Want to give up smoking? Get marooned.

I'm loving this - some guy is trying to kick a drastic habit by taking drastic action. This could become all the rage in new anti-smoking and quitting campaigns. True, need-t0-haves include access to a waterlocked piece of land lacking civilisation, adequate survival skills, and a healthy tolerance for sheep, but what better way to free yourself from an addiction than removing all temptation?

While it's a pretty cool idea on the surface, I do wonder about the sustainability of the smoke-free state that will almost certainly result from this method. What happens after dude's month of detox and he returns to smoke-infested civilization? He's got to have a re-immersion strategy. Going cold turkey is one thing when you have no choice, but in the end he's going to have to dredge up good old-fashioned willpower to sustain it. While infinitely more difficult, I think giving up the butt while constantly in reach of a pack yields a far more resilient Quitter.

I hope they do a follow-up story upon his return and then again a few months after. The article says he's smoked 30 a day for 43 years. While I enjoy a naughty smoke with booze, when stressed, and particularly when feeling rebellious, I can't imagine putting my body through that. I hope he's entirely successful in his new lifestyle transition.

Switching to Milan? Cologne??

Oh it's been SO LONG and I'm sorry for that. My last post...my poor, lost last post...had me questioning Mustafa's reliability in keeping a lunch date. If I think waaaaay back, the resolution to that was that I cancelled on him. Am I childishly smug about that? Mmmhmm. Just the act of cancelling is enough to induce smuggity, but the reason for the cancellation gives me an extra layer of smuggy goodness: it was for a job interview.

That morning, back before the blog void, I was deep in my standard state of jobless despair when an urgent email from a headhunter arrived, immediately followed by an urgent telephone call, requesting my attention to a vacant PMO (Project Management Office) role. It was for a large, reputable insurance company and urgently needed to be filled because the individual who had originally taken on the job had quit. After one day.

...With some trepidation and an equal measure of anticipation, I cancelled on Mustafa (smug) and made my way to the headhunter's office. After an hour and a half of meetings I booked it to German lessons brimming with information, interest, doubt, excitement and RELIEF that something had finally come from my young-professional-on-speed jobhunting efforts. The role was interesting and challenging. It was also out of my realm of experience, my comfort zone, and my postcode. Like way out. Like Italy and Germany out.

So there I was, finally with a job offer in front of me (the meetings with the headhunter were a whirlwind of information session/interview/negotiation and in the end I walked away with the surprised understanding that I was being offered the role and pretty much on my own terms). I knew I was underqualified on paper, I was a bit shaken by the swift resignation of the previous PMO Joe, and I was rock-bottom bummed over the fact that taking the position would mean resuming a long-distance-in-the-week relationship - I ABHOR this!!!!. But I'm my mother's daughter, I'm (involuntarily) relentlessly ambitious, and I have a wonderfully supportive Harry, and these factors made it clear there was no way I could turn down the opportunity. There was also the dwindling bank balance and burgeoning unemployment insanity to consider, of course.

So dear friends, this is why I've been totally MIA for the past...two months??? I've been bouncing around Milan, Cologne and Zurich (and the UK and Canada for that matter), scrambling to learn how to do a job thoroughly enough to inspire some confidence from my team in my management abilities, and greedily soaking up all my Harry Zurich time when I have it. Now that I'm starting to get the hang of things (I am enjoying the job!) I hope I'll have more time to devote to my now inaccurately named but still beloved blog. Please forgive my absence and check back soon!

Wanna Bet?

I had a meeting with Mustafa about three and a half weeks ago. It was a good meeting, our first face-to-face since November time. It's possible that there could be some work for me should a bid be successful so towards the end of the meeting we jumped into an on-the-spot case study where he tested my knowledge and understanding of all the reading materials he sent me. High pressure, high stakes, the usual with this kind of impromptu interview. You have to prove your grit as you might before a client. 

So I was doing fine (it's possible that my best work comes out of these pressurised moments) when 11:00 rolled around, someone knocked on the door to take over the meeting room and our time was up. Mustafa said we should put another half hour in the diary the next week to finish up the meeting. Good good, I say. Can you see yourself out? he says. Of course, I say. We shake hands warmly and professionally (despite the drama, I do like the guy quite a bit) and off I go. 

I immediately emailed about the next 30-minute meeting, and received no response. Dying a little inside, I emailed again a few days later, and to my shock and delight, he replied to that one (only the second email!!). He suggested a lunch meeting - another whole hour, WOW - to take place last Tuesday. I spent the weekend making notes on the case study and writing up a tidy little document to present to him. Tuesday comes around and ninety minutes before our meeting, he emails to say he has to shift to Thursday lunchtime. Ok. I sweat for a couple more days, wait for Thursday, don the suit again, annnnd another email comes prancing into my inbox saying he has to shift to today.

Please, ladies and gentlemen, make your bets. Will he cancel again? It's 8am. There are four hours remaining.  

Zurich's Ethnic Food Geschäfte

Harry and I were wandering around Zurich one hazy hungover Saturday when we stumbled across the city's ethnic food shops. This was a delightful turn of events as we used to cook a lot of ethnic dishes in Oxford and often frequented our local Chinese and Indian markets. I was happiest to find Zurich's Indian market and Harry stocked up on all kinds of goodies (because let's face it, I don't know what any of this stuff is I just eat it) - chapati flour, cumin, aniseed, cinnamon, cardamom, lentils, lime pickle, papadums, und so weiter. 

Proof of existence.

Ooh, look at all the beans and things!

They also have a fish counter. 

And produce section. 

Lime pickle! Sauces! Tandoori! 

At the Turkish shop we picked up a hunk of lamb shoulder mmmm some Turkish sticky sweets mmmmm and cooked a feast for some friends the next night. I also discovered that the Indian market sells PG Tips, Harry's tea of choice, which means we don't have to hassle family members to bring it over for us woot.

Proof of PG Tips.

Where can I find these culinary havens, you ask? Here's a map of Josefstrasse, where you can find gateways to India, Turkey, Mexico (sooo many kinds of tequila plus Dave's Insanity Sauce which Harry purchased with a wicked grin. I later licked a TEENY TINY DROP of it off the end of a fork prong and spent the next twenty minutes with my tongue hanging out trying to quell the fires of hell in my mouth) and more. 

View Larger Map

Evolution of a Still Life

I've been painting. It feels good. Here follows the evolution of my latest.

First, we start with a sketch. The cat got the axe in the end, sorry.

The sketch is then transferred to the canvas using charred willow bark.

The sketch is then finalised to the satisfaction of the artist. This takes hours, especially when the artist is an anal perfectionist. The drawing is the most important part of a painting.

Then, underpainting. Mmhmm, you paint the painting first and then you paint it again.

But I get bored with underpaintings and once I've covered most of the canvas I move on to the exciting bit. Colour. 

And some more colour.

My back-breaking workstation. I need an easel.

Then comes the background (and teapot gets toned down a bit).

And the foreground.

Finally froggie gets some colour clothing. And then...

The finished piece. I like wine, Harry likes tea. Frogs always add something. So. There it is.

It's About Damn Time

Haven't had time to read the article in detail as I'm CRAMMING for two Deutsch tests I have to take this morning, but I'm liking this:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/8019605.stm

Horny Frogs are Noisy Buggers

No, this title is not meant to be taken metaphorically but literally word-for-word (um, and 'literally' is also meant as literally and not as a moderator for 'word-for-word'). Mum and I went to the botanical gardens of Zurich yesterday which were less than impressive. They do have, however, a large frog pond in their midst and it was absolutely teeming with screaming frogs getting their freak on. I think a video is really the only way to convey the cacophony, so please watch and listen. I'm not sure you can actually see the little romeos, but in person (er, in frog?) they were shocking exhibitionists, puffing their cheeks up, shouting, and jumping about all over their objects of affection. Someone should tell them to get with the modern days of cocktails, moonlit walks, and subtle glances. I almost can't remember the last time I was successfully wooed by this kind of inappropriate macho hoppy behaviour. 

Anyway. I'm not sure what they do with all of the offspring but the pond was already full of squirmy black tadpoles. Those poor gals. They have been through the ringer.

Also, a few other photos from BoGardens:

Big domey thingies

Squirmies!!

Horny frog takes a breather

Greenness