George Bush is een lekker wijf

If Scroobious's needs aren't entertaining enough, try the next step: who IS Scroobious?

And far funnier: Who is George Bush?

I'm a woman. I have needs.

And according to Google, Fount of all Wisdom, this is what Scroobious needs*:

Scroobious needs to create systems for dealing with clutter.
VERDICT: True. Small flat. Too much stuff. Too much mess. Horrid. However, while I keep inventing clutter-management systems, none of them have yet worked.

Scroobious needs her fans' support!
VERDICT: But of course. Why else would I be blogging? Ego satisfaction. Obviously.

Scroobious needs to be taught a lesson - luckily for her it's the kind of dirty tutorial that she enjoys.
VERDICT: Wha? Who's writing this stuff? The cheeky...

Scroobious needs advice on covering her boiler.
VERDICT: False. Boiler was never that great in the original, I think a remake would be ridiculous.

Scroobious needs this treatment to stay alive.
VERDICT: True. If by "treatment" you mean "good Swiss chocolate, regular massage and her fans' support".

Scroobious needs to feel What is Above.
VERDICT: Hang on, does this have anything to do with that "dirty tutorial"...?

Scroobious needs all the help she can get.
VERDICT: True, alas. But good help is just so hard to find these days.

Scroobious needs it spelled out that she's dumped.
VERDICT: It's not true! I haven't been dumped! No! No! No!

Scroobious needs to make an album that rocks.
VERDICT: True. That boiler song was really scraping the barrel.

Scroobious needs to work on tolerance and understanding.
VERDICT: False. I am very tolerant and understanding, unless you're just plain wrong.

And finally, to sum up:

Scroobious needs more by way of a biography than these brief words.
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* Obviously, I used my real life name. Not a lot of Scroobii out there.

SGS: Postscript

The Guide really is done now, but I couldn't resist adding this joke I just got from a friend (and reader).

A Swiss man, looking for directions, pulls up at a bus stop where two Americans are waiting.

"Entschuldigung, koennen Sie Deutsch sprechen?" he asks. The two Americans just stare at him.

"Excusez-moi, parlez vous Francais?" he tries. The two continue to stare.

"Parlare Italiano?" No response.

"Hablan ustedes Espanol?" Still nothing.

The Swiss guy drives off, extremely disgusted. The first American turns to the second and says, "Y'know, maybe we should learn a foreign language."

"Why?" says the other. "That guy knew four languages, and it didn't do him any good."

SGS: Appendix

To understand a country, one should understand its products. So, now that you have some insights into Swiss culture, let us consider some of the best-known Swiss cultural artefacts.

The Swiss army knife. While the actual Swiss army uses a knife with rather fewer appendages than the ludicrously overcapable devices we know and love, nonetheless, this item combines neatness with protection - key concepts in analysing the Swiss psyche. As a small and landlocked country with a lot of wealth, Switzerland is naturally concerned with self-defence. The guiding principle is: one can only remain neutral as long as one is in a position to kick some butt, should the need arise. Hence, the powerful Swiss army - the nuttiness of which has already been discussed - and the Swiss army knife*.

Swiss bank accounts. I really don't know how this one started, but there it is: banking and insurance are the linchpins of the Swiss economy. Meaning, it has some serious wealth. And is concerned, once again, with protecting it. I seem to notice a ridiculous number of ads for insurance products when I visit.

Swiss watches. Obvious, really. Obsessed with punctuality, and enjoying much wealth? Make a luxury watch!

Cows. Driving through Switzerland - or indeed, taking a reliable, comfortable and scenic train ride - one notices an extraordinary number of cows on the mountainside. Visiting a tourist shop, one notices a great number of wooden cows and/or brass cowbells for sale. Well, cows are, after all, key to the Swiss diet** - all that cheese***! Interesting to note: "I dream of cows" is, according to Gore Vidal's Creation, an ancient Aryan idiom meaning "I lust for wealth"****.

Chocolate. Actually, I don't know if this says anything about Switzerland. I just couldn't leave it out. Good, good stuff. Um... it's also rich****.

And finally: the ultimate Swiss artefact. The encapsulation of all that is Swiss. The souvenir so perfect that if it didn't exist, you'd have to invent it:



The cuckoo clock. Punctuality. Kitsch wooden chalets. Wealth - they don't come cheap. Very often, cows. (You'd be amazed at how many moving parts they can get in those things.) And - obviously - complete insanity.

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* I was most disappointed, early in my relationship, to discover that Beloved's Swiss army knife was not actually from the Swiss army. His boots, however, were. Another perk of service: not only do they give you guns, they give you boots, and replace them when they wear out. Unfortunately, since he has been living abroad and hence escaping the annual refresher, he missed out on the replacements, and is now bootless. Sad, really.
** Something I inexplicably forgot to mention in the chapter on cuisine: even a cold drink is based on dairy. In a sneaky trap for the unwary lactose intolerant among us, Rivella - a very popular and delicious drink - looks and tastes like sparkling apple juice, but it's 35% milk serum.
*** Please note, Swiss cheese is not all full of holes. Only Emmenthaler. There are other kinds of Swiss cheese. I like Gruyere, myself.
**** Yes. I might be pushing the tags a bit here.

SGS: Travel tips

In the last chapter of the Scroobious Guide to Switzerland, we take a brief look at three important, yet often neglected subjects.

First, what to pack? Swiss style is classically elegant - not that that matters, when you're dragging your tired ass up a mountain. So you'll pack what you need to go climbing, or skiing, and that's fairly straightforward: warm, rugged, etc. Gentlemen do not tend to fret over such questions, but for the ladies, a little advice.

Do not - repeat, do NOT - be tempted to pack high heels (even sensible high-heeled boots) for a mountain holiday. Yes, there is your evening's entertainment to be considered; yes, you may want to put on a little bit of ritz to go out in. But unless you are staying in a smart hotel and don't plan on venturing further than the hotel bar, you will very soon be confronted with that unfortunate fact of a mountain holiday: you're on a mountain. You can't go anywhere without walking up or down a hill. A very steep hill. You'll just have to settle for sportif chic, my dear.

This next tip you won't find anywhere else, but believe me, it's a gem: for hiking in any season but winter, bring a pashmina. No, not a real pashmina, that would be ridiculous. But something pashmina-shaped, in light cotton or similar. Here's what happens: you venture outdoors; it is cold. (Maybe not in high summer, but maybe. You're pretty high up, after all.) You bundle up in a t-shirt or vest and warm jacket, and wrap the pashmina round your neck. Cosy! You start climbing. You generate body heat. (Very quickly. Not a lot of oxygen up there, so you're working extra hard.) You unzip the jacket. Sooner or later you take off the jacket. The sun is shining. You are sweating. But: while the sun is warm, the air is cool. Your sweat chills your skin, especially when the sun disappears, or you walk under trees. Pashmina to the rescue! Drape it over your shoulders and you will be not too hot, not too cold, and as a bonus, protected from sunburn.

I think I might have to patent this special Hiker's Friend. Chaps, until David Beckham makes pashminas de rigueur for blokes, you'll just have to tough it out like you always do. While your girlfriend brags about how comfortable she is. Ah ha ha.

Two, the what-to-tip tip. Tipping is apparently not big in Switzerland. If the service is good, leave something, but don't overdo it.

And finally, a word on how not to offend your hosts. Actually, make that two words. Two words to be avoided at all costs:

Nazi gold.

SGS: Activities

What you do in Switzerland will, of course, depend on where you go. In the cities, go shop, and take lots of pictures of the pretty olde worlde ambience. No guide needed. All very self-explanatory*.

In the mountains, you can climb (in summer) or ski (in winter). Everything else is peripheral. Resort towns such as Davos or Zermatt will of course offer other activities - spas, sailing, horse riding, ice-skating - but they are there merely for show. You're there for the mountains. Get up them - by fair means or foul.

Your Swiss host or companion may try to convince you that the various cable cars, funiculars etc are there only for the enfeebled, but don't listen! For merely an eye-watering amount of money, you can reach heights undreamed of by couch potatoes such as *coff* me!** And in winter, should you not be initiated in the mysterious rites of ski or snowboard, you might be able to slide down on a toboggan - utterly terrifying, yes, but addictively so.
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*Oh, all right, I will tell you one thing. I have developed a perfectly superstitious belief in Swiss shoes. Ever since a stroke of luck on my first visit, I have made a point of shoe shopping there**, and have always done extremely well. (On this recent trip, Beloved managed to find three fabulous pairs within an hour - nothing short of miraculous for someone who normally cannot be dragged into a shoe shop until the point of extreme podiatric desperation, and then struggles to find anything remotely suitable.) It's probably not that they're better made, or cheaper, than shoes elsewhere. I suspect it is, rather, that the Swiss shopping experience is more conducive (calmer than London, better stocked than SA), and the range available more classic, less trendy - hence more to the tastes of those, like us, who prefer not to replace our footwear every season.
Beloved would add, here, that anything Swiss made is necessarily made better. He may be right. It's also possible that Swiss shoes are made to be sturdier, given local conditions (i.e.: mountainous).
** This may sound like perfectly ordinary female behaviour, but I'm actually not an avid shopper normally, and not particularly hung up on shoes.
*** Nonetheless I would like you all to know that I CLIMBED THE JAKOBSHORN ALL BY MYSELF. See those capitals? I'm THAT PROUD.****
**** And would like you further to know that the fact I spent the next day nearly comatose and very unhappy had NOTHING to do with my lack of fitness for this exercise. It was the dodgy bratwurst. The bratwurst, I tells ya.

SGS: Culture and cuisine

As preparation for your stay, read Asterix in Switzerland. Accept every word as gospel*. Especially the bit about muddy footprints. The Swiss do not like dirt. If you visit a Swiss home, remove your shoes the second you cross the threshold. While in other countries this might be considered rude, your Swiss host will instantly wish to bear your child.

Cleanliness is ingrained in the Swiss psyche to an extreme and incomprehensible degree. Even pubertal skateboarders - who might daringly sport a single ear piercing - have a shiny pinkness that suggests their mothers have just finished scrubbing behind their necks. It's quite confusing to behold.

Of course, what those esteemed cultural commentators Goscinny and Uderzo omit to mention (no doubt for fear of reprisal; luckily I am more intrepid) is that William Tell (or whoever might be considered the father of the Swiss nation) made a pact with the devil. No, really, it's true. Consider: the Swiss diet consists almost entirely of animal fat and starch, yet the Swiss people are all slim and fit. It's the devil's work.

For those of us without the benefit of demonic dealings, I advise you to adjust your mindset. Forget anything you may have read about the supposed advantages of Atkins, the dangers of dairy or, for that matter, the curse of cholesterol. Prepare to enjoy breakfast of Nutella on bread**, lunch of bratwurst with bread and/or chips, and supper of fondue (bread and cheese). Or roesti (a potato dish that, as far as I can tell, requires the tubers to be first grated, then fried, then roasted with cheese, and possibly bacon or other toppings).

Fair enough, there are other menu choices, but these are typical (and, typically, the most appetising; stick a restaurant on a mountaintop, 3000m above sea level, and "captive audience" is the phrase that springs to mind). And the other options are still likely to be fried, roasted, or fried and roasted, and smothered in cheesy or creamy sauce. Not that I'm complaining. Obviously.

Then, of course, there's all the rumpunsch (hot rum punch, obviously) and nuessgipfel (nut tart), not to mention good Swiss chocolate. Mountain air makes you hungry. Especially when you've just climbed 1km in height.Which leads me to... activities: the next exciting chapter of the Scroobious Guide. Stay tuned.

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* Apart from Obelix's belief that Switzerland is flat. Even if you'd been dragged unconscious up and down the Alps, I can't imagine that from any point in the country you'd be able to look around without seeing mountain in every direction. Really not very flat at all.
**Or mueesli***, admittedly. But come on. You would choose cereal over Nutella?
*** Note for the unwary: "muesli" are, in fact, mice. "Mueesli" is breakfast cereal.
**** I am here using the German typographic convention of substituting an e for an umlaut on the preceding vowel. Anyone know how to do umlauts in Blogger?

Those Ukrainians are crazy

We interrupt our scheduled Swiss programming for a moment to bring you this delicious titbit:

The Ukrainian national anthem is "Ukraine is not dead yet".

That's the spirit.

SGS: Art and architecture

Ask a young child to draw a house, and s/he will render a cube with a pointy hat, windows evenly distributed. This is Swiss architecture. Now show that child pictures of, say, a few Greek temples or Victorian mansions. S/he might feel moved to elaborate his/her house by drawing on a few pillars, floral motifs etc. This is Swiss design. They don't build decoration into the structure, they paint it on afterwards. Once you get used to it, it has its own charm. Apart from looking like a country built entirely out of souvenir kitsch, that is.

While I'm not aware of any particularly Swiss schools of art*, there are a number of famous Swiss artists (including an architect, Le Corbusier; while not the kind of cubes I had in mind, nonetheless you will observe his distinctly blocky style). Theophile Steinlen is a personal favourite - yes, I have unsophisticated tastes - but of greater note is Paul Klee. And let us not forget Giger. You see? I told you - these Swiss are crazy.


There is also, in Davos, a museum devoted entirely to Ernst Ludwig Kirchner - a German-born artist who lived for a long time in the area, and painted it quite spectacularly. Look at the picture at top; imagine it on an enormous canvas, in thick paint, colours saturated and glowing. Imagine a room full of landscapes like that. Imagine another room with paintings of semi-abstract human figures and still lifes. I tell you seriously: breathtaking. Few exhibitions have impressed me that much.

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* Edit: obviously, I forgot about the birth of Dada. But these were artists in exile in Zurich, not actual Swiss artists. Hm...

SGS: Geography and climate

Small sideways, pointy upwards. Meaning: the surface area of any normal country has, in Switzerland's case, gotten scrumpled up into rather a lot of mountains covering not very much square mileage. As a result, there's always snow somewhere, though you might not be able to get to it. As far as I've been able to tell*, Switzerland has a near perfect climate: warm summers, crisp snowy winters, lots of sunshine and clear blue skies all year round, not too much wind. I've visited in every season and it's always been gorgeous in one way or another.

As you might guess from looking at a map, the German part covers most of the north, central and eastern regions; the French are to the west; the Italians to the south; and the 1% of a Rhaeto-Romanic persuasion are probably in a tree hut somewhere. Who knows. I've had limited exposure to the French and Italians, but have heard tell that the French Swiss are mad party people (I find this slightly hard to believe) and the Italians have managed to blend Swiss lunacy with Italian charm to create heaven on earth. Go south. Then send me a lifeline.

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* And as Beloved would have you believe, but don't listen to him. He has been known to assert that "it's always sunny in London". He is evidently even nuttier than other Swiss.

SGS: Language

63% of Swiss people speak the local variation of German. (The other three official languages are French, Italian - both spoken in their familiar forms - and a peculiar ancient tongue called Rhaeto-Romanic that bears little relation to any other modern language.) Since Schweizer Deutsch (pronounced: Schwiitzer-Duutsch) does not exist as a written language, German Swiss are all able to communicate comfortably in socalled High German - they think. Their thick accents might however make the difference between Schweizer Deutsch and Hoch Deutsch purely academic to most outsiders.

If you speak German, try adapting to local conditions as follows: squoosh up your vowels a bit (almost every vowel combination can end up as ii or uu if you try), pronounce k in gutteral fashion - kch - add -zli to every fifth word or so, throw in a little French and Italian seasoning ("merci", "ciao") and introduce a singsong intonation to your sentences.

If you don't speak German, how's your Afrikaans? No, they're not really the same, but a lot of words are similar (more so than High German, although the pronunciation is seriously odd). If you can't make yourself understood, you might be able to at least understand.

If you are stuck with English, smile and point.

The Scroobious Guide to Switzerland

(An erratic overview by a partial* and undereducated observer.)

Grueziwohl mitenand!
("Polite greetings to all of you.")

Switzerland is a very peculiar country. Don't let anyone tell you different. After eight years of exposure to a (half) Swiss personality, plus repeated visits to his home country (and family), I can say with absolute certitude that these Swiss are crazy**.

As evidence, I give you the following:
Every adult male, as you probably know, has to do military service*** - first for six months at age 18, then for a few weeks every year, as a refresher. Men are expected to be ready for service at any moment, should the Austrians invade, or whatever. The countryside is dotted with bunkers and the Swiss army is famous for important things like knives, and chocolate rations. This is familiar stuff. What you probably don't know is that, as a natural adjunct to this militia principle, every adult male is in possession of an army-issued machine gun, and ammunition.

In any other country, it would be news if a lunatic didn't run amok with these government-issued weapons. Right?

I give you this just as a little background colour. The rest of the guide to be published in daily instalments. Come back tomorrow for the Scroobious Guide to Swiss language.

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* As in biased. Not as in incomplete. I am still an entire Scrivener.
** Then again, I'm increasingly inclined to side with Obelix in the belief that "these [insert nationality here] are crazy". Anyone you care to name. Madder than cut snakes, the lot of them.
*** Apparently, this is being cut down. I'm a bit vague on details, but the essence of my report is purest truth, I assure you.

Shhh...

Scroobious is sleeping till October.

Well, she is if she gets her way. What else are holidays for?

OCD R somebody else

In response to a heartfelt plea, I shall now list and describe all my personal OCD tendencies in loving detail.

Or I would, except that I can’t actually think of any. It’s not that I’m suspiciously stable. I check things like plane tickets repeatedly and obsessively – every time I book a trip, I am quite, quite convinced that I’ve made a horrible muddle and will wind up at the airport on the wrong day, forced to pay a fortune in idiot tax to get where I need to go. (I will only calm down when the trip is successfully completed, in fact. It makes no difference how many times I compare diary and tickets; I never quite believe that they match up.)

Similarly, knowing perfectly well that I’ve already triple checked that I’m carrying wallet, mobile, tube ticket and keys won’t stop me checking again as soon as it pops into my head that I need to be sure I have all those things.

I don’t really have any weird compulsions, though. Although it distresses me to be in possession of two partly used items such as, oh, shampoo bottles, or ballpoint pens. (The pens one is a bit of an issue, working in an office, because of course people are always walking off with my pens and leaving theirs. It’s simply not possible to use up pens in an orderly fashion.)

And I take colour coordination very seriously. So I’m absolutely on Anna’s side regarding the T-shirt/duvet clash. I also have to stop myself staring pointedly at, oh, say, anyone wearing brown boots with an all-black outfit. No matter how cute she may be and how much I envy her dinky little waist and shiny red hair, and how stylish she is in general terms.

Just as a for instance, you understand.

Similarly, I like a clean desk, and a clean PC desktop. But I’m not anal about it. Not really. I mean, if any misguided freelancer happens to sit at my workstation when I’m out, and if I come back and notice that, I’m not going to spend more than, ooh, twenty minutes neurotically cleaning up. At most. Probably.

While I fully empathise with the tic recently described to me by an anonymous friend (who may or may not be Anonymous), of lining coins up so that the heads all face the same way, I’ve definitely never done that myself. Definitely not. Nor have I ever sat at a restaurant table carefully arranging the salt and pepper pots, cutlery and other table furniture so as to (a) align with the floral print on the tablecloth, and (b) leave the minimum space between them. Ever. You hear me? I don’t do that. That would be weird.

But while I’m on the subject, there’s nothing at all weird about folding up tissues before and after you blow your nose. It’s just neat.

So there.

Old faithfuls

In the wall of the Victoria & Albert Design Museum.

To those who wait

After long periods of work and waiting and more work, some of the Good Things that have come to me in the past few days:

Time spent with Anonymous. It’s been too long. Side-effects of same: excessive calorie consumption*, excessive laughter, excessive shopping. Blisters.

Renewed conviction that if I’m to live on these benighted shores, it should be in Brighton. London is terribly exciting and all, but Brighton is Better. Like Sea Point without the mountain. More hippies, less models. And last time I looked, it was possible to leave Sea Point without a henna tattoo. You know what? I don’t even like Sea Point that much. But I do like Brighton. It’s as close as I’m going to get to Cape Town without leaving the UK. So, if Beloved could only get a job on the south coast…

Delivery of many excitingly large cardboard boxes from overseas. With equally large, but less exciting customs duties to be paid.

Delivery of one small cardboard box, containing free wine. We really do heart the internet. And may I point out, it’s a Cape winemaker who generously decided to give this “serious marketing disruption” thing a go. They make good people in the Cape**. As well as good wine. Yum***.

Now it’s back to the work for a bit. Sigh. But also, from this Friday, a week of holiday in Switzerland****! Yay!
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* The good Anon having stuffed his tiny suitcase with Albany Double and Milo slabs. To non-Saffers: you just don’t know what you’re missing.
** They also make good people in the States, apparently. Who knew? [ducks flurry of cyberslaps from Yankee readers] Mr Gapingvoid not only came up with this bright idea, he made sure I got my bottle after the offer closed – my first mail having apparently disappeared in a cloud of binary wossname. So, good people all. (If you're curious about this peculiar booze-for-bloggers idea, there's tons more discussion on the blog and wiki. Makes for fascinating reading.)

*** That's a generalised "yum". Not a Stormhoek-specific yum. I haven't tried it yet, but I'll be sure to let you all know if the taste's as good as the tactic.
**** [coff] …meaning yet another blogging hiatus… brief, though. Brief.

"Hello? ...Hello?"

Not only am I Very Busy and Important, but this week one of my Favourite People in the Whole World Ever* is in London town, and I'm playing host and tour guide**.

So I'll be further neglecting my online host duties. Sorry.

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* Clue: Anonymous won't be posting this week.
** The Scroobious Tour of London is rather low on Crown Jewels, cathedrals and the like, and rather high on amusing shop names ("eatmyhandbagbitch" being a favourite, though sadly it's shut down), one or two world-class salons d'amour, surprising public art and architecture, and patisseries.

Not. Acceptable.

I'm aware that things have been a little quiet around here. (Because I'm very busy and important, you see, shut up and wait for the big reveal in a few weeks.) One might even say, deathly dull. I'm not surprised to see my stats sinking rapidly into utter oblivion.

But I am SHOCKED! to see that MSN Search tossed the Scrivenings up in answer to the dreary query: "How many days till I die?"

THIS IS NOT GOD'S WAITING ROOM. There is life. I promise.

Be patient.

Vagina dentata

The rape victim's revenge: a Femidom with teeth.*I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Problem the first: it doesn't actually prevent the foul deed occurring, it just causes pain for the perpetrator. If you can convince him that pain will ensue, okay, but I'm not sure of that. So I agree with the concern that it might just trigger a more brutal attack from the now really pissed off attacker.

Problem the second: what women need is to be free of the fear of attack. That fear will not be ended by the knowledge that ooh, but if he DID, he'd be sorry. And in SA, I can't imagine that the knowledge of this device would spread to the extent that potential rapists would be scared off even thinking of such a thing.

Problem the third: cost. R1 may be nothing to middle class women, but as the inventor herself points out, middle class women are not the ones most in danger. The article doesn't say whether this is a washable/reusable item, or a disposable one, but I strongly suspect it's the latter. So do you spend R1 a day - R30 a month - on this uncertain protection, when your monthly income may be only R800 and you have a family to support?

But none of that explains why I hate it.

When I was a (very far from promiscuous) student, I was in the habit of carrying a condom in my wallet at all times. I did so whether or not I was in a relationship. My reasons were complicated: I would have said at the time that it was my responsibility to be prepared, even if I wasn't planning any escapades, because who knew what might happen; I would have said, also, that living in SA, my chances of being attacked were terrifyingly high and I wanted to at least have a chance of protecting myself from HIV infection if that did happen.

I'm sure that sounds bizarre to non-Saffer readers. I must point out that first, SA women are bombarded with stats on the high incidence of rape (one every 8 seconds, was it?), and second, it really is possible (sometimes) to convince your rapist to wear a condom, because he's as scared of Aids as you are (and probably hasn't a clue whether he himself is already infected).

It is still bizarre, though. Obviously. In hindsight I think my condom-carrying habit was a rather silly gesture based on the idea that I should be a liberated and responsible sexually active woman. Even if I wasn't all that active.

But the thing is: it was an empty gesture with little connection to, well, anything. As high as the rape stats are, they're skewed by the fact that if you're a woman (or girl) in the townships, you're pretty certain to be attacked. It's not so likely in the suburbs. (Well, it's a lot likelier than in a nice Sussex town, but still.) The more distance I have from that state of mind, the more revolted I am that planning for a possible rape even featured in my thinking. It's good to be careful, of course, not to put yourself in dangerous situations and so on, but really. It's deeply unhealthy to be constantly thinking in those terms. Isn't it?

And so, even knowing the dangers that South African women face, I truly hate the idea that they are being invited to prepare themselves, every day, in such an intimate way, to be raped. It's not empowering. It's not protective. It's sick. And I hate it.

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* Link courtesy of strawbs.

I win

Is there anything better - anything - than the sound of someone who has previously played hard to get saying:

"You have my full attention."