When a ski season goes wrong

At the weekend we realised that we have completely neglected to plan our wedding which is in FIVE WEEKS. So tonight we got started. With a wine tasting. It's really important to get this right. honestly.

Bruno looks like a right beverly hillbilly here, but he just got back from his manly job, and we got right down to the drinking. Doesn't explain the fringe though.

Look! We're even writing stuff down and generally acting like Jilly Goolden. We're so classy. Despite the dungarees.

The racist, xenophobic right wing SVP have lost their seat in the Luzern local elections. Even though the SVP bloke was running TWICE as an SVP candidate and an independent. Although this was only a tiny election, the SVP aren't some tiny group of fanatics. They are currently THE most powerful party in Switzerland. Everybody stop thinking about whether Brown will revert to an Old Labour style of government for a second, and celebrate the good riddance (at least from my town) of the party that brought us this:

(Mass citizenship? NO!)

and this:

Naturalisation made easy? NO!
(This is what immigrants look like don't you know)

Edit: I've just noticed this poster isn't from them, it's from the Swiss neo Nazis. I'm going to leave it though, as the fact it took me several hours to notice because its message is indistinguishable from the one above it speaks volumes.

Another Edit: Now I think I should take this out as I'm misrepresenting them or whatever. Except I'm not.

and this:

(Lose our safety? Lose our jobs? NO!)
These poor people are grappling with the concept that people might get into Switzerland without a visa.

Maybe the subtle imagery went over voters' heads.

**According to Polycell (the people who make polyfiller).

Anyway, in case my last post gave you the mistaken impression that I am less than motivated about our wonderful house. Here are some pictures to cheer us all up. And to prove to my parents that I'm working too, because they keep phoning me to tell me that Bruno should have a rest after working so hard.

Bruno being manly. He deserves a rest.

I'm not being a telly tubby. I'm insulating. Insulation itches. It's called health and safety.

Am I working? Or am I doing a little dance? Who can say.

I wonder what it says about my personality that products and branding regularly form a focus for my homesickness. Aside from the obvious whining about not getting marmite in the supermarkets type thing, I see the Swiss failure to recognise staple brand names as indicative of their alien culture. I get a stab of isolation every time I have to explain to Bruno what something is.

You can imagine the surprise on both our parts when I burst into tears yesterday at having to explain to Bruno what Polyfiller is. I mean, come off it, my mother knows what Polyfiller is. In England we use the word as a verb. Bruno probably knows what Polyfiller is, but he probably calls it Multieinfüllenmittel or something. Either way, the point is that it's exhausting to always have to try to explain something that should be really simple. And the renovation of the house has not made this easier. Let's just say that my whirlwind learning curve of Swiss German in the last few years has not involved much DIY vocabulary.

How I wanted the conversation to go:

"Hey Bruno, you know those gaps between the roofing tiles, we could Polyfill them."*

"OK. I'll pick some up from the DIY shop."

How it went:

"Hey Bruno, you know those gaps between the roofing tiles, we could Polyfill them."

"What's Polyfiller?"

"Well it's like this stuff that somes in a syringe, and you sort of, what's the word for inject?, you sort of push it into the gap and.." (mimes holding a giant syringe).

"um"

Tears.

The trouble is, it's all like this. Don't get me wrong, the house is amazing cool, and it's fun renovating it, but, get ready for the blog worthy honesty... not as fun as it would be in England. Because it all takes a bit more effort, and invariably ends up like this:

"So Zoe, I though we'd first pull through the Bleurgh Bleurgh Bleugh piping through the Bleurgh Bleurgh and then attach the electricity to some unpronouncable probably unearthed bit of the house, and then Bleurgh Bleurgh Bleurgh."

"What? What's a Bleurgh?"

"A Bleurgh. You know, a Bleurgh."

"I don't know what that is. What you just said means nothing to me."

"Well it's probably all a bit difficult for you to understand. After all, I am a carpenter."

"Not the CONCEPT you git! The word! I suppose I should just go home and make sure there's a hot dinner on the table for you! (Long lecture (not the first) on how this makes Bruno a mysogynist, no less at fault for being a product of this backward Swiss society), and do you really rate my intelligence so low, and on the threshold of our wedding, and"

Tears.

And so the house is a funny thing. I love it, and spend hours picturing where my future kids' bedrooms are going to be. But it's also panic making. Because it's sometimes exhausting to live here, and homesickness is exhausting, I can't handle the idea that I would live here forever. I can't handle the idea that I'd never live in London again, or that I'd leave it too long to go back, and be an outsider. I might live here forever, but it won't be because I planned it now. What I can handle is the short term. It's easy to be here till the end of the year. It makes sense to hang around at least until the MA is done. At some point it'll probably make sense to wait until my kids have finished the next bit of school. and so on.

But a house, well that's a bit in your face. I know that we didn't just buy a house in order to sell it. I know that we're not going to lovingly renovate it for the next two years just to move out. This is a long term thing. And it's not in London. And don't mention house prices.

Although we do have two front doors.

And soon we'll have a roof with no leaks. It's not all bad.

*To all DIY experts, Yes I know I know, I've thought about it since and I realise plaster of Paris is not waterproof and so not appropriate to stopping drips in the roof. That's not the point.