva to be currently flunking badly enough for their parents to seek out my services?

52. What was the most recent thing you stole?
Some gorgeous-smelling shampoo from the Novotel in Luxembourg.

53. Have you ever crawled through a window?
YES - Jill had to shove me through their bathroom so that we could get inside her house without the key. (You can read about it here)

*** We're not.