The Great Smell of Brut

I was sitting at the breakfast table this morning when the daughter came down and said "You are not really a tosser are you daddy?". Well, I nearly bit the end off my Cohiba. "What! who have you been talking to?" I spluttered, removing shredded cigar leaf from my Choco Krispies. Then it dawned on me, she was talking about pancake tossing. My inability to toss has obviously scarred her more deeply than I thought.

She then told me that Jay, the bad boy/heart throb of the kindergarten has been at work again. Apparently yesterday he enticed the daughter and another girl in a double hug with the promise of unlimited sherbet dip and then took turns kissing them. I decided that action needed to be taken. I waited for Jay this morning as I had decided it was about time we had another chat. He told me that his secret with women lay in using Spiderman shampoo and shower gel. Well who would have thought it. I told him that in my day it was Karate, Old Spice and just a splash of Brut that was guaranteed to drive the ladies wild. Then he started to cry so I had to scoot tout suite.

Anyway, off to the supermarket this afternoon, maybe I`ll see if they carry the Spiderman range.

Let Them Eat Pancakes

For Lent this year I have given up religion. This means for the next forty days I can just kick back and enjoy life. Don`t know why its taken so long for me to think of it.

Yesterday I made my first ever pancakes with the daughter, just like in the good ol days when my mother would produce industrial quantities to feed me and my brothers. I did try to flip one, but it was more of a flop than a flip and the daughter looked at me with poorly disguised pity. I think the super dad phase is coming to and end and she is beginning to realise what a disappointment I am.

Today was the last ice skating lesson of the season. I will really miss standing on top of that hill in nut numbing sub zero blizzard conditions. The only thing that kept me warm was laughing at all the kids with obviously as yet undiagnosed inner ear problems. Hey ho, but it does mean that spring cant be far off..surely, please God. Just remembered I cant say that for the next 40 days.

Anyway, now for a public service announcement, does anyone have or know of a room to rent in Zurich for about a year to a young lady?. If you do, could you let me know please.

Psycho Smurfs and a Lucky Break

As you know it was off to the zoo yesterday. I had charge of three kids, the daughter, a boy called Trotsky and a girl known as Amnesia. We had a jolly trip in the car singing along to the Best of Bucks Fizz.

At the zoo I went with the teacher, Frau Ning, to buy the tickets. I let Frau Ning go first as I had lost my zoo membership card and needed to get a new one. The woman behind the counter was not the brightest button in the box and an argument broke out between the two over prices. The woman also complained that the kids were making too much noise. Finally they got it together and it was my turn. The woman tutted about unruley kids. "I know, terrible innit" I said pretending not to be part of the group. I thought we hit it off quite well and she brightened visibly as we discussed falling parenting standards and the Swiss trade deficit. But it didn`t stop the bitch charging me 20 Francs for a replacement pass.

Then it was off to watch the penguin parade. All the kids lined the path and waited patiently. I say all the kids, what I mean is all the kids who weren`t in our group. I looked at the kids opposite, all immaculately turned out,quiet and well behaved in their straw boaters. Then I looked at the psycho smurfs I was with. Enoch and Flex were robbing one of the collection boxes, Trotsky was using a compass and ink to tatoo Love and Hate on Slab Murphy`s knuckles, Thor tried to pppppick up a penguin and the girls were all applying make up and swapping flirtatious looks and telephone numbers with the Boater boys opposite. They grow up so quickly these days, 5 is the new 17.

In the reptile house I had a man to man chat with Jay, the school bad boy and heart throb. The daughter had told me that Jay was planning to kiss her today. "What are your intentions towards my daughter?" I asked him while adopting my most concerned father face and taking occasional puffs of my pipe full of Scrotum`s Finest Old Fandangable Ready Rub. "What does intentions mean?" he replied. The boy is an idiot.

The rest of the visit passed off without incident, probably becuase the zoo authorities had insisted we had an armed escort by then. Then off home, dropped Amnesia at the local kebab shop and Trotsky disappeared under the bridge where he currently resides. I was knackered and I think one of the little bastards swiped my wallet.

Moving on, rumour has it that there is a new blog in town. Its called The Swiss Clinic so I am told. I decided I needed to find out more about the competition so I squeezed my local sources, Red Heinz and Big Daddy. Red Heinz said he believed it was something to do with the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, Big Daddy that it was an exclusive forum for those with embarassing genitalia, a kind of very small members club is how he described it. When I find out for sure I will let you know.

Then off for snooker. Mixed night for me and Big J. Blind Jon gave me a beating, I congratulated him and reassured him that, despite what the barmaids were saying, this uncharacteristic victory for him was nothing to do with the fact that I was totally washed out after the psycho smurfs. I also didn`t mention the injury I was carrying manfully during the game. Even Land Phil, on his first canter out in the paddock, turned in a remarkable performance. Off to prepare lunch.

A Handbag the Zoo and a New Cue

Sunday it was ice skating again. Now as you know I hate ice so I just sit and read the papers while sipping a hot chocolate while the wife and daughter trip the light fandango. One down side to this is that I have to look after the wife`s handbag. After 3 man sized hot chocs,and what with the bladder shrinking cold, nature took its course and I needed to visit the facilities. Here I learnt a valuable lesson. Never sling a handbag over your shoulder when entering the men`s toilets. Granted it gives you hands free access but it is a schoolboy error.

In a normal men`s toilet you would probably end up needing an ambulance but in one at an ice rink you are more than likely to leave with an eye opening new experience, and perhaps splinters. Lets face it, ice skating is not the butchest of pastimes. When I entered the room it was full of trainee homosexuals primping, preening and pouting. You couldn`t get near the mirror for all the spandex,sequins and spangles. With the benefit of hindsight it was also a big mistake to wear my new mauve jumper and apply a generous coat of the wife`s juicy fruit lip balm before going in. I became the centre of attention, but not in a good way.

It was my fastest ever pee. I am strongly considering getting a catheter fitted for my next visit.

This afternoon I have been conned into helping on a school trip, taking the tots to the zoo. You can`t possibly understand how much I am looking forward to it. If I make it through then its snooker tonight with Big J, Blind Jon and Land Phil. Blind Jon has a new cue, sensibly he bought it in very light wood so it can double as a white stick. Money well spent I think. Update you tomorrow.

Spanx for the Memories

It is snowing again. I am getting fed up with it, it`s so depressing. I am experiencing frequent black dog moments. His name is Felix, the neighbour`s labrador. The bloody dog barks everytime someone moves, which makes it socially awkward for me when I am trying to secretly tip garden waste over the neighbours hedge rather than take it to the dump. I believe Winston Churchill had a similar problem.

Anyway, bumped into Reg Hitler and Polly Glot this morning. They were struggling up the snowy hill carrying shopping bags. This is very unusual as, despite being eco hippy save the plant mung bean freaks, they drive everywhere. Reg told me that their car, a Toyota Pius, has been recalled for safety checks, something to do with sticky brakes. I said they were probably sticky with chicken blood because their charming little Chlamydia likes biting the heads off poultry and small rodents just for fun. No you are right, I didn`t actually say that, just thought it.

Then I remembered that they have a second car, Polly drives a little Renault Clitoris. It turned out that this too is out of action as darling little Chlamydia had hidden the keys and is refusing to divulge their location. Bless her. Polly then droned on about how well Chlamydia was settling down in the local Borstal Secure Unit after being "totally victimised and unfairly" asked to leave her previous school for throwing classmates from the dual carriageway overpass and gluing others to trees. Polly, bless her, is fluent in four languages and interesting in none.

Then Polly`s shopping bag split and everything tumbled into the snow. I helped them gather up the shopping. I picked up a package labelled Spanx. "What`s this?" I asked. Polly went red and pale at the same time, not pleasant, and, gathering up the shopping rushed off home. I told Reg that I didn`t mean to offend, well not this time anyway. He said not to worry and that Polly was a little self conscious about using Spanx. "Yes, but what the hell are Spanx?" I asked.

It turns out that they are compression under garments that make women look a lot slimmer than they actually are. All the rage on the street Reg informed me. Well,you live and learn. That certainly explains the bulging necks and calves I have noticed on the street recently. I had always put it down to water retention or gas. But apparently no, these women are being squeezed like a tube of Pàte, it is not surprising that with so many pounds per square inch of pressure a certain amount of ballooning overspill takes place. But my goodness, if that was what Polly looks like while wearing Spanx I do not want to be a fly on the wall at bedtime. Imagine the pressure build up during the day, it would be like releasing a tsunami. She would need at least 2 metres clearance before she pulled the rip cord to release the garment. Doesn`t bear thinking about.

I know, I know it is very easy to mock, that`s why I do it. I wonder if they do Spanx for men. Off for a quick Google.

Dib Dib Dib

I remember the day my scout troop, the 201st Hagley Bastards, was disbanded. We were forced to line up and were ceremonially wet towel flicked out of Baden Powell`s finest after a series of incidents involving the local girl guides, the Queen, warm custard and a flag pole. I will spare you the sordid details. Our scout leader, Adolf Hathaway, moved down the line, shredding scarves and mashing merit badges. The most painful experience was having my woggle crushed under a hob nailed boot.

We were then informed that we were a disgrace to Queen and country and that never in the history of the scouting movement had a troop achieved such notoriety. When I asked if this qualified for an achievement badge we were forced to flee screaming into the night as old Adolf lost it and went absolutely shouty crackers.

So that is where my association with the scouting movement ended some 30 years ago. I always assumed that my family name had been placed on some International No-Scouting list. So when the wife signed up the daughter for the local Swiss Brownie troop I was expecting a bit of a kerfuffle. But it appears that time has healed the collective scouting consciousness and the daughter was welcomed into the fold with open arms.

Did you know that the book Scouting for Boys (you have to love scouting, the names they use, its a target rich environment for double entendres) comes fourth in the list of bestselling books of all time, behind the Bible, the Koran and Mao-Tse-Tung`s Little Red Book?. There is also a book called Scouting Aids. Presumably this is a must-read after the scout master has located you via Scouting for Boys.Be prepared, always practice safe scouting. Please feel free to use any of these amazing facts to impress your chums.


They do seem to be a bit short on meeting places over here. Ours was under a tree just off the A3. When we arrived we approached one girl who looked about 12 and asked her where Brown Owl was. It turned out that she was Brown Owl.

We were told that the mandatory parts of the Swiss uniform are the shirt, scarf, hiking boots, fire lighter and a Swiss army knife. Optional items are a belt, Scout jeans (obviously ones that stay up if you refuse the optional belt), hat and dagger. Yes that’s right, optional dagger. This list would send your average English Health and Safety officer into a spinning hissy fit, but they have balls here, ging gang goolies infact.

Anyway, the daughter loves it. The end.

Ice Age 3

The street is still covered in a blanket of snow. Even by Swiss standards we have had a lot of the white stuff this year, more than you could shake a stick at. One of my favourite pastimes during the winter is to go down to the Vegetable Bridge, get a hot chocolate and watch people fall over on the ice.

This morning I met up with two good friends, Minty and One Round. Minty had a copy of the International Judging System For Figure Skating so we scored the falls a bit like a skating comeptition. We gave points for artistic impression, choreography and how long they were unconscious. Credit was given for jumps, spins and footwork. Bonus points were given for taking passers by down. One Round emerged as the winner. He selected two mothers with prams, a Rabbi and a convoy from the Graubünden Gay Pride Tandem Touring Club who all went down like Andrew Murray. They simply had no chance, it was very messy. How we laughed. I suppose we could have warned them, but where is the fun in that.

Eventually Minty and One Round had to leave to check in with their parole officer so I went home.