1st gear

Last night I tried to sit and take stock of the last week or so because quite simply I do not know whether I am coming or going just now. That wasn’t easy either as there was some kind of cleaning frenzy taking place chez Von Trapps. Every now and then the activities of a tribe of mess-making kids, me and the Phantom Untidiers who inhabit our house leave just too much to clear up and so the Great Clearer-Upper gets to work and turns the whole place inside out to clean it. So it was that I had, for part anyway, to join in.

Anyway some things are quite clear. I received a welcome phone call last week informing me that my situation d’emploi is set to change for the better and see me in a new office somewhere on the south-side of Sydney, Australia.

Excellent news indeed but merely the beginning of the increasingly complex process to actually get permission to go there. Gone are the days when one could simply call up the Embassy, make an appointment to see someone and fill out a standard form to confirm you actually were the person you said you were, get a stamp in your passport and book your flight or your boat ticket.

These days it’s incredible what has to be done. So much so, that I wouldn’t even dream of describing it here, suffice to say that we need photos of everyone, medicals for everyone, X-rays for some of us, proof that we are who we say we are (that’s going to be hard for the Phantom Untidiers), lists of what we’ve done at work confirmed to be true by the people who employed us, copies of bank statements, copies of qualifications, copies of letters to us, copies of photos of us and more official multi-page forms all filled out with even more copies and lists. And everything that has to be copied has to be a genuine certified copy that it is a real copy. Certified by someone who everyone knows is really and truly who they say they are. Thus ruling out the Phantom Untidiers as people who can certify our documents.

You get my drift. You can also see why it’s necessary to take stock because no matter how we try to simply make a checklist of things to do that we can tick off as we get them done, it seems like the process for getting to Australia is at the moment stuck in first gear revving its nuts off.

We will somehow find a way to change into second gear, that is assuming I don’t get felled by the mop handle sticking through the banisters, left there by the Great Clearer-Upper as I came down the stairs last night…

A frog in the throat?

We first heard it in the back of the car whilst driving into Bern for a day out. Above the ambient cacophony of baby singing, toddlers rambling and arguing and the tzzk-tzzk, tzzk-tzzka, tzzk-tzzk of MP3 player set loud enough to be heard there appeared to be a frog in the car.

A bit hard to hear at first but there it was again, a croaking noise. Definitely a frog. Had Ted found one and smuggled it into the car?

We’d worry about it later.

After a joint schlepp round we split up into two groups so that I could take the toddlers off for a cursory visit to the most expensive toy shop in the world, Mum and Zoe could get some peaceful shopping in, arranging to meet up at a favourite restaurant for lunch. The arrow through the head had worked on our “just arrived at her teens” daughter and both ears were now properly pierced sporting pretty little sparkly studs. We went through the shopping bags and their contents, I have to say, with a little less enthusiasm than usual due to the dull ache in my head from the whisky ‘degustation’ the night before with some colleagues from work. That was my fault though and another story.

The food was a welcome relief, served up by our delightfully polite waiter whom we knew but whose name we couldn’t say until we asked him. Alam knows us from other visits.

Then all fell quiet at the table except for the munch-munch, clink-clink of knives and forks working away at ribs, burgers and fries as is often the case when long-awaited food turns up. It was all quiet until the frog piped up again. We looked first at each other and then smiled as the croaking began in earnest, it had suddenly become obvious where the frog had come from.

Scarlett sat at her place with a big fork in one hand, chicken nugget in the other, a serviette half-stuffed down her t-shirt and red ketchup making its way gradually across her face all the while burping away like a true master! One after the other came and when there was a lull it was duly forced out thus amplifying its tone.

As anyone in these situations knows, to repsond in a particular way is tantamount to starting a game that is impossible to stop. We tried at first to ignore it and it did go away only to return some minutes later once the audience were ready. Of course it’s impossible not to laugh and we sat there all together having a good old giggle.

Perhaps those far eastern countries have got it right?