Crap Things About Switzerland Part 2

So, we have been breathing the clean, hermetically filtered air that swirls around Swizzerland for a few months now and I have time to gaze at the mountains, puff on my pipe and ruminate on what else is crap about the land of alpine sports and polyester.

Life really is pretty easy here and although the Swiss are obsessed about forms and regulations if you stick with the program then everything tends to waft along pretty smoothly. But, I can add to the list of things that are annoying about Swizzerland (or this would be a very short post indeed):

  1. Indicating I know that I have said before that the Swiss are Borg, but as I am not part of the hive-mind yet and YOU NEED TO LET ME KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING OR THERE WILL BE A CAR ACCIDENT, YOU SWIZZER MUPPETS. Do you think Audi put those levers on there for a quick gag? It’s an Audi, they’re probably worth a grand; use them. The Swizzers must look at my car and think it’s an ice-cream van or something, with those krazy orange lights flicking on and off when he turns: krazy man. I am so glad that I didn’t have the opportunity to do National Service because the Swiss would drive me to empty a couple of clips from an M80 whilst leaning out of the Touran’s open driver’s side window – Hong Kong stylee – shouting: ‘mirror, signal, maneover you couillon marionettes!’ …and relax. I know that I have already posted about this, but I’m close to edge, man.
  2. Milk Alright, I’m not a packaging designer, but even I could design a better system. In the UK milk is labelled in a completely bizarre and confusing way. Red is skimmed, blue is full fat and green is semi-skimmed. Surely red should be full fat? Danger! You’re gonna have a heart attack if you keep drinking this, dude! Green should be organic. Like, that is a total no brainer. Semi skimmed should be pink, because it’s less that full-fat, innit? Skimmed should be white. In Swizzerland they basically don’t give a monkeys. They colour the milk whatever colour feels right that particular day. Red is half fat and blue is full fat…but in another supermarket blue is full is full fat and light blue is half fat. Maybe I need to weave baskets or do yoga, but this kind of design chaos makes me want to go postal. Like, arrrrrggghhhhh!, make a system and stick with it! You bloody morons. If I win Euromillions I am so hiring a private army and invading Swizzerland for the express purpose of sorting their packaging out and making drivers indicate.
  3. Language Default I have a iPhone and it’s awesome (I am an iPhone virgin so I’ll post about losing my smart-phone cherry another day). One of the cool features about an iPhone is that you can select what voicemail messages to listen to in a visual form… but can’t because I can’t speak German as it requires a certain amount of setup. I have nothing against Germany, the German language or German nationals but the only German I know is from The Great Escape and they didn’t have iPhones in World War Two, especially not prisoner of war camps. So, I can’t set up my iPhone to use this groundbreaking and innovative feature because seemingly everything is Swizzerland has a default language setting of German. This is doubly irritating as I am trying to learn French. Arseache.
  4. Barnets I have been looking for a decent – yet cheap – coiffure for a while now. Unfortunately I have not hit pay dirt yet so my hair is looking a little Playmobil. It does help me blend in in continental Europe but I look like a day release: they just don’t do barbers in Swizzerland. There are loads of hair dressers and hair boutiques and the old Swizzer birds love a good coiffe because they like nothing more than to stroll along the seafront arm-in-arm with another old Swizzer bird with BIG hair. I think they backcomb it like Robert Smith so that they achieve maximum volume. They then compliment it with huge shades so that they resemble a couple of houseflys with blue rinse afros coming to land on a spongecake (I think that their perfect world would be wearing shades the shape of a goldfish bowl, so they could pull it off revealing a sprung barnet like candifloss underneath). So, my options are to wait until I return to barnet civilisation and get my haircut, cut it myself or get Darling Wife to cut it. Option one seems very extravagant. Option two is really the last enclave of nutters and hermits. Option three scares me more than I can say.

I am going to do a positive post about Swizzerland soon, but I have more parenting ones and have one on 3D animation, but it’s going slowly…

Just to show I am not wholly negative:


13 thoughts on “Crap Things About Switzerland Part 2

  1. In an emergency buy a set of barber’s clippers. Make sure they have an attachment that is somewhere between number 6 (bit severe) and number 8 (bit severe, but has grown out for two weeks). You will also need a wife. If you are a homosexual, or unduly worried about your appearance, you can do a 6 on the sides and an 8 on top. For Elvis, go 12 on top and slick back with Brylcreem.

    This has got me out of a lot of difficulty when (as now) I find myself in a country whose barber’s alternate as Eurovision Song Contest competitors and/or lavatory attendants (in this case, Moscow), and my shoot gets delayed by a week resulting in my barnet starting to resemble a bog brush.

    Download the Vidal Sasson Guide to feather cutting and within three days you will be able to earn a few bob on the side (or become an award-winning hairdresser in Kiev).

    Hope this helps


    1. Andy, what you need to do with your time is write a comedy series and win lots and lots of awards and then get shipped over to La-La-Land so that you can write the sequel to Cheaper by the Dozen 5 and slide gently into obscurity and, ultimately madness, and Hollywood tours will point out the Crazy English screenwriter who stands naked – with a Viagra induced erections – on the veranda of his Malibu beachfront shack shouting quotes from Are You Being Served?

      Honestly, your comments make me piss myself laughing every time I read them and you have to write a novel or a comedy series or someting – you’d hurt people with laughter…

      You’re wasted behind the camera. That’s the rumours anyway…

  2. I’m not sure Mr Shev will ever let me cut his hair. Ever since I turned our DS’s beautiful locks into a style fit for a Franciscan monk he has warned me off the scissors. The other day, while he was not looking, I had a go at giving DD a fringe. Her hair had grown so much it was bothering her. Oh how I regret it. And the only thing that would improve it would be to pull it up into a clip and everytime I approach her with one she karate chops it out of my hands…

    Andy – love your comment – bet the Moscovites think you’re well cool…

    1. I think that you’ve stepped over a line here.

      It clearly states in the terms and conditions of the WordPress blogging contract, quite clearly: there shall be no mention, either pictorial or written, of hair that may be perceived, alleged or inferred to be related to German pornstars or relatives of. Any reference to eighties follicle distress shall result in the immediate removal of the user’s blog and a free haircut at Toppers.

      As the man at Ocean Finance said to me: always read the small print, you chocolate.

  3. It reminds me of that ancient (but truly wonderful) joke about the bloke who goes into a Barber’s in Birmingham and says to the Barber that he’d like his hair cut like James Dean. So the barber gets the clippers and shaves his hair off down to the scalp.
    The blokes says “F**k me mate, James Dean Doesn’t have his hair done like this” to which the barber replies : “He would if he came here”

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