So yesterday we went on the "Golden Roundtrip" to Mount Pilatus. This involved a 90 minute boat trip around the lake, a 40 minute trip up the world´s steepest cogwheel railway (a stomach-fluttering 48 degree incline), a short climb up to the point where you have a 360 degree view of most of Switzerland, and a 30 minute trip down the mountain in a tiny cable car. It was a bit misty up there, but we enjoyed it.

(Mind you, it would have been better except for the 55 minute wait in a tiny area for the cogwheel railway.)

I would tell you more, but it´s sunny outside ...

If you live in, say, Colorado, teaching local geography must be easy. Draw a rectangle; put a dot somewhere in the centre and a bit up; that´s a map of Colorado showing the capital, Denver. Then take the rest of the week off. Go fishing, or something.

Switzerland, on the other hand, has a lot of geography. There are 23 cantons, two major religious groupings, and four federal languages. A relief map of the country, or a political map showing the state boundaries, will both have the same characteristic: lumpy.

In 1798 the French revolutionary government occupied the country and turned it, in the rational French manner, into a unitary republic. It didn´t last. As soon as they could, the Swiss reestablished their own complex federation, the various bits clicking neatly together as intricately as a watch.

And like one of their watches, it works, smoothly and quietly. The quality of life here is excellent. The food is good, the streets are clean, and the public transport is cheap and efficient. When you ask for a cup of coffee, you can be sure of getting really good coffee - unlike in England where you are just as likely to be given a mug of brown stuff with globs of burnt sienna floating in it, that could just as easily be tea or oxtail soup.

Although the place looks good - neat and elegant - the people seem to lack the obsession with appearance that so often characterises their neighbours. At the Seepark, a small park that just out into the lake, Luzerners of all ages gather to lie on the grassy hillocks and soak up the sun, or wander down to the narrow strip of sandy beach to splash about in the water.

Unlike the French or Germans, who regard Getting Your Kit Off as practically an
Olympic event, the Swiss are more modest, changing into their beach clothes sedately under a towel, in the British fashion - although with an air of sparing their neighbours´ blushes rather than their own.

Research has shown that few of the women lying in the sun were bathing topless. (This research consisted of me having a good look round and going, "Hey! You can see that woman´s boobs!" from time to time. Scientific, you see)

The clothes were quietly tasteful and casual - on the street as well as at the beach, the men wear t-shirts and shorts, and often sandals. In England, only geography teachers wear sandals. Of course, there may well be that many geography teachers in Switzerland - it really does have a lot of geography.

I´ve finally managed to find some time to update the weblog. We´re still here in Luzern, Switzerland. It´s a smallish town lying in the westernmost corner of a lake, and stretches out for some distance along both sides of the lake. In the background, high up above the city, is the 2132-metre high Mount Pilatus.

This is my second visit to Switzerland and, though it is beautiful to look at, elegant and sophisticated in a very middle European way, there´s still something underwhelming about the country. Susanne and I agree that we need a magic door in our flat in London. That way, we can enjoy the delights of the big city, but every so often we can go through the magic door into Luzern, and go for a coffee and croissant under the trees, and go shopping in a supermarket where you can get real food. And get a tramcar out to the lakeside and go for a swim.

They do have some odd habits here, though. The Dish of the Day in one restaurant on Wednesday was Pferdesteak . In case you have not guessed by the title of the entry, Pferde means horse.

Well, after all the months of planning and organising and fretting, we finally tied the knot.

We had our Polterabend - a German traditional pre-wedding party - on Saturday afternoon and evening, and a wide variety of friends from various places came along. It was a fairly low-key affair, except for the crockery.

One tradition of the Polterabend (which means, roughly, 'smashing evening') involves the smashing of old crockery. Guests bring along crockery and smash it on the threshold. The couple have to sweep up the resulting mess.

It was a lot of fun to watch the guests realise that they could actually fling those old plates and cups down on the ground and make a noise. We did get a few odd looks from the neighbours, but everybody seemed to have a good time.

Then today, we went to Southwark Registry Office and in a short but dignified ceremony before a few friends we got married. We stood outside on the back porch and took photographs. And then we went to a French restaurant and had a delicious dinner.

And now we're home, packing for our honeymoon in Switzerland. There are lots of pictures, and lots more detail, but there simply isn't time to post either here. Maybe later. Apparently there are better things than blogging for a groom to do on his wedding night.

So the Franklin Mint - in a press release containing one spelling error and one grammatical error - has explained that it does not want its current legal action against the Diana Fund to stop the Fund's support for various charities.

Not that I'm a huge fan of Diana, but the Fund has been supportive of many highly worthy causes. The Franklin Mint, on the other hand, is a purveyor of some of the most egregious crap ever to grace the pages of cheap magazines. I mean, this stuff is really shit. There's no other word that does justice to its utter lack of quality.

Following the success of a class action suit against tobacco manufacturers, and the mooted suit against junk food companies, is there perhaps a chance of a similar suit against the purveyors of tat? For passive kitsch, perhaps?

It is, as Ella Fitzgerald once pointed out, too darned hot.

I should be busy making this place ready for a party. But I have not been. Because it's too hot.

Instead, I'm writing this. But I have been active.

Over the past week or so I have had a new kitchen installed and attended a funeral. The funeral was for the sister of an old friend (and exgirlfriend) of mine. Her sister had gone to live in Canada a year ago, and unexpectedly drowned. She was 13 weeks pregnant. It was a very sad affair - Carol was young and healthy, and a lovely, positive, lively person. The funeral was big and emotional - a large extended black east London family, and practically everyone was in tears.

Meanwhile, here we now have a new kitchen, with a dishwasher. I've never had a dishwasher before - well my family in Dublin did, but we only used it at Christmas I think. No more washing up! Ever!

Why am I not convinced about that?

I also went off to Calais with Susanne and Philipp and a couple of friends, and we spent a lovely afternoon in Boulogne drinking red wine and eating mussels and watching the local French people dressing up as Napoleonic soldiers, gathering in the town square, and then solemnly marching through the streets, in full dress uniform, past the cheese shops and the dentists as people stood around watching idly and licking ice creams as they passed.

The Calais trip was all about booze. We stopped in the hypermarket on the way back and stocked up with about 40 bottles of wine and about 80 bottles of beer - all at ridiculously low prices by UK standards. This will all go on the wedding party, which amazingly is just next Saturday. I'm worried - mainly about the fact that I'm not panicking, and I ought to...