Keys - what are they good for anyway?

I lost my keys at Planete Charmille a few days ago. Losing your keys is undoubtedly one of the most annoying things that can happen to you. Especially if you don't have any spare one on you, which people usually don't, but which I remarkably had this particular day. I had met up with the girl who looked after our birds over christmas just the day before, and since I'm lazy I still hadn't taken them out of my bag. So, for once, laziness actually paid off! I also hadn't moved the mail box key back to my own keys, which was yet another thing to be thankful about. So, in other words: I lost the apartment keys, but could still get into the apartment. Apartment keys are also easy to copy, so no real harm done there.
BUT I also had my bike key in that key ring. The only copy. I had locked my bike to a sign post, with my super safe, unbreakable metal lock, while I just ran inside the shopping centre Planete Charmille to buy a loaf of bread. During those maybe five minutes that it took me to buy that (not very nice) loaf of bread, my keys magically managed to escape my coat pocket.

I still haven't gotten my keys back, and it has now been four days. Tomorrow I will go to the lost and found office to check if they have turned up yet. Somehow, I don't count on it. Not that I understand why someone would want to hold on to someone else's keys, especially if they don't know where the person in question lives. And if I don't get them back, I will in other words have to somehow try to break into my unbreakable lock to free my bike from the sign post. I mentioned my problem to one of my students today, and it turns out that his brother is a metal worker. So if I don't get my keys back, he will bring me a metal saw for our next lesson. Very convenient!

I miss my bike.

What do I have against fleece?

Yes, what do I have against fleece? After all it's just a fabric; a very soft and warm one too. Yet there is something about fleece sweaters that makes me judge the person carrying it instantly. I realised that today when I was lying in the sofa and for some reason started to think about fleece sweaters and how hideously unstylish I find them.
A fleece sweater can transform an attractive and potentially cool guy into a sporty nerd within seconds. And sporty is not a word I use kindly.
Strangely, I don't think I'd ever really been aware of just how much I detest this item of clothing until today, when I was thinking about different people I've met that I have formed an opinion about based upon the fact that they are wearing fleece. Anyone who has the slightest idea about style would never wear it outside the house in any given situation. I've met people who I thought were arty and cool, but who suddenly appear in front of me in a fleece jacket. And that's it. They were simply not who I thought they were.
The worst kind of fleece clothes are of course the multi coloured ones. There is no excuse for putting on one of those. There just isn't.

I don't mind fleece blankets though. I own at least four of them myself. Because they're warm and soft against the skin, just like blankets should be. Blankets don't have to be stylish. I still would never bring a multi coloured fleece blanket in to my house. That would be taking it a bit too far.

Macarons - little pieces of heaven!

Holy shit, I just had a cassis macaron, and there is no other words to describe these divine little pieces of heaven than... divine little pieces of heaven! I advice anyone who happens to live in or near Switzerland to go and find the nearest macaron-selling place as soon as possible if you haven't already tasted them, because eating doesn't get much better than this! I can't believe I've lived so long without even knowing about them - I had my first one only a couple of months ago. Honestly, I would give up alcohol for these lovely little pastries. And the best thing is that they come in different flavours too, so you don't have to get sick of them; so far I've encountered chocolate, strawberry, lemon, pistagio, vanilla... and of course black current.
Oh, I've got four chocolate ones in the kitchen as well, but they're meant to be given away as a present to a friend in Mouthier-en-Bresse who we're going to visit on Sunday. Not that she'd know... Na, I'll be good and leave them alone.

Cheese v Music

Just had a rather nice cheese sandwhich, which made me reflect a bit upon my love for cheese and how it's one of the things that makes me not want to leave Switzerland right away. Sweden's got some nice cheeses - Västerbotten, mature Prästost and.... yes, that's it. Sweden's got two nice cheeses. Switzerland has got... well... even if I'd tasted them all I'm not sure I'd manage to count them. There is an infinite number of nice cheeses in Switzerland, Gruyere obviously being the most famous one. Emmenthaler, however, does not qualify on my list. I've never liked it and I never will. It's Switzerland's equivalent to Grevé.

Sweden's lack of good cheese is however upweighed by an unusually great music scene, something that Switzerland lacks. Now that I think about it, I have so far only found two Swiss bands worth listening to: The Proteins and Crackerbarrel. So I guess you could say that Proteins and Crackerbarrel are Switzerland's Västerbotten and Prästost. And just like with the Swiss cheeses, the number of listenable Swedish bands is too large to count.

The question is which one of the two I love the most - cheese or music. I wish I could say music, because it makes me seem less like a fat borgoise and more like a cool hipster. But I think they break pretty even. And then there is the chocolate and the wine of course, which adds more power to the Swiss preference, and which in no way makes me seem any more cool.

I will miss the cheese and the chocolate and the wine when I leave this place, just like I miss the Swedish music scene now. I do wish that life was just a choice between cheese and music, but the truth is of course that it's not. But wouldn't it be sweet?

Swedish christmas

Came back to Geneva today, after having spent christmas in Sweden. The unlikely scenario occured that it unexpectedly started snowing the night before christmas eve. So when I opened the blinds in the morning I was struck with more than usual christmas happiness. Well, I guess you could probably say that the snow was actually the highlight of my christmas this year. Everything else was as usual an anti climax of huge proportions. The food was good and the presents too, but the day passes so quickly and it's not like it's particularly fun. Every now and then I wish that my parents lived in the city so that I could at least go out and get drunk in the evening or something like that. Instead I have to settle for sober walks with the dog.

Went to Stockholm a few days before and after my stay in Småland, and was more than a little stressed by the January sales and by the fact that my suitcase was too full of christmas presents for there to be any room for new clothes. Bought a pair of trousers, a coat, a hat and a t-shirt at Weekdays, all half price, but I desperately wanted to buy more.

Had a very annoying flight back this morning: I was met by a huge queue as I entered terminal 2 at Arlanda, and of course that queue led to the easyjet desk. I had no other choice than to join that huge queue even though I hate queuing more than anything. It took me 40 minutes to get to the counter. So, what the hell happened to self check in machines? To fast and easy baggage drop? When I finally got to the check in desk, it was pointed out to me that I had 2 hand luggages. Well, yes, I always do. Always. One rucksack and one handbag. And it has never been pointed out to me before. Or to the woman at the counter next to me. I got away with it this time, but only just. Ridiculous! About 50% of the passengers around me had two bags.

My 40 minutes of queuing left no time for taxfree shopping, which really pissed me off, because that was something I had been counting on. On top of that, the take off was delayed, which would have been fine with me if it had been announced in advance. But since it wasn't, I passed through the passport control on time, and had nothing to do during this extra wait.

Had bought a Swedish autobiographical comic book called Hey Princess at the train station, and read it on the flight in one go. It basically covers the Swedish indie scene in the 90s, and made me a bit nostalgic. Life was so easy then, and I didn't even know it.

Thought I wanted to go back to Geneva when I was in Stockholm, but once I got here I realised that I don't really want to be here either. I suppose I was longing for a change rather than for Geneva. Maybe it's the season I want to get away from, or maybe the boredom. Maybe both. Maybe what I really want is to move to Barcelona. Or something.