One last thing...

Retreating behind the glass of a shop entrance for cover, the flash bang was still loud enough to invoke a flinch from those of us holding the first floor of the mall. Strangely, the explosion wasn't followed up with a charge up the stairs; we resumed positions and stared down at the enemy forces holding the stairwell. After a tense guessing game we got some lucky shots in and cleared the stairwell. This was all we really had to do. We were guarding the ammunition box at the top of the stairs and as long as we could hold those stairs the box was safe; the back stairwell was firmly within our territory and so if we were attacked from there defence would be rather pointless anyway.

The stairwell was vulnerable to incoming fire from a shop not quite opposite, meaning we could find cover behind the old lift and the banister. Unfortunately the angle meant that to engage the enemy I would have to fire left-handed, and only had time for a few shots before having to duck back under cover as the return fire pinged and zipped its way around the stairwell. It was infuriating. Technically there was no need to kill the people in the shop opposite, but technicalities be damned- I wanted their heads. My brother had just had an idea, so we both dropped down into the space between the stairwell and the back of the lift. We would have a perfect shot through the doors of the shop, and even better, they wouldn't have been able to see us move to our new position and so would not be expecting us.  Ben popped his head out, only to pull it back in with a quick curse. He holstered his rifle, drawing a pistol instead.

"There's one right there- against that corner" he snarled, popping out again to take a few pot-shots with the pistol.

He was right; just as those in the shop hadn't seen us, we in turn hadn't seen this guy creeping up the pillar diagonally opposite our position on the stairwell, shielded by the same lift that had given us cover. I drew my own pistol, the metal cold and unforgiving in my hands.

"You go high, I'll go low," I told him. To be frank, I had no idea if that was a desirable tactic, but someone had done the same earlier and we were both still there to tell the tale. He nodded, and counted us in. We both poked our heads out, waiting for our enemy to make his move.

A glimpse of his head; we both fired. A roar from Ben's handgun as he fired. A click from mine froze me up. Our foe had his gun up before I had the presence of mind to duck back into cover. Why was my pistol misfiring? I looked it over, and then cursed myself for being so stupid. There was no clip in the pistol. Short of throwing the thing at him, it was useless. Holstering it, I picked up my rifle once more, and leaned out, much more exposed. This time I felt the air parted as enemy fire whistled past me. Back into cover. And then the tannoy system bleated out. "Three, two one... game over!"

Of course it wasn't real. In real life I would never run as fast as I did when I went to an airsoft game. But it was something to do; something to keep me busy. There were also the Boxing Day Games, a curious tradition which dictates that on Boxing Day the village of Cookham Dean must hold such memorable events as a Space-Hopper race, the Dizzy Pole game (a relay race where you run up to a pole in the ground, put your hand on the pole your head on your hand, spin round it ten times and then run back) and the blindfolded obstacle course, where one of your team guides two other teammate who are blindfolded and in the waltzing position though an obstacle course made of hay bales. It's strange to think that this year, instead of politely saying hello to everyone and then disappearing back up to Leeds again in January, I will actually be around for 'the foreseeable future'. 'The foreseeable future' is a mysterious and ominous phrase that I have taken to using when describing how long I will be at home for, for no other reason than that it sounds cool; I am actually rather happy in my tiny room (though it does need a thorough clean as the cat seems to have left hairs everywhere, if my allergic reaction is anything to go by). 

Strange as it is to think that I will now be applying for jobs, and walking the dog, and playing on the PlayStation regularly, it is even stranger to remember that just over a week ago I was in the Swiss Alps. I was in another world, it seems at times, a place where I was Scouting all day and all night, where the dishwasher was made of sheet metal and the snow was measured at all, rather than simply hoped for. I thought it even stranger, at first, at how little I was missing the place. The people, of course, are irreplaceable, but I haven't found myself sighing and longing for a Thought For The Day to get me up in the morning. And then I realised that I've not been missing it because, in a very real sense, I haven't left it behind. KISC is with me in any number of little ways. I don't mind the cold any more in Britain; I think nothing of loading the dishwasher just once after dinner or lunch. I hope that I've taken some of KISC with me in my personality and the way I behave towards other people, and I know that I've remembered that a Scout doesn't have to live in a World Centre in order to be a Scout all day long; the spirit of 'why wait for someone else to do the right thing?' has stayed with me, even if it is in something as small as tidying up, turning off a light bulb or taking out a bin when it's full (which is actually something that we all used to struggle with in my house in Leeds!) And for all those wondering how wanting to shoot high-velocity plastic pellets at my fellow man fits into that world view, then remember that it's just a game, and there's nothing that scouts love more than a good game!

I'm staring at the hat I got from KISC, which says on it 'live the dream'. When I first got to KISC I thought that it was the place itself that was the dream; the building, the activities, the people, the mountains. I thought that I would have to wake up from the dream when I came back home (I know, it's a terrible metaphor we're in here, but be brave) but instead, as I wrestle mightily to bring this blog to a close, I realised that KISC, and its dream, is a state of mind. When they tell you to live the dream, they don't mean have a great time and then spend your time afterwards reminiscing and sighing that it's over. What they really mean is to take what you found at KISC, whatever it may be, and fit it in to your life at home. So whenever I wear that hat, or put my highly fashionable pink jumper on, or look up from my desk at my KISC neckerchief, I remember that I had three glorious months to help run a chalet, and learn all that I could take from that chalet to live in my own life. Not a bad thing, that.

Now, I have a cup of tea to attend to, so go make yourself one and thanks very much for reading this blog. I wish you a happy 2012, and if you find yourself at a loose end at all during it then why not see if I've written another blog- it might pass five minutes or so...

Preparing to leave

Note: I would have posted this before I left, but I was busy packing and such. Look out for one more post as well in about half a week!


Finding myself with a bag half-packed, and some angry mediocre metal playing, it's becoming increasingly apparent that the end of my time here at KISC is coming to an end. Since the last few days have been rather nice, I thought I might take the time to relate them to you.


Firstly, Jon Mozley came out to visit me for the past three days. And secondly, just as he arrived, it started snowing in a big way. The snow has been touch-and-go for a while (I even blogged about it in the Think Pink Blog, which I have been regularly posting in- give it a read!) but on the day Jon arrived we had a good 10cm. The day after we had a föhn wind, which is a warm wind that turns your wonderful snow into rain. However even that wasn't so bad, since we headed over to Adelboden to see how Kat is settling into Our Chalet. She's doing fine, and even has her own blog where you can read all about what she's up to over there. We were at the Chalet for their annual 'invite the neighbours round for a sing-song' evening, which was very fun, partially because people thought that Jon and myself were part of the staff team and so kept shaking our hands on the way in and out! The day after that, I was working, but managed to get enough time in lunchbreak to go sledding with Jon and Kat and Anna, a girl from Our Chalet who had come over with Kat to see KISC.


Unfortunately, my camera doesn't work well in the snow; touchscreens are confused by water, it would seem. It was a shame too, since it was one of the most beautiful afternoons I have spent here. Snow covering everything in sight, transforming the landscape that I was used to into a smooth and undulating paradise of powdery dust. Just the four of us, sledding and throwing snowballs, the sound of our laughter and screams muted by the still-falling snow, drifting down to try and cover the tracks we had made. I always  think of Winter as the end of the year (as I suppose most of the Northern Hemisphere does) and so the idea of sledding through the snow at the end of my KISC experience has a certain poetic feeling to it. It was almost like the final shot of a film, panning out to lose the four small shapes in the white of the snow, the soft light of the sunshine diffracting through the snowclouds and blurring the sky and the ground together into a seamless continuum of grey-white. I had never felt sadder to be leaving, and the day between then and now has been tinged with an aura of melancholy. However, it feels far from a cliché. I have had a life-changing experience here, and made friends who I will do my best to keep from slipping away from as the years and the distances grow between us.


Of course, it's not all that bad. I am looking forward to being at home again, not least because we have a bath at home that I can relax in, and a dog who I hope will recognise me! I also, interestingly enough, have a job interview on the 21st for the role of part-time segway driver! As exciting as that is, I am also going to start looking for a 'real' job (meaning that it has a salary instead of an hourly rate; that's as much as I can work out regarding the difference between a real job and a pretend one) I have also just found a link to a job as a receptionist, and an Editorial Coordinator. So I have ten minutes to negotiate the confusing application process, and then it is back to catering for my last day of work with good cheer and Christmas songs playing!

A week of changes

It feels as if it has been forever since I last posted on here, though in reality it's barely been over a week! With that in mind I am not starting this post with an apology for it's lateness as was previously planned, though it was such a good apology that I might delay the next post so that I can get it in.


Anyway, as the title suggests, it's been a bit of a week of upheaval. Kat came out to visit, which was cracking, and then we had Staff Day Out, organised in secret for all the staff of the Autumn season. We went to see some Roman Ruins, which were pretty inspiring, then we went to do Go-Karting, which I have decided is officially one of my favourite things to do ever! We then rounded off with a trip to the Swiss version of Cadbury World, which even managed to have a weird bit about Aztecs in it just like Cadbury World; the only difference was that the voice-over man was a HUGE fan of chocolate, so much so that it was a little worrying! Then, after that, we had a half day of work and then an afternoon of deep-cleaning the staff-room in preparation for the new Winter season Shorties, which was exhausting and not helped by the hangover I was working through from the Staff Day Out Party the day before!


That was yesterday. Today, I am writing this from one of the bunks in the Africa Room on the first floor of the Old Chalet. Three of the Autumn Shorties have left this morning: Johan, who you will all of course recall is from Sweden, Laura from Australia and Rikke from Denmark. Of the five remaining, one of us is moving tonight into her flat as a Long Term Staff Member (Caoimhe, from Ireland) and the remaining four of us are in the Africa Room as Helpers. We get to wear the exclusive colour of Green (in a work place where everyone is in pink, it's quite special, trust me!) and basically cook and clean while the Long Term Staff get all the new shorties through training. Speaking of them, one has already arrived and the others are all due in before 5 tomorrow, when training begins.


These changes, while not exactly upsetting, have just left me feeling a bit unsettled, like a pile of leaves kicked up by the wind that hasn't had time to drift back down to earth yet. I'm lying in my bunk, my stuff half-packed underneath me, wishing that I was either at home or back in the Staff Room dreading having to get up early for catering tomorrow. This room feels like a waiting room, a limbo between being staff and being a civilian again. The bunk bed feels cramped, and there aren't enough places to put my things. I can't pack because it's still another ten days before I leave, but I can't get everything out otherwise everyone will have to walk over my socks to get to bed. Meanwhile, Kat is over at Our Chalet, making snowflakes and having much more snow that we have at KISC and generally having a grand time, which has the unintentional side-effect of making my bunk bed all the more cramped and lonely.


There's nothing to be done about it; I'll get used to things when training gets under way tomorrow, and my scheme of pretending to have a Welsh accent around the new Shorties will hopefully work and confuse them all mightily! But right now I am in a bit of a slump. Only Men Aloud, the welsh male choir who won a telly show a while ago, is drifting over the speakers, and I have a stash of chocolate at the foot of the bed, so to top it all I also feel like I'm about to hit the menopause or something. I guess it's always tough waking up after the dream ends!

Where did all the time go?

I am starting to lose track of which day it is, which is disappointing; part of the problem is that I've stopped writing what I'm doing each day in my diary,  which means that I can't think to myself "I'm in House today, so it must be Wednesday". Instead, all I know is that I am definitely in House, and the question of what day it is has to be discarded in favour of easier questions, such as "how much GH31 detergent do I put in with a wash that is roughly 5/8 full, and therefore right in the middle of a half load and a 3/4 load?" (the answer, by the way, depends on what you are washing. Kitchen articles, for example, take more than Pinks!) And to make matters even worse, I am going to have to start paying attention to what day it is quite soon!


For example, Kat is coming on Friday this week, and staying until Tuesday- or Wednesday, I can't remember. This means that I need to know when Friday is, and when Tuesday or Wednesday are, and not get them in the wrong order and drop Kat off at the station before I've picked her up (or not picked her up, if I get Friday wrong too). Still with me? Good, because the Wednesday before Kat is here we have a General Staff Meeting, which means I not only have to know which day that Wednesday is, but also not confuse it with the next Wednesday and leave Kat on her own while I go to a meeting that happened the week before (assuming that she is even here on that Wednesday and that it wasn't the Tuesday which she was supposed to go). Also, on the Sunday that she is here, we have Staff Evaluations so I need to remember which day Sunday is. So, that's (maybe) two Wednesdays, a Tuesday (maybe), a Friday and a Sunday. Oh and then the Thursday after Kat's gone it's Staff Day Out... or was the Wednesday? No it might be Wednesday, in which case Kat definitely goes on Tuesday... or if she is really going on Wednesday then I've made a right hash of organising things! Then on the Friday after Kat leaves we are deep cleaning the staffroom, so I need to get Friday right or Miguel will get very upset when I try and vacuum his bed when he's still in it. Thankfully I can distinguish between morning and afternoon still, so it's actually unlikely that I'll vacuum Miguel's bed while he's still in it; more likely I'll have stolen all his bedlinen before he goes to bed on the wrong day.


Anyway, sorry for that long and confusing paragraph. I am quite tired from my journey to Our Chalet today. For the uninitiated among you, Our Chalet is an international centre for the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts (or WAGGGS, rather amusingly). It's essentially the same as KISC, I hear, but a bit smaller and rather prettier on the inside. I had a day off and an invitation from the maintenance guy over there, so I hiked over Bunderspitz and down to Adelboden, and amongst the plethora of chalets dotted around I finally found the one with a giant trefoil on it. Walking up, I was greeted by a rather friendly looking ginger cat, and I suppose it was my fault for picking it up but it still bit me, which I thought was unwelcoming to say the least. Setting aside whatever doubts I had germinating in the soil of my soul, however, I pressed on up to the chalet proper. A car was just pulling out as I got there, but there was still a car and a van left so I reasoned that there would be at least one person around. It is the quiet season after all, and the website said that they were renovating, but I figured that there must be someone around to feed the cat (or maybe not, which would explain the little horror from down the drive)
However, there was nobody there. The place seemed deserted. I knocked on a few doors, and peered in through a few windows, but nothing. It was like they'd seen a smelly boy coming up the drive, set the cat on me and all gone and hidden in the basement. I even rang the phone, to see if that could galvanise someone out of a cupboard of wherever they were hiding, but instead I just stared at the phone in the reception, three feet away from me, which stared back at me as it rung, and smugly remained unanswered. I sat down on a bench, hoping that the person who had driven off had just gone to the shops for a newspaper or something, and as I sat there two things happened: firstly, I remembered that Kristoff, who had invited me over in the first place, was on holiday and so not in. Secondly, another cat came and sat next to me. And then promptly started clawing at the bench. Understandably, I was a tad nervous. However, I didn't seem to be in immediate danger so I continued to sit there, refusing to be cowed by the threat of being shredded like a chicken. Understanding this, and obviously wishing to push the envelope a little further, the cat took an interest in my sandwich. It almost climbed into my lap to get to the sandwich, and when I gave it a corner of said sandwich it immediately ate the ham and cheese, and then left the bread! Speaking of sandwiches, have they always been spelt without the 'h' after the 'w'? Really? When did I start making that spelling mistake?!


Giving up on Our chalet as a bad job, I had to get the bus back home. At this stage I realised that I had no cash. This meant that I had to go all the way over to Adelboden to find a cash machine. Interestingly, it turns out that when they say that Our Chalet is in Adelboden, what they mean is that it's on the other side of a little valley and the village itself is set all the way up the hill, and the genius who designed the place thought that the best place for the cash machine was right at the top. So I missed my bus, and to be fair it could have been worse, but remember that I was still bearing a nasty cat bite and the disappointment of no girl guides to show me round their stupid centre, so it was a crushing end to the day! The hike itself was lovely, though; perfect weather, and no blisters which is always a bonus!


Anyway, I need to do some captions on the Facebook photos from my time here, so I guess that's all for now! And who knows, by the next blog post I might be a Pinkie no longer...

The Two-thirds-of-the-way-mark

The lights in the staffroom are terrible. The energy saving light bulbs seem to be saving energy by no actually illuminating anything, and the only saving grace is the lamp that stands near the window, which manages to single-handedly illuminate the entire room. It's the one thing that I would change about KISC if I had the opportunity; I love the work, the food is good, and the people are all wonderful, but my God the staffroom is dingy in the evenings!


The evenings are getting colder now; down to -6 on some nights. I only know this because Mum and Dad have just visited and I saw the temperature in the rental car they had for the trip. It was lovely to see them, and it also meant that I finally made it out of the valleys and into a real city- Bern. It's a beautiful city, though I wasn't entirely sure what to make of the architecture; some bits were very German, but there were some bits that you could convince yourself were Italian if it hadn't been for the freezing cold. I also managed to purchase (finally) a soft-shell jacket, at a very reasonable price, so the whole trip was really rather nice! However, they have now gone home again, leaving at 5am this morning to get the plane (and in typical Dad style, Dad took the room key with him!) They've taken some of my clothes home with them, so hopefully my bag should actually fit all my stuff in it properly for the return journey instead of bulging out at every angle, threatening to burst like an overstuffed pillow if I so much as look at it wrong. And also, them going home marks the two-thirds point of my stay here at KISC.


I am due home on the 20th December, staying for an additional 10 days as a helper while the new Shorties are trained up and some of the long-term staff are also trained up (apparently they need training too, and are not just born with the skills they need as it sometimes seems!). It's a strange period of time, because I'm unsure of whether to start reminiscing about the good times had in preparation for the journey home, or whether I should still be thinking that I have ages until I'm leaving this fantastic place. There is just over a month left of my time here; in some ways that is a long time (or will be if I start preparing to leave) and in other ways it's still quite a long time to go. In the meantime I'll just settle for cracking on with work. Two days in a row of catering this week, and despite my earlier grumbles in past posts about catering it has been a lot of fun. Wednesday morning saw me completely on my own, pottering around the kitchen washing up the three spoons that got used at breakfast and making what was (apparently) a very successful orange sponge cake for Pol's birthday. Today it's been me and Rikke, and after a devastatingly uneventful morning, in which the Spanish Omelet still managed to be about 10 minutes late due to the egg refusing to cook, we are looking at whipping up some soup and sweet and sour pork for dinner. Then hopefully this evening we shall be watching the Lord of the Rings (because any spare three hours in your life can hardly be filled with anything more suitable) and then, this weekend, I have a very exciting job. In the village this weekend there is some sort of fair going on, and KISC is having a large black German tent with a fire and some games. And I get to help run it! How cool is that?! I can't decide whether I am more excited about the tent or the fire or what, but I am very much looking forward to it, before getting back to work at the centre next week.


That's about all for now, I think I'll just read a bit more of my book before I get back in the kitchen...

Musings upon Britishness, the state of homeliness and the nature of time

The last two days in a row have seen some of us watching Monty Python films- The Meaning of Life, and And Now For Something Completely Different- and the welcome blast of Englishness has prepared me for my parents visiting tomorrow. It's strange how much I miss British speech; although hardly common, the odd "by Jove" and "I say" really make me feel at home! But thinking of being at home, it really is remarkable how quickly KISC came to feel like home. The familiarity of the centre has already reached the stage where moving something around- such as cooking in the guest kitchens while we deep-clean the normal kitchen- just doesn't feel right, and the return to the normal kitchen today actually caused a palpable wave of relief to flow through me. It's a shame, then, that I am already in my last four weeks as a shortie here at KISC!


Somehow, somewhere, the time has gone. It's not that I've not done anything while I've been here; last week Johan and I went up the Niesenbahn (the steepest funicular railway I've ever been on, and certainly the longest!) and saw some of the best views I've yet seen of the Kander valley. I've also done lots of work, including splitting tree trunks as big as tractor tyres and building a floor. It really is like they told us when we started; the time just disappears! Which, it must be said, is better than it crawling by. Which, paradoxically, it is doing now. I am on duty, which means that I can't go to bed until at least 10:30 in case one of the four guests we have in the chalet right now needs something. At 10:30 I have to go on a walk round the centre, making sure that all the right doors are locked, lights are off, and that anybody who hasn't yet arrived knows where they have to go. It's ironic that I was thinking only a few days ago that it had been weeks since I was on duty, and that I actually missed being the one who gives their thought for the day in the morning, and now here I am wishing the time would go faster so I can go to bed! Incidentally, my thought this morning can be viewed here and is well worth a watch if you've not already seen it! And if you have, then why not watch it again?


I've just noticed the loose, disconnected prose that this blog is becoming. Usually I write something down in my journal before posting it here, so it has time to be thought out a bit more and maybe edited slightly before making it out where literally tens of people will read it. Right now, however, I am pretty much free writing. Just fingers to keyboard, and if the brain gets in the way first with a thought then so much the better. I apologise, therefore, if this post is a little sloppier than some of my other ones. I will do a proper blog post soon, promise! Maybe after Mum and Dad have gone on Thursday...

Climbing and Schwingen from the rafters!

I did my first real rock climb on Tuesday- very rewarding! Jon Morgan and I did 6 pitches (apparently that means a rope length, about 50m) to the top of this rock and then 3 abseils down. It was quite tough, but it was fantastic to get to the top and look down at what we had come up! I'm not sure whether I prefer it to hiking, but I definitely hope to go again! Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much longer we will get to do exciting activities like that; the weather is due to close in any day now. Yesterday we had a fern, which is a strong and sometimes warm wind which howls down the valley (and makes all the flags wrap around the flagpoles in strange and incomprehensible ways, which is a real pain when you're in House, as I am today!) and after the fern we usually get either rain or snow. It's been cloudy ever since the fern, and apparently at the weekend it's due to get worse, so hiking may be off but who knows- skiing and sledging may well be on!

Work-wise it's been quite a good week; yesterday I was in grounds, splitting tree-trunks with Johan and Sam, and refilling the sauna's woodstore. In the wake of the tree-trunk splitting a man-points chart has been put up in the staff-room, to document all the manly (or unmanly) activities that go on amongst the staff. So far Pol has lost points for bullying a girl, and Kyle has gained points for a fart. It's a promising start, to  be sure. Today is House, which is quite fun despite the flags of doom- quite a few check-ins to do, and I managed to have a great session cleaning bathrooms listening to Pete Tong on the essential mix from 2002 (look it up, it's a fantastic track!) Alas, on the PR front progress on the blog remains slow. However, now that Pol is back off holiday I can hopefully learn to use the Mac's editing software (unfortunately Windows Movie Maker just doesn't cut the mustard for what I want to do!). It is a shame, since I have always tried to avoid Mac on the grounds that I don't like them, but then sometimes we just have to man up and get on with life!

On Tuesday, in addition to climbing, the whole staff team went out to learn how to do Schwingen, which is a Swiss wrestling style invented by farmers. The rules  of this sport which is woefully underplayed in the UK are fairly simple; you play in a ring with sawdust on the floor, and each combatant wears special shorts with a leather belt. Each opponent has one hand on their opponents belt at the back of the shorts, and another on their leg, and the idea is to get your opponent onto their back. We had a blast, and some of us weren't even that bad at it! I came away with a bruised toe, crushed finger, and aches which are only now showing on Friday (though some of that might be from the manly log-splittng which we were doing).

I don't know what I'm doing after lunch, but I'm going to leave now so that I can relax a bit before getting back to work!