Tell us something most people probably don’t know about you.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us MYSTERIOUS.
There are mysteries which just should not be aired, so I thought. As always when I am in doubt whether to tell the world WordPress all my secrets, I ask the one person in my life whose opinion I treasure above all, Mr. Swiss.
“Are there things most people do not know about me?”
Answer (Mr. Swiss):
So I thought big help and now I am on my own. Of course you do not tell your partner that on full moon nights you get a sort of tickling sensation and a secret longing. It is then when I don my black cloak, clean my teeth with a special tooth brush designed for long canine teeth, open the window and I am off to the local blood bank (we vampires are now careful, just cannot but into any neck these days, you never know where the necks have been). During this nocturnal tour, Mr. Swiss is sleeping safely and notices nothing.
Of course I could tell you the real reason why I left England for Switzerland. It all started one day when I was taking a walk near the Houses of Parliament in London and was approached by a member of the British MI6 (secret service). Yes, he had recognised my talents and organised a new life in Switzerland. You really believed all that stuff about me wanting to learn another language and live in another country. It was all part of the deal. I contacted a few gnomes living in Switzerland and sent their secrets over to the Bank of England. I was afterwards transferred to a village which thrived on internal revenue from various millionaires that lived there. I made contact with the population and married to make sure my cover would stick. I was told that all Swiss had gold bars hidden under the bed, and yes, unfortunately there are always exceptions to the rule. There were no gold bars under the mattress. All things have a good ending and it seems that the interest of the British government has now dwindled over the years.
Apart from these facts about the secret life of Anglo Swiss, there is perhaps something I would now like to confess here and now. I am a cemetery tourist. Not that I like to take a rest in a cool dark niche under a stone when wandering across the last resting places of the departed. I am usually armed with a camera.
The idea is that I make a day excursion in a town I do not know so well, or it might be that I take a holiday in another country and visit the local cemetary. Cemetaries are really the places to get to know the history of the place you are. There are untold possibilities. Naturally Mr. Swiss is always with me, holidays can be boring when alone. I remember my visit to Vienna. This town is a feast for cemetery lovers. It has the largest eternal resting place in Europe, the Zentralfriedhof (central cemetery). You really need a map to find the way, but it is rewarding. A complete section with famous composers and musicians, a Russian section and there are even nicely placed benches for Mr. Swiss to take a rest whilst I am hopping from stone to stone clicking away with the camera. Paris is also quite a feast for addicts. There are three wonderful cemetaries, packed with well known departed, even the American star Jim Morrison can be found in Paris, although unfortunately his carved head is always being stolen from the grave.
I found that not even a journey to another country is necessary. Switzerland also has its fair share. The cemeteries in our mountains are packed full with the unfortunate climbers that found their last resting place on a mountain slope.
I have built up quite a collection of photos over the years, but found to my disappointment that most of the graves are to be found in Internet. Nevertheless undaunted I still have hopes of finding something interesting tucked away in the corner of a quiet resting place somewhere in the country.
I made a few interesting discoveries in the South of England, where part of my family origins are. I was once on a tour with a friend of mine (Mr. Swiss remained in Switzerland on this trip) and I visited the village of Etchingham and Ticehurst where great great grandfather Jason originated. It was a very old cemetery, at least one hundred year old graves, and it was difficult to read the names. The skies were darkening as the evening was approaching. I could hear the wind rushing through the tall grass. It seemed to be trying to say something, like put the camera away and go home. However, undaunted I continued and even found a couple of gravestones bearing the family name, which I of course immortalised on my camera.
So now you know my darkest secrets. It is up to you to decide which are the truth and which are not. And now I will tuck into a nice steak for lunch, done rare, but I will not be eating any garlic with it. It is sometimes most annoying when I decide to comb my hair, and have no reflection in the mirror.