Tomorrow…or technically today because it’s totally 3am and I’m totally going to finish watching Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version not that awful makes-me-want-to-pry-my-eyes-out-with-tealight-candles–or-something-similarly-unlikely Keira Knightley one) I’m taking off for Zurich.
I feel that this is the appropriate place to boast that given enough time and alcohol I could have stammered that sentence out in German. I might have come unstuck at the preposition side of things because, dudes, Germans use the weirdest prepositions. Like you travel after a country (what?) and you go into the theatre (who? Bobby? Bobby B? Bobby Brauuuun?).
Most of you would have just read that and been like “that bitch is crazy” and then you would have given it another thought and been like “but at least she’s stopped talking about prepositions”.
I thank those of you who totally got that Saturday Night Live reference, by the way.
But I don’t blame those of you who are being real C*&ts about the whole thing because I’m feeling angelic and full of Christmas spirit.
Not the least because I’m off to Zurich in a few hours. (And we’re back!)
The one thing – aside from my inability to speak in German, that is – that’s getting my knickers in a twist is the weather.
According to two out of three weather forecasts, Zurich is supposed to be a balmy five degrees for pretty much all of this and next week. There was a time when I thought that was cold, but that was before I publically fell over at Tollwood and landed in a whole heap of snow…oh and before all of the snow storms. So if it is five degrees I’m totally packing my bikini and nothing else.
But…the other, third website – the reputable BBC one at that – claims that the temperature in Zurich will drop well below zero and that we’ll get more snow before Christmas, which obviously requires a one-piece…and ear-muffs. So now I’m confused.
On the one hand maybe the BBC just missed its plane because of the snow and has fallen into reactionary panic like the rest of England, but on the other, maybe it doesn’t care so long as someone can feed it Yorkshire pudding. It’s hard to tell.
So thus far, my backpack is filled with nothing but promises that I’ll get my act together soon. It’s just like that one time when I moved to Germany with only three pairs of socks…
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