Last year, I went for a check up at the Frauenklinik in Bern. It was the first time I came in contact with a Swiss hospital.

 I immediately noticed something quite unusual from my point of view - all the medical staff were wearing slippers, some even without socks. (more…)

Happy birthday.  Such over-familiar words, yet they sounded quirky and fresh when sung by Gregory’s Girl Clare Grogan, fronting New Wave Scottish band Altered Images back in 1981.

Happy, happy birthday in a hot bath.  What were they on when they wrote those lyrics? To those nice, nice nights.  What nights?  Do we really want to know? (more…)

Now we’re into autumn, everyone’s wondering when the unstoppable swine-flu pandemic is going to hit. Swiss health officials say the country is well prepared, and comedy public-information films are hitting the airwaves.

But are we really ready for the A/H1N1 flu-virus onslaught? (more…)

Only once during my time so far in Switzerland have I wished for better language skills in order to hurl a few insults.

It was last fall, at our closest tram stop. My near-term pregnant self had taken ten minutes to make the five-minute walk there. (more…)

‘Like’ is like the trendiest word in the young English-speaking world. It is synonymous with an unimaginable number of words. It is used to mean ‘say’, as in: “And I am like, that’s just so cool”! Or, “He was like, you idiot”!

It can be a meaningless filler, as in: “We were like dancing, right, when…” Or, “she came in like, and we went what”? It can even mean ‘similar to something’, as in: “you’re just like your father”! though such correct usage is rare these days. (more…)

My hands are sweaty, holding the heavy cymbals up. “Tutti, à mesure 167, s’il vous plaît!” With the briefest of pauses, the baton waggles, gives the upbeat and I crash them together fortissimo, with uneasy confidence while the rest of the orchestra breathes softly into life.

Everything grinds cacophonously to a halt as the conductor stops and stares at me through his little round spectacles, with a mixture of surprise and alarm. When percussionists go wrong, it’s spectacular. I seem to suffer from linguistic dyscalculia. (more…)