I read, the other day, that the British 'still' throw too much into their dustbins that might be used to steal their identities.
I couldn't fathom out, what sort of 'stuff' that might be, until I went to renew my contract for my mobile phone (and procure a new phone into the bargain).

Salesperson: Do you have an ID with you, as proof of identity?
Me: No, the war ended nearly 60 years ago and where I come from, they haven't been deemed necessary since.
SP: well, do you have a passport with you?
Me: Yes, I have it in the car.
SP: Could you fetch it, I can't extend your contract, without proof of identity?

I fetched my passport, proved that I am who I am and walked off happily with my new phone.

Then it occurred to me, what it might be, the British are dropping into their bins!

I mentioned, that during my holiday in Wales, the magnetic strip on my credit card got zapped!
Suddenly I was unable to withdraw funds from a cash machine.
There was a bill for B&B waiting for me, so I phoned Visa who confirmed that indeed, it was the magnetic strip and no, the card had not been suspended, I would be able to withdraw up to £x,000 at any banks cash-desk but preferably Barclays.

I trotted off to Barclays in Barmouth, where there was a nice lady behind the glass.
NL: "No, Sir I can't give you cash on a credit card, you'll have to use the hole in the wall"
I explained my situation but she informed me, that she was unable to help.
Me: "Well, who can help?"
She didn't really know.
I explained, that I was 800 Miles from home, had a hotel bill for £200 and was in need of petrol, to continue my journey.
NL: "Well how much did you wish to withdraw then?"
Me: "£300 would have me on my way"
NL: Gasp !!! She held on to the counter for support.
NL "I'm sorry sir, there is no way, that I can let you have, gasp, that amount of money. Impossible!"
Me: "Well, how much could you let me have then?"
NL: "£50 utmost"
Me: Well that will get me back to the hotel, at least."
NL: "Do you have any form of identification?"
Me: "Well, yes, I have my British Passport and my International Driving License.
NL: "I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid that won't suffice. Do you have a gas bill or an electricity bill, addressed to your home address?"
Me "Hiccup?" ( I have always been in a habit of carrying wads of old bills around with me)
Me" What on earth for??!!"
NL " As proof of identity."
Me "And how am I going to prove, that I really live there?"

We finally agreed, that she might give me £10 against my valid passport.
I stood and banged my head against the wall, as she dragged my dud magnetic strip through the slit in her keyboard for the tenth time ...

The ten pounds got me to a Nat West in Caernarfon, where the next nice lady asked if I could be so kind and 'just sign on the dotted line', before she handed over £300.

I have no idea what else might suffice as proof of identity in Britain. It might be worth checking a couple of dustbins.

Gone phishing ...

Perhaps I missed something somewhere ...

The OLMA closes today after eleven days.
No, not the Ontario Lumber Manufacturers' Association, but the Swiss exhibition of agriculture and nutrition in Sankt Gallen.
It would seem to be obligatory for anyone who lives in the area.

I wanted to visit the exhibition last year, but my logic wasn't functioning.
If visitors to the exhibition don't get home until three a.m. I presumed there was no point in getting there early.
I turned up at nine p.m. The doors were closed. Well, they would be, of course.

This year some friends took my hand and promised to show me what it was all about and why most visitors don't just go once a year, but once a day for the whole eleven days.
'You have to be there early to find room' they told me.
We got there at two - p.m. that is.
We rushed past Sewing Machines, Washing Machines, Ironing Machines, Coffee Machines and Snow Ploughs.
No-one really took any interest in them. Too nutritious? Too agricultural?

Oh look!
Hall 9 is devoted to cheese!
And the hall next to it is devoted to livestock.
But who wants to stand around looking at cows until three-in-the-morning?
We sampled some cheese and washed it down with a beer and then rushed along to find our places in Hall 4, before they were taken.

Halls 4 and 5 are devoted to nutrition - in fluid form.
Mounting the stairs to Hall 4 is a feat in itself. The stairs are packed and the noise from above is deafening.
Hieronymus Bosch never imagined anything like the scene that greeted us - even in his wildest nightmares.

People were standing shoulder to shoulder and nose to nose.
If someone moved to let you pass, you could observe how 200 and more people swayed with them.
And, apparently, it wasn't even near full yet.
We somehow reached our 'destination'. It looked pretty much the same as everywhere else to me. I took my position between the bodies and through some miracle, a beer found its way into my hand.
Trying to work out how to get the beer to my mouth, I watched the crowd and noticed that through mutual consent, it was my turn to drink. The people around me swayed away from me just long enough for me raise my glass and take a sip, then it was someone elses' turn.
Don't try to drink while your neighbour is drinking - one of you is bound to loose some teeth.

After drinking my beer, I decided it might be time for me to leave. In the meantime, however, I was packed in so tightly, it was impossible to move. I never learned to use my elbows and 'excuse me' just didn't work!
Another beer somehow found its way into my hand and I resigned to my fate.
After four beers, I was relieved to hear a loudspeaker announce:
'The OLMA is closing, would you please carefully drink whatever it is you are holding and make your way to the exit.'

We all shuffled toward The Exit and the scene from within, was repeated in the street behind the exhibition halls and in the surrounding pubs.

Perhaps I am anti-social, but it didn't take long for me to abandon my friends, wedged there in the crowds and to make my way to the station.
Perhaps it is my being British, but my idea of fun and socialising is somehow different.
Perhaps I missed something.

Invented by the Germans, it has been heavily refined by the Swiss.

I remember, years ago, when I first arrived in Germany, I turned up at the Landratsamt (district offices) one day, naive as I was, and said:
"Hi, I've just declared Germany to be my new home!".
They gave me a form to complete, telling them where I lived, my date of birth etc. and then they gave me a document which allowed me to live and work in Germany - no restrictions - for one year. I then went off to find a job.
After that year I went back to have the document extended and got a stamp which said 'five years'.
After the five years they wanted to extend it for another five years.
I politely said, that this was getting tedious - I intend to stay for longer ...
They looked in the computer, looked at my passport and then gave me a new document which had the magic word 'Unbegrenzt/Unrestricted'.
I took the document and put it in my wallet. It was in there for 26 years and I didn't need it once!

When I decided to move to Switzerland I was informed that, for immigration purposes, I needed to have a job beforehand, my future boss would have to apply to have me allowed to immigrate and while doing so, would have to submit proof, that he was unable to find a Swiss person capable of doing what I was coming to do!

Being unaware of the extremes of bureaucracy I phoned my new boss a week after he made the application and asked if he had heard anything yet.
He hadn't.
Did he have a phone number for me?
He did.

I phoned the office in Sankt Gallen and was connected to a polite gentleman.
I know now, that his name is Bünzli.
After a search that lasted several minutes he told me that, yes, the application was on his desk, but it was at the bottom of The Pile. I asked if, seeing as he had just pulled it out to look at it, it might just be at the top of The Pile now?
It wasn't.

Two days later I phoned Mr. Bünzli again, to ask if my application had moved up The Pile any further?
Apparently there were two or three applications, that had crept in below mine ...
I phoned next day.
My application hadn't made any progress, nor the next day.
The day after, Mr Bünzli sounded rather annoyed, as he informed me, 'applying for permission to immigrate into Switzerland, was not like purchasing an air-ticket!'
Well yes - I understood that, but surely it can't be any more complicated, than a move to Germany.
Well, actually it is - there are a great number of facts to take into consideration!

I can only presume, that he had to check all of the Swiss unemployment lists, to see if he might find someone who could be persuaded to do my job after all ...
Obviously he couldn't. I phoned a day later and he told me, he had passed my application on to the Fremdenpolizei/aliens' police. Ooops!
Had I paid all of my parking tickets? There was that one in France a few years back, that I had ignored. Was that going to jeopardise my chances now?

I asked Mr Bünzli, if he could give me the number of the person he had passed the forms on to?
There was relief in his voice, as he told me the number.

I phoned the guy from the aliens' police. And the next day and so on ...
After a week a provisory acceptance of my application fluttered through the letterbox and I moved to Switzerland.

Here the process was remarkably similar to that in Germany.
The difference is, that the slips of paper, allowing residence and employment are restricted to specific Cantons (counties) for the first twelve months and are marked with a large letter 'A', 'B' or 'C' for beginners, intermediates and professionals.

An 'A' allows you to cross the border into Switzerland to work, if you promise to return home in the evening.
A 'B' allows you to reside and work here for twelve months (**new** five years for EU members), after twelve months it can be extended to five years - if you were on your very best behaviour the whole time!
After being a resident for five years, you may apply for the magic 'C' - 'Unrestricted', after ten years it is granted automatically - if you were ...
see above.

Recently, being here the five years, I made my application for my 'C'.
it was granted after just six weeks!
Apparently I had been on my best behaviour. I haven't been arrested once, since being here and have never been fined for speeding!
I don't deal with drugs and they never caught me driving under the influence ...
I now have the magic words:
'Unrestricted until 28th December 2010'

You'll have to excuse me while I fetch my dictionary and look up the word 'unrestricted' ...

I have a date for Brunch this morning. But I don't know when!

My mobile rang yesterday, while I was in the car on my way home from shopping. My best friend, Esther, complained that we hadn't seen each other in weeks and would I like to go for Brunch ...
Well, of course I said yes.
Then she mentioned a time - half-something - and being in the car, I was unable to jot it down.

When the Swiss or Germans say half ten it is exactly an hour earlier, than when we Brits say half ten.
And that has been my problem since being on the continent ...
Someone will mention a time and I will promptly get it confused.
In my mind I immediately translate 'half ten' to 'nine thirty', but if I don't jot it down, I begin to ask myself 'did she say half ten or half nine?'
So now I have a time span from between 08:30 and 10:30 to go and meet Esther for brunch.
I can't phone her and ask, because she will sleep until the very last minute, jump under the shower and then into her car ...
... I'll either wake her or be too late anyway!

As I say - it has been like this for years. I was supposed to attend a very important dinner with customers once. My Boss said 'We have a table at half seven'.
I turned up at half seven. On the dot. I was proud of my punctuality.
Everyone was just finishing their meal!

It is just coming up to 09:00. I'm off now - wish me luck!

I still find the Swiss thing for informality a little ... well, informal.

Last night I went out for a drink with a colleague.
When we got to the pub there was standing room only, so we stood and drank our beer. While we were standing there, a group of musicians entered and plagued us for fifteen minutes with some Spanish (I think) music then a guy came in and tried to sell us some roses - pretty much a normal night at the pub ...

A table emptied except for one guy. We asked if it was o.k. to sit with him and he gestured his assent. We sat and after a few minutes, two young women came to the table and asked, if it was o.k. to sit down too. We nodded. They sat.

Then one of them proffered a hand and said
'Ich bin Martina'.
'Well, yes uuhm, I'm Rob.'
'Hi, I'm Simone.' (Pronounced almost like Simon - the way only the Swiss can).
'Uuhm - Pleased to meet you - Rob.'

So we spent the evening chatting and drinking ...

But if you call that informal ...
At some point after the third beer, I felt the call of nature.
I ascended the stairs and entered the men's toilets. I swear it was the men's - there was a guy standing in the corner, doing what men do, when they stand at that sort of receptacle. As it was the only one, I waited.
The door to the toilet cubicle opened and out came a woman. The woman called out to someone waiting in the corridor.
'It's vacant'.
Another woman entered the room and the cubicle was quickly re-engaged!

After I was finished, I double-checked.
(The cubicle had changed bums hands once again - another woman)
On the door was a picture of a male in bathing trunks, the door next to it had a female in a bathing suit. The cubicles in there looked vacant to me.

I could only shake my head at how informal the Swiss really can be.

I read somewhere, that it was National-Hug-Week/Day. But then, perhaps it was just wishful thinking from Heather or Kate.

Standing at the traffic-lights yesterday, I noticed a sign that said 'Fussgänger drücken / Hug a pedestrian'. I got out of my car and tried it - needles to say, she didn't like it!
When I pointed the sign out to her, she gave me the correct translation 'Pedestrians press', which I suppose is a lot shorter than ' Pedestrians, press this button if you wish to cross the road, it might help change the lights in your favour ...'

I prefer the other translation!

I should have known when I got up this morning.

This morning when I got up, even the tom-cat was ill and to prove it he ran into the bathroom twice, after I had cleaned up, to throw up on the bathroom floor again.
I admit that I was thankful for him using the lino in the bathroom and not the carpet in the living room (wonder where he learned that?) but I wasn't feeling too well myself.
In fact, I felt as if I had spent the night drinking, whereas I had, in fact, been a very good boy, drank only mineral water and went to bed early (by my standards anyway).

It was cold and windy when I opened the door to go to work. Then it started to rain while I was on the motorway. My headache got worse during the morning so, to be able to concentrate, I was forced to take a couple of paracetamol.

When I went for a sandwich at lunch time the sun was shining brightly, there were wispy clouds in the sky and the temperature had risen by at least 10°. The mountains looked, as if they were about to fall on top of me!
I should have known - Föhn!

When I lived in Stuttgart, I regularly heard my friends in Munich complaining about the Föhn - I always laughed, I'd never heard such rubbish! When I started training people in Switzerland I had trouble with one of my very first courses, due to a very bad headache. 'Of course,' my colleague said 'there is a Föhn'.

And he was right - I have the symptoms nearly every time.

Wikipedia tells us, that a foehn wind occurs when a deep layer of prevailing wind is forced over a mountain range (Orographic lifting). As the wind moves upslope, it expands and cools, causing water vapor to precipitate out. This dehydrated air then passes over the crest and begins to move downslope. As the wind descends to lower levels on the leeward side of the mountains, the air heats as it comes under greater atmospheric pressure creating strong, gusty, warm and dry winds. Föhn winds can raise temperatures as much as 30°C (54°F) in just a matter of hours. Winds of this type are called "snow-eaters" for their ability to make snow melt rapidly. This ability is based not only on high temperature, but also the low relative humidity of the air mass. Föhn winds are also associated with the rapid spread of wildfires, making some regions which experience these winds particularly fire-prone.

Whole villages along the northern foot of the mountains have been burned down during a Föhn. One village, I remember reading (I can't find the link) burned to the ground more than once.
As recently as February 2001, a fire that started in the centre of Balzers (just round the corner here, in Liechtenstein), burned down half the old town centre. This, even though the local fire brigade was out practising and reached the source of the fire within minutes.
They immediately alarmed the fire brigades of the two neighbouring towns but even so, a total of 9 Houses and 6 barns were destroyed completely and 3 houses were badly damaged.

After taking those facts into consideration, I suppose my headache is almost nothing!
I shall never laugh at anyone who complains about the Föhn again.

This weekend is Chilbi in our village - The Parish Fair.
The parish fair originated as an autumn fertility festival/harvest festival and was eagerly adapted to Christian purposes in the early middle ages for the church consecration.

Observing the festivities this morning at 4 a.m. it occurred to me, that even though the church has forgotten the origins of this festival, modern youth hasn't.
Watching the mating rituals of those inebriated bodies, writhing to the sound of Eric Clapton's 'You're Wonderful Tonight', it became obvious, that alcohol had made everyone oblivious to the buckets of apples, the pumpkins and the wheat-sheaves that had originally been a suitable decoration for a religious gathering.

Your place, or mine?
I wonder how many virgins were sacrificed last night ...