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Switzerland with Mazz Izzy and I

The journey begins from the moment you leave your bedroom, the holiday starts a minute later when you're out the house.

Tuesday 9.03pm BST. Hatfield Peverel, Essex, UK

It was a humid Tuesday in mid July. The birds were out singing in the rural village of Hatfield Peverel, our hero ran to the chauffeur's car. "Hi Mum", "Hi Dear" "where can i take you", " the station, please", "are you going into London?", "On my way to, Geneva"... "Dear i wish you'd tell me about your excursions... your dinner will be in the fridge"
Drew clutched in one hand a 'permit to travel', a back pack on his shoulder, he mounted the train with a leap. And sat nervously awaiting for the onslaught of beggers disguised as law enforcing ticket inspectors, they never came.

Tuesday 10.05pm. Canada Water, London, UK

"Disc Brakes" Drew was faking an interest in Mazza's bike. His was better. Mazza was exstatic with his new bike (new to him). It had transformed him into the preadolesent child he was 8 years before. A time before Drew and Sam studied at university and had coalesced in the horticulture of canaboids... an event otherwise known as the big fire of 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002 and 2003.

They slumbered at Mazza's masonnette in Surrey Keys. Sam's flat was an accolade to Feng Shui , with its cool clean straight lines, toning lights and pizza boxes precariously balancing on the coffee table. They enlisted the help of a half drunken tequila bottle and began emphatically outlining plans for general world domination "in the pipeline", "damn idioms". A discussion they had bothed rehearsed many times before. The conversation went to the dishevled garden, a relic of when the Berlin wall came down..

...The tequila bottle was decommissioned at one point.

Tuesday 3:45am: The Taxi: North Circular

"Aaarghhhh.... Thorpe park would be proud to get there hands on this one" The screams could not be heard outside above the sound of the engine and the rushing of wind. The clapped out 1986 Mercedes Benz felt like 'Collosus'. "The seat belt socket... Where is it !! where is it!..." it had sunken into the void of th back seat... Drew clinched everything, Maz glanced with an expression that said sympathetically "well its been fun". The driver rushed them all up to Luton at a sporadic 100mph, vigorously chewing on a Nat stick, racing every car in sight to get us to our plane on time and perhaps therefore a peaceful start to our holiday. The irony was lost.

Tuesday 4:30am: Luton Airports

Airports should be presribed to bipolars, its not a place of finding oneself, but it is possible to lose yourself in the wind of change - toliet jokes aside. Everyones relaxed and content, they're lives are back in the hands of schedules, pilots and customs - like a slave for a day, not having to make a decision. A point in ones life where the life performance has reached the interval. And all you have to do is go to the bar. An innebriated state, with a half-life to last the duration of the flight are mandatory where i come from and travel to, and is why i enjoy flying

Tuesday 9:40am GMT: Arriving in Geneva

We landed at ...uh... Genɬ©ve Aɬ©roport, i guess. Izzy greeted us at the arrival gate, with a tired smile which came easy to articulate, "Bonjour". Had it not been for a fourth member Tonky, the surrogate family would have been complete.

We took the number 10 bus into Geneva and jumped off "Just past McDonald's" in the 'La Servette' district. Drew was glad Izzy had decided to greet us, his email directions had not considered the other two McDonalds we passed on route.

Izzy's abode was a second floor flat with all the facility's to make a cup of lemon tea. We left in search of breakfast a task that confirmed my flawed knowledge of toasted panis, and the use of my index finger.

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Author

Andrew Dodson
Since:Feb 2007

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