Daily Prompt: Ring of Fire surrounding my dish of chilli con carne

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Do you love hot and spicy foods or do you avoid them for fear of what tomorrow might bring?

Veg at Dagenham Heathway

I knew there must have been a reason why I took the photo of the peppers on the Dagenham Heathway market, to illustrate my famous spicy food blog of course. The shop owner, of Indian origin, looked suspiciously as I produced my camera and began to snap away. He probably thought I was taking photos as proof for the British Food Inspection Agency in case there had been complaints about the quality of his produce. I reassured him that it was for a blog (I do not think the word existed in his Gujarati-english dictionary) and he realised that I was just a misguided tourist taking photos of the local colour – in the eastern part of London. Actually the local colour would have been more in the shape of pie and mash or fish and chips, but that is not a dish famous for its fire and burnt lips.

I was a deprived youngster in this way of things. The only spices my mother knew were salt and pepper and vinegar for the chips. Of course she magically produced mint for a sauce when lamb was served, but in those far away days spicy foods were unknown in the east end of London. The only foreign food would have been bagels and salt beef from the Jewish population of this part of London. Sometimes dad would bring bagels from the Sunday morning market in Brick Lane/Petticoat Lane, but that was the beginning and end of anything non-British on our dining table.

Eventually I left the bland food shores of England and arrived in Switzerland and …… lived with a Pakistani family for my first two years. The man of the house was Pakistani. Actually he was from North India, but in 1946 when India split into Pakistan and India things changed. The muslims living in North India all moved to Pakistan, and the Hindus living in east and West India, which became Pakistan, all moved to India. It was quite a large walkabout, but the food remained. The lady of the house was Swiss, but she cooked Indian style most of the time, so this was my big chance. It was not just a matter of spicing with chilli powder, but cooking the food in spice combinations. Sometimes a small red chilli might be hidden in the middle of a meat patty, that was a surprise. The first bite was OK, but when you did not know about the explosion in the middle, it could be a burning surprise.

I survived and even got to like the food and cook it. I like hot, spicy foods and my chili con carne is comparable with a volcano. It looks harmless but after the first spoonful the weak amongst us ask for a glass of water when it begins to erupt in the mouth. I was thinking of putting a fire extinguisher on the table for those that had water appearing in their eyes, their complexion turning the colour of a sunset – you know the one with the fiery sky in the background, but up to now we have all survived.

The only spice I am not really allowed to use is cumin, also known as jeera which is used in 100% of Indian food. I do not mind it, but there are some European taste buds which do not like it in my family, no names mentioned. I do sometimes smuggle it into my chilli con carne. I bought a special chilli mix and it definitely has traces of cumin, but by the time I have set everything on fire with lashings of chilli, it almost goes unnoticed and everyone is busy with the fire extinguisher.

I am still trying to work out the bit about what tomorrow might bring. My usage of hot spices is so thorough that it disinfects the stomach juices to such an extent that there is no danger. All germs, viruses and infections flee from the onslaught of the chilli purge. They have no chance of survival. They burn before causing trouble. I would worry more if I ate a plate of beans, now that is another problem, but will not be discussed here. To continue: I like spicy food and so my family also eats spicy food.

Of course, this is not a daily occurrence in my cooking; my food travels all over the world. We mainly eat Swiss, or Italian, perhaps sometimes Chinese and of course a little English remains with fish and chips.

Today we had cravattine pasta (pasta looking like little bow ties) and Kohlrabi (cabbage turnip?) in a béchamel sauce. I always make my béchamel sauce with cream and flavour it with aromat, Dijon mustard and black pepper – so no danger of setting the lunch on fire. We generally do not eat meat at lunch, only in the evening. I am not a vegetarian, but can enjoy a meal with just vegetables.

Daily Prompt: Ring of Fire surround my dish of chilli con carne

29Apr2014

The Daily Prompt: Pride and Joy in Person

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

What’s your most prized possession? GO!

Fluffy and Mr. Swiss

Most prized posssesion? As usual I asked Mr. Swiss as I did not know which possession to tell you about, and as usual he came with his carefully thought out solution – where would I be without his wisdom and uncanny knowledge? Now you know the secret behind my blogging success, without this support I would be lost.

Mr. Swiss was having a discussion with Fluffy, my Selkirk Rex and they were sharing a joke in the photo (he can even speak meow). So now for the answer: Is it Fluffy or Mr. Swiss? Mr. Swiss found that the solution was Mr. Swiss. Fluffy only functions by instinct and tuna fish meals. Mr. Swiss said he was free, cost nothing (at the beginning) and where would I be without his support and knowledge of the Swiss way of life. This is true.

I still do not have a clue about how to fill out a Swiss Tax Form and the television with its mysteries of DVD manipulation is still a problem, but he knows all the answers. He also supports me with his thorough knowledge of the Swiss German dialect, although I must admit without my cockney English instructions he would have been lost on our visits to London. He was only taught the Cambridge English at school.

Of course, the whole theme of this blog is more to find out the valuables I have stacked in my humble Swiss household, but I realised that on the way through life I lost a few, could not remember where I put them, and objects do not have the same value as a person. Without Mr. Swiss I would be in dire straits. He drives the car when we go to strange places where I have never been. I am not so good at driving on motorways or through strange unknown Swiss villages with unpronounceable names. He also influences my choice of the daily meal plan and if I do not know what to cook, he always has a solution (although perhaps not always to my taste).

This works in the other direction. I taught him how to iron shirts perfectly and the bed linen. He constructs a perfect salad dressing. Here I must be honest. In the early days of our “getting to know you” situation Mr. Swiss realised that his chosen mate was only accompanying the meals with vegetables, not that he did not like vegetables, but now and again his Swiss heart was missing a healthy salad with the accompanying French or Italian dressing. Unfortunately his chosen mate was English and English salads were at that time (we are talking about 46 years ago) covered with a splodge of 57 variety Heinz mayonnaise. I realised that this was no rival to a real genuine continental salad sauce, so I avoided the Angloswiss confrontation and constructed no salads. Probably we were suffering from vitamin difficiency so one day the crucial question was uttered “Why do you never make a salad?” I had to confess I did not know how it worked, but no problem. Mr. Swiss produced the necessary ingredients and demonstrated. Success, and since this day I have spoilt him with my salad dressings in many varieties. Now and again we have a slight disagreement whether to use fruit vinegar or white wine vinegar, but this obstacle has also been overcome. I make it and he has to eat it.

His political knowhow is boundless. There is no Swiss government problem that he cannot solve, better than the government can. For this reason I allow him to complete my voting papers when they arrive, although I usually ask him what it is about before he fills out the form, just to be sure that his decision meets with mine. It generally does, but there are always exceptions to the rule.

Yes, we are one heart and soul in our marital life. Today I am a little late with my daily blog. It is Tai Chi day and I was with my golden oldie colleagues this afternoon for an hour spiritual and physical preparation. Whilst I was away, Mr. Swiss took a walk on the local country paths, he does not do Tai Chi, he is more the action man. At the moment I am sitting on my own writing my daily prompt (in praise of Mr. Swiss, my most prized possession) and in consideration of my need for ethereal contemplation he has disappeared for a practice on his drums in the cellar , action pure – yes I can thank Mr. Swiss for my boundless knowledge of the modern bebop mainstream jazz etc. etc.

I am running out of words of praise, so will complete this laudation to my most prized possession and hope that tomorrow’s daily prompt has something more realistic and down to earth like “Do You Prefer Bruce Willis or Tom Cruise?”

Daily Prompt: Pride and Joy in Person

28Apr2014

Daily Prompt: I can’t Stay Mad At You, but there are always Exception to the Rule

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Do you hold grudges or do you believe in forgive and forget?

The Migros cat

We have a guard cat at the local supermarket. She (must be a she, she is resolute and always ready for action) ensures that no suspicious people enter the store and is always there. She keeps a watchful eye on the restaurant to ensure a comfortable seat near the customers, holds no grudges, and always forgives and forgets, is just persistently waiting for her reward of crumbs or perhaps a bite of a ham sandwich. No flies on her and she cannot afford to hold grudges, otherwise the food supply might stop. No-one feeds an ungrateful feline.

I do not do mad, have no time. If it might happen that I am annoyed for some strange reason, then I do not express my feelings. I remain quiet and say nothing: just ignore the reasons for being mad. I am not an elephant, so after a few minutes I have already forgotten why I was annoyed. In this case I do not have to forgive, because I cannot remember why it all happened in the first place.

Nobody is perfect; even I might possibly have a few faults due to a misunderstanding or my words being falsely interpreted, although this is few and far between. I am convinced that I am always right and give no cause for people to be annoyed with me.

Of course there is the case of the lady living opposite with her immaculate snake pit similar garden, composed of various hollow bricks filled with various herbs. I also have a herb garden, all good perfect cooks have a herb garden. Unfortunately it might be that my felines mistake the neighbour’s garden for the place for their recycling process, although they are perfect well-educated felines. They find the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence unfortunately.

One fine day my wonderful, perfect neighbour planted her garden anew, it was Spring. No problem, it looked good and my felines found it perfect for the recycling process. Unfortunately the neighbour in question was a little annoyed. She was patient, installed a cat warning system, sending high-pitched tones into the neighbourhood. She put up a police similar barrier of wide yellow tape (felines are colour blind) and all this went unnoticed. My felines did not report back to me to tell me of this infringement on their territorial rights, but they are just felines and ignored it. One day there was a card in my personal letter box. It was a neutral white card with words written on it in plain felt pen (blue). I was informed that my cats were digging in places they should not dig. The new herb garden was in danger. I told my cats to avoid digging in places that might cause problems. They ignored me, although my big black long furred monster feline, Nera, did inform that the word “problem” does not exist in meow.

I decided to ignore this card in my letter box, although it was signed with the neighbour’s name. I noticed afterwards that the tones coming from the anti-cat siren system were louder than usual. This all happened a few weeks ago, the herb garden is now growing, the rosemary is flowering and also some undefined plants with yellow flowers have appeared. I was going to suggest to the neighbour planting cannabis to calm the nerves, but decided against it. Mr. Swiss finds not everyone understands my twisted sense of humour, even he does not understand it now and again.

So everything calmed down. The neighbour is still not talking to me, but we never did have lively intelligent discussions about God and the World, or the price of vegetables in the super market, so who cares. At the moment Spring has sprung and the trees between her territory and mine have flowered and are spreading their branches, so we will not see each other until autumn and my felines have more interesting pastimes than to dig around in her snake pit.

They are making a survey of the increase in mouse population, and left me a message to plant some cat mint in my garden. I told them this does not work, although I do not grudge my cats their cat mint ration, I do grudge supplying the feline population in the area with cat mint and it will not work. My last attempts to establish a bed of cat mint failed miserably. After two days it was trampled flat into the earth, caused by rolling cats getting high on the stuff.

Another blog comes to and end and I can remove the notice on my door, “Silence: Beware Blogging in Progress” as it could be that I get mad and ignore everyone if I am disturbed.

Daily Prompt: I Can’t Get Mad At You, but there are always exceptions to the rule

27Apr2014

Daily Prompt: It’s My Party but I will only be there as an Observer

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

You’re throwing a party — for you! Tell us all about the food, drink, events, and party favours you’ll have for your event of a lifetime. Use any theme you like — it’s *your* party!

White Lily

A party? for me: no, I do not think so, I fall asleep at most parties. It is too strenuous for my advanced years. Everyone is drinking and I only drink mineral water or tea. Then we have the smokers, and smoke gets in my eyes, up my nose and in the surroundings. Reading this, I must be a real misery guts, no fun. Of course I like a plate of food, but who organises it all – me, because it is my party. Your guests must be entertained, so there will be music, dancing and fun. I hope the neighbours do not complain about the noise. As far as the dancing is concerned, that might have been ten years ago, but my bones and muscles refuse to move with the rhythm today. We will all have fun I hope, but reading through what I have written up to now I very much doubt it. I have the solution.

One day I will breathe my last breath, I will no longer exist and annoy everyone with my loud voice, my boring life style and of course my daily prompts, the gifts I will leave behind me for the world. I might be posthumously discovered and a plaque erected on the WordPress Wall of Fame, although after my remarks about the Great New Look and the Missing Pingbacks, it might be that they would prefer to shovel a few unlike clicks over my name and remove the famous “Angloswiss” trademark to the forgotten ones, although they will probably still be automatically collecting my annual fee for a dot com web address. I must remember to tell Mr. Swiss or my son to cancel my subscription should I pass onto the happy blog hunting grounds.

As I am a dismal miserable person, allergic to all sorts of parties I have decided that when I am gone I will stipulate that my passing should not be a sad occasion, after all many will be glad to have a daily blog less to read. No, we should have a party and celebrate: so park the coffin in the corner, spread a tablecloth over the lid, to prevent alcohol and food stains, and let’s party, or let you all party. I will not physically take part in the action, will just be watching from a spider’s web in the corner (you never know, I might be reincarnated) to see that everyone is having fun.

You can tell stories about the departed (me) and how she was a modest writer, never praising her own fantastic wonderful blogs, and never being disappointed that she was not awarded the Pultzer or Nobel prize for her great and unforgettable works of literature. Reminiscences will be revived of how she always made a point of pinging back to her fellow bloggers, until that fateful day when WordPress decided to stop the fun and design a clean graphic grid to spread uncertainty and disillusion amongst the fellow bloggers. Memories will be exchanged of my efforts to conquer this anti-social WordPress behaviour and a praise will be told of how I cut through the grid and discovered how to pingback, yes it was resurrected to a new and wonderful start.

Ok, I am now carried away, we are celebrating my death with a party and not that of the great new look. Have fun everyone, and please be careful not to spill the beer or empty the potato chip packet into the coffin. I would like to have a comfortable resting place. You know how disturbing eating biscuits or sandwiches in bed can be when the crumbs remain in the folds of the sheets. The same effect is achieved between the silky layers inside the coffin. On the other hand, to be practical give me a cremation after the party and the party remains will just be incinerated.

When the party is finished, you can pass the hat around. I will not be there to pay the bill. Not only am I miserable, but mean.

Daily Prompt: It’s My Party, but I will only be there as an Observer

26Apr2014

Daily Prompt: He’s (She’s) so fine – in the feline sense of the word

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

What was it that drew you to your significant other? Their blue eyes? Their ginger countenance? Their smile? Their voice?

Fluffy drinking water

Perhaps the numbered bank account, perhaps the Swiss Passport, perhaps the thing about being married to a Swiss – oh forget it. WordPress it is none of your business and if I blog for a few thousand followers, then not about my private life. The numbered bank account would have been nice, but there are always exceptions to the rule. I have a Swiss Passport, but also have an English passport and use them according to the situation.

I have three felines, Nera, Tabby and Fluffy. Above you can see Fluffy having a drink of water. What drew him to the water was his thirst. Fluffy was the third in the group, Nera and Tabby being litter sisters and Fluffy being just Fluffy.

“Before you continue Mrs. Human, nothing at all drew me and my sister Tabby to Fluffy, so do not ask. That was your decision. Fluffy is not one of us, he is one of those that actually knows who is mum and dad were, with all the documents: a planned family, the product of a Selkirk Rex mum and dad. Tabby and I were just two coincidences. When our mum took a walk on a dark evening she was attacked, (by one or two tom cats) the result being Tabby and I.”

“OK Nera, spare me the details, I am sure your origins are something special.”

“Mrs. Human, I am something special. My dad was a wonderful guy. He had green eyes and a long black fluffy tail, although mum said she was not sure about the rest. Everything went so fast afterwards.”

“Of course, Nera’s dad was not my dad” said Tabby.

“But I thought you were litter sisters.”

“We are Mrs. Human, we were born together, but our dad’s were completely different. Mum had one of those nights where she was probably high on cat mint and was not so particular.”

“So who was your dad Tabby?”

“You really don’t want to know Mrs. Human.”

“In other words” continued Nera “Tabby does not know. There was a story about a wild cat in the area.”

“You mean that is why Tabby has such pointed ears with small tufts of fur at the edge.”

“Do we have to talk about this Nera. Yes it is true, my dad was one of the wild ones. Mum shared some of her cat mint with him and it was love at second sight, having already met Nera’s dad a few minutes before. “

“I must say you felines do have complicated relationships. So what do you think actually drew your mum to the two fathers?”

“Mrs. Human we are felines, we go in the direction the wind blows and those tom cats have quite a strong scent sometimes. Nothing drew her to our dads, she was in the mood and it just happened. And now time for a sleep. I really do not want to give a lecture on the sex life of a feline.”

Nera and Tabby walked off with a sort of smile on their whiskers. Were they telling the truth or just making fun of me? You never know where you are with felines.
Daily Prompt: He’s (She’s) So Fine – in the Feline Sense of the Word

25Apr2014

Daily Prompt: Everything under control – Who Needs a Hammer?

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

If you could learn a trade — say carpentry, electrical work, roofing, landscaping, plumbing, flooring, drywall — you name it — what skill(s) would you love to have in your back pocket?

Cemetary, Solothurn

Undertaker? It is a trade that will never die out, it will be here forever and everyone needs one at one time or the other. There is a turnover in profits that is everlasting. It is worth thinking about, although this sort of business seems to stay in the family. The names of the companies in the various towns or villages doing this rewarding work are known. If someone passes on, the local undertaker is called for and everyone knows who he is. It is just a matter of learning the basics, a considerable amount of logistic knowledge is called for, organising the stone, the resting place and of course the accessories needed – need I say more. If you are willing, you have a lifetime job. No fear of redundancy or boredom. I think I could do it, but on the other hand my social life might suffer. Who wants to have an undertaker as a best friend and your invitation to dinner might not be such a success. Ok I will move on, perhaps not such a good idea, but remember, someone has to do the job one day.

I have considered this problem and come to the conclusion that a combination of jobs is the idea (now excluding the undertaker occupation). An electrician would be an all-rounder. How I wish that I would understand the fuse box, the switches and why suddenly you are plunged into a no-go situation because everything goes black. This happened once on a Saturday evening. We were watching the television, and we suddenly had a screen of death, black, the lights went out and we were surrounded by silence and darkness. If I had been an electrician the situation would have been under control. Just a walk to the fuse box, a little twiddle somewhere with the suitable electricians screwdriver and mains tester and there would be light and a living television. Luckily I had Mr. Swiss, although he was also somewhat perplexed. With his quick thinking and logic he moved the television (with help from our son) and transferred the electric current to another point nearby and it was alive. Since that day, we had no further problem. I believe in the meanwhile something was repaired, but as this is not my household responsibility, I am not sure.

Of course the electrician job is not the answer to all problems. You must be a specialist, knowing how your washing machine works. There is nothing more annoying when you enter the washing room and find a small pool of soapy water on the floor and an announcement on the screen saying problem 404 or something like that. You scan the book of instructions and find that 404 means call the company. The technician does the job, gives you a bill containing the repair as well as the travel costs and eventually the pool of soapy water turns out to be an ocean of financial problems. I so wish one of my sons had become a specialist for washing machines.

A television electrician is also something very useful to have in the family. Nothing more disappointing when the last five minutes of a thrilling, exiting, television film dwindle into something unknown, because the television is kaput, dead, no life throbbing through its circuits. My mum used to twiddle all the knobs on the set thinking that it would again spring to life. Today with our throw-away mentality, you just think about a new television. Perhaps the job of a television repair man is a dying occupation. You replace the old with the new and explain to your victim how the new one works, which is completely different to how the old one worked – it is called progress. I lost touch about three television ago, and now prefer to read a book, although I can switch it on and off. I am still learning how the DVD recorder works, but as long as I have a Mr. Swiss, there is no great problem.

Anything left?: of course, the car mechanic. OK, basically any fool can change a wheel (is there a progression for the word fool like complete idiot?), but if you stop in the middle of the road and the motor is dead – what to do? Luckily this has not yet happened to me, although I once had a sweet little Fiat that was possessed. There I was driving along listening to the accompany sounds of the motor and then there was silence. The motor was no longer purring at me, it was just not there, athough the car was still moving. As the gas pedal had no connection it was moving as if by a ghostly hand, but it was the remainder of movement in the car. With my cunning and intelligence I guided the car into a small road and pulled up. I then held my breath, turned the key, and it started to breathe again. I guided the car to the garage, although I felt as if an exorcist would be more suitable. The garage man kept the car for a further examination, he was perplexed. Later in the day I was speaking to a work mate and she told me of the manufacturing mistake in my type of car. It seems the car key was the problem, the tended to lose the connection to the motor now and again. I visited the garage man who was still trying to find the fault, or demon and I told him of my new knowledge. The next day I picked up my car at the garage with a new car lock and key (sorry if the words are confusing, my garagist only spoke german), so everything was again under control and I did not have to visit the local priest for an exorcism.

My back pockt is now overflowing. One thing I must say, the undertaker is a quiet soothing job. I am still thinking about it.

Daily Prompt: Everything Under Control – Who Needs a Hammer?

24Apr2014

Daily Prompt: Teen Age Idols of the Swinging Sixties

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Who did you idolize as a teenager? Did you go crazy for the Beatles? Ga-ga over Duran Duran? In love with Justin Bieber? Did you think Elvis was the livin’ end?

Carnaby Street, London

I was a teenager in London in the days of the Swinging Sixties. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Mary Quant, Vidal Sassoon and of course Carnaby Street: the centre of the fashion world at the time. I took the photo in 2009 on a visit to London, probably out of nostalgia, a memory from the past, but I remember it well. The Stones were then at the beginning of their career and played in a London club in Soho, the Marquee. I must admit I did not go there, never saw them play live but they were part of my background, as were the Beatles. The Beatles originated in Liverpool, so that was sort of being in another country.

As I had not yet met Mr. Swiss, he was not one of my idols. He is 8 years ahead of me and I somehow think if we had met on a London street, he would have walked past, and it would not have bothered me. At that time I had other things in my head, like passing my GCE exams at school and discovering how to hop onto a London bus with a tight mini skirt and stiletto heels and of course Saturday nights. Oh, sorry, that was a prompt a few days ago, but not from the past. Of course you spent Saturday evening in a large dance hall where there were two bands, having a look at the male talent available, or perhaps down at the pub. The pubs in the East End of London were packed, lots of smoke (at that time it was not so unhealthy, just an occupational hazard) and beer bottles on the floor. There was a pub known as The Blind Begger in Whitechapel where Ronnie Kray shot George Cornell, just a simple gang war thing. Mum was not so happy that I visited this pub now and again.

My hero of the day, was not a musician, not a singer, but ….. a journalist; Swinging Sixties and the characters that were a sign of the times. I was more enthralled by the excitement of the day and Kenneth Allsop was my hero. I was a teenager, and he was already almost 40 years old, appearing on a daily TV programme called “Tonight”. There were a team of journalists running the programme but I was somehow taken by this bloke; always neatly dressed in a striped shirt and tie with a button down collar, very fashionable.He was not God’s gift to the female dream, but he was OK. He had that certain something which I found attractive. He interviewed them all, well-known politicians and his most famous interview was with the Beatles. He impressed John Lennon to write the song “I’m a Loser”

“The final piece in the puzzle was journalist Kenneth Allsop, who met John on March 23, 1964 and told him that he rather wished Lennon’s lyrics were as personal as his recently-published first book, In His Own Write, and not always about young romance. A hurt Lennon, determined to prove Allsop wrong, wrote “I’m A Loser” soon after. (The song does deal with a broken relationship on its surface level, however.)”

He was also a well-known jazz critic, swing, bebop, modern and had a weekly programme on the radio, of which I was a big fan. This must have paved the way for my meeting with Mr. Swiss, a preparation for the mutual jazz feelings. Although Mr. Swiss understands more than I do. I have even got to the stage where I know who Gato Barbieri is. You have never heard of him? Do not worry, he does not appear so much today.

Being basically a journalist, Kenneth Allsop also wrote a few books, perhaps the most well-known being “The Bootleggers”, facts about the prohibition time in Chicago. I read this many years ago and I believe it is now out of print. He was also a naturalist, one of the first environment protectors perhaps, and also wrote a few novels in this connection.

It is only today that I know more about this Kenneth Allsop from a book “The Broadcast Life of Kenneth Allsop” by Mark Andresen which I have in my book collection. There was a tragic end to his life when he died at the age of 53 due to an overdose of drugs. It may have been suicide, not really proven, but he was not in good health at the time and suffered from pain. I was already away from England at the time, living in Switzerland with family, and my hero worshipping days had been replaced with scenes from real life.

There were others of course. I read many books about Garibaldi, a sort of freedom fighter of old Italy, wanting to reunite the country which was somewhat divided in the 20^th century. He was an adventurer. I think the reason was because everywhere I went in England there were pubs called “The Garibaldi” so I decided to find out who this bloke was. I was always a victim of curiosity. Another hero was Fidel Castro – this is serious, before you have the idea that I was a fully-fledged member of the communist party and hoping to become a spy for my country. Che Guevara was in at the time, I mean he was a good looker, and Fidel was one of his mates. I decided to find out what was behind all this and read a few books about it. I am still not sure if Fidel was good for Cuba, but living on the other side of the world, he was OK. I know there are many Cubans that will not agree, but I am only talking about a teenage idol for me and not my life’s philosophy.

So there you see it. If my dad had been working for the British foreign office, perhaps MI6, I might have become a spy for Russia, accompanying Kim Philby, Burgess and Maclean on their escapes to mother Moscow. However, I was just a teenager in the East End of London hoping to leave one day and marry a Swiss. They were well known for having gold bars under the mattress – unfortunately there are always exceptions to the rule.

Teenage Idols of the Swinging Sixties

23Apr2014

Daily Prompt: The Wanderer, the Experience of an Undead Lifetime

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Tell us about the top five places you’ve always wanted to visit. GO!

Birds in flight

I never really always wanted to visit anywhere. If the journey is booked and paid for, then I am with you, who cares where. I no longer wander, I take it easy, mainly with a plane, perhaps a train and just walking the little bit to the beach, a museum or the hotel (after leaving the taxi).

I was having a look at the world and the newspaper and discovered that nowhere is safe, too many riots, wars and disagreements. I then found an interesting holiday in Transylvania, you know the birthplace of Vlad Tepes, the Impaler, who was Price of Wallachia, belonging to the house of Draculesti – need I say more. Anyhow, being that this Vlad person really existed he must have left a few handy graves behind him bearing some vampire descendants. So where is Transylvania? It seems to be mainly in Romania, bordered on the East and South by the Carpathian mountains. Sounds quite a nice place, you can go mountain climbing, visit the quaint little villages where all the doors are garnished with garlic for some reason or another, and of course visit the local churches, although all this during the day. It seems in the evening it is not such a hospitable place to be, and there are reports that there is quite a bit of action in the graveyards. The sounds of fingers tearing at the covering layer of earth, the flapping of wings which are actually black cloaked vampires taking a night flight. Excitement is guaranteed, and you might even be transported into another world (never to return).

If you really want to experience the true flavour of Transylvannia, something completely different, then you should reserve the night for your visit. You might be lucky and see the boss himself, who is always there, never dies. I am sure he would be only be too happy to take you on a visit of the family tombs. It seems if you choose the right evening, usually by full moon, there is quite a party going on. The blood is flowing in gallons and you will be warmly invited to partake, although it is recommended to take out an insurance for any unexpected accidents that might occur.

Accommodation is included in the price. There two sorts of coffin. The most expensive are those padded with velvet and silk with a lock you can open yourself from the inside with its own burlal crypt. These are generally recommended as they are risk free and it is guaranteed that you awake in the evening. Yes the days are a little different on this holiday experience. Daylight sleeping is recommended, to enable the full enjoyment of the nocturnal festivities.

For the backpackers, there is a cheaper version. A plain wooden coffin, closed by nails when you are ready to sleep, but do not worry. For emergencies there is a stake and hammer nearby in the case that one of the local vampires might be hungry. There are even instructions for usage of the stake. Place the stake over the vampire’s heart and hit with the hammer. This ensures the disintegration of the vampire, although I would add this must be done just before dusk. Once the night is upon you, I am afraid your chances are almost nil.

I would add this is not the sort of holiday for taking photographs. Vampires have no reflection in mirrors and they are even invisible to the camera lens, although it seems there are plenty of wolves in the area, if you are a fan of nature photos.

I am sure if when you return from this holiday you will be the envy of all your friends and neighbours. I have heard rumours that many, especially those who took the backpacker choice, experience a certain allergy to day light afterwards, and tend to wander the streets at night searching for human company.

Some visitors to this wonderful, unforgettable region never return. There is something that holds them in the area, the atmosphere perhaps, the food, or just the companionship of the inhabitants.

Who needs five places, if you visit Transylvania, just one place is sufficient. It will never let you go, and the memory will remain for the rest of your undead life.

Daily Prompt: The Wanderer, The Experience of an Undead Lifetime

22Apr2014

Daily Prompt: Showdown at Big Sky and a couple of car accidents

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

How do you handle conflict? Boldly and directly? Or, do you prefer a more subtle approach.

Plane and Crow

Me, in a conflict situation, no never, well almost: I am the soul of calm, never attack, just turn the other cheek and spread love and understanding all over the place.

Of course, no-one is perfect and there were times when things got a little out of hand, but I was in the lucky situation of growing up in a mean part of town, Bethnal Green the downtown East End of London. We were, of course, all lovely people, well brought up and treated everyone with respect. If it happened that you were insulted, or trouble was caused, then you could always call on someone to help. We had a family living near bye, the Krays. Mr. and Mrs. Kray had three sons, three lovely boys. There were twins, Reggie and Ronnie, and the older brother Charlie. They would always come to help if you beckoned. You just had to make it worth their while financially. Unfortunately the twins died in prison, whilst serving their sentences for murder. The older brother, Charlie, was released from prison, but unfortunately he has some bother with a cocaine smuggle. He also passed away in his prison cell.

Times pass and with age you become mellow. Luckily my hearing is no longer as good as it was, and this is always a good solution to maintain peace. What you do not hear does not bother you. I noticed that people can get very upset if they have a car accident. Reflecting on my first accident, with my sweet little Fiat 127, I was astonished to see the action that occurred. There was a car at the front of the row that stopped, the van behind the car did not stop and drove into the car at the front. Unfortunately he bounced away and I was left with the view of a damaged back part of the car at the front. This all happened so fast and furious, that I just did not have time to put my foot on the break. Luckily I was not injured, just the front of my little Fiat 127.

What happened afterwards was astonishing, for my naïve brain (it was my first car accident, I had no practice). First of all a young lady appeared who had watched the action from her office window. She worked for an insurance company, her first question being “Is anyone insured with ….., as I work there.” She seemed to be disappointed when no-one belonged to her organisation. The next action was the driver in the front car, that produced a camera and took a few photos. Afterwards we all got to know each other, exchanging telephone numbers, names and addresses. It was so exciting, and some voices were raised. Suddenly I was asked if I was feeling OK, as it seems I was the example of perfection, I said no word, I believe people were worried because I was so quiet. When we were all finished with the social side of things I drove off to my garage, which was just next door to where I lived. I did have problems with a clear view of the road as the bonnet of my car was partially obstructing the view from the front window, I also think there was a small trial of liquid marking my path, but it was not petrol/gas, just anti-freeze as it was blue in colour. Eventually everything was under control and I believe I even bought a new car afterwards, mine no longer being worth a repair job. You see, these things happen, and there is no point in getting worked up about it.

My next car accident was much nicer. The driver behind my car did not break quick enough and bumped into my car. We both remained calm (I knew it was not my fault) and exchanged telephone numbers and names. We left with a handshake, everything under control. It is amazing the people you meet under such circumstances.

Otherwise I am a cool type, never get worked up. After all I am a foreigner living in a foreign place and I can always say I do not understand the language, if things get too hot to handle.

And the photo? That was not my fault, just a showdown in a big sky between a crow and a flash of lightening. I think that had something to do with a curse placed by a bloke called Lucifer that had a misunderstanding with the crow, although I did feel uncomfortable on my plane seat..

Showdown at Big Sky and a couple of car accidents

21Apr2014

Daily Prompt: Because the night is when you sleep or……..

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Are you a night owl or are you the early bird? What’s your most productive time of day? When do you do your best work?

Somewhere in France

The view from a plane over the farm lands of France – actually it was daytime, but you can do everything with a little touch of photoshop today.

It all depends on me, my mood, my current occupation, my state of mind. What’s work?

There was a time when life required duties to be carried out and completed. A company would not wait for me to arise in the morning, I had no choice. Be there and do it were the orders of the day. This accompanied with family organisation, multi-tasking was required. Was I a night owl or early bird? I was that what life required of me. I am not going to boast about being an early morning creation. I love my bed, soaking up the confinement of the sheets, resting my weary head on a pillow and then it happens. Somewhere in a distant place a bell rings, a siren, an explosion. My brain cells begin to tick, habit forming takes over and I leave my bed for a place called work. This was in the far gone days before I became a golden oldie.

Whether I was productive at this time, I am not sure. There were times when my head began to nod at my desk, generally after lunch. Something was missing in my life, perhaps the two hours that had been stolen in the early morning hours by the sound of the alarm clock. Perhaps I should have retired to bed an hour earlier to remain fresh and awake during the daylight hours.

I should have been a vampire. They have such a quiet life, sleeping the daylight hours away in a coffin, a coma similar sleep, drifting amongst the memories of the ghouls and undead, never growing older. My teenage beauty and charm would have been preserved forever. Problems do not exist with an alarm clock, they depend on nature: the rising of the moon. Oh what a life, no need to sit in an office during the day and pass the time carrying out orders. One vampire problem is a fresh supply of blood. If you are lucky your midnight flight will take you near to a blood bank and then the problems are solved. The blood is clean and pure, all tested for some sort of human diseases which might occur. Vampires do not have an easy life today: unprotected game roaming the street in the dark hours of the night is subject to an unhealthy style of life. There might be addicts, alcohol or drugs and no self-respecting vampire wants to become high after a refreshing drink from a welcome neck. It would disturb the diurnal activity of sleep (diurnal=daylight – found it in Internet). A vampire with insomnia is an unhappy vampire. Sun rays might alight on the vampire suffering from insomnia during the day and that would be fatal. We all know the sad end of Dracula – he was stabbed in the heart, although had he suffered from a sleepless day the sun’s rays would have done their work, and his body would have become a pile of dust, swept away to the next dustbin.

However, I am not a vampire up to now. There are a few strange bats flying around in the area where I live, no reports of vampire bites or of undead walking in my garden.

There is a remark about productivity in the daily prompt title. Today I just produce a clean apartment, cooked food and a daily prompt. That is the story of my life. During the night I sleep, although there are times when a full moon appears and …….. Ask my felines, they sometimes accompany me.

Daily Prompt: Because the night is when you sleep or…..

Being honest the title is based on a remark made on one of my blogs by a supporter.
"You always turn a topic inside out and on its head" were words also applied by a visitor to one of my blogs. I think she hit the nail on the head.

Prompts are there to act on, not just tell everyone what you had for lunch or your likes and dislikes. I trust that on my blog you find something spiced with humour. Mr. Swiss, my other half, has been known to say that not everyone always understands my humour (I do not always understand his).

Blogging is for me coupled with having fun. I do what I want to and not what I have to.

Disclaimer: Not reponsible for any spelling or grammatical mistakes. I do my best, but having two langugages revolving in my brain (yes, I have one), sometimes the result is more bi- than unilingual.