Lausanne

'Let's go travelling!' the enthusiastic email says. Okay! I hardly need persuading. The only slight hitch is that two weeks of holiday seem to have turned into two free days, one of which is spent comatose after driving back from Blighty. Chronic apathy and all that.

Switzerland is the chosen destination and Lausanne seems as good a place as any for a day of shamelessly touristy shenanigans. Due to a slight oversight in Franco-swiss relations, the most convenient train leaves at a time that is acceptably only to Jack the Ripper and Thatcher, and we all know what became of them. Nevertheless, I once again form a strange bobble-hatted silhouette whizzing down the streets of Chambery, baguette à la main, with seconds to spare.

I look forward to beautiful views of rolling Swiss hills and tasty toblerones and promptly fall asleep. Am woken up by a not-so-beautiful or tasty conductor wanting to see my railcard. Can only hope he hadn't been poking me too long while I lay slumped, gaping-mouthed and twitching.

Switzerland appears through the windows, snowy and very cold. My companion cheerfully informs me that the forecast predicted highs of -2 degrees. The train arrives and we leap out into the bustling metropolis of Lausanne, ready for a day of exploration and culture.

Hang on; where are all the people? A quick hunt around reveals that the shops don't open until 10am.
Somehow, sneakily, we seem to have become ever so slightly French, and we're shocked that people haven't been up and about since 8am.

After a not-so-brief introduction of Lush to a Trinidadian, we explore the old town, bags full of natural deodorant and massage blocks. Lausanne is very steep and it's good fun slipping around on compressed ice with massive drops scarily close. Our map doesn't show that the streets are at different levels, so some crossroads turn out to be bridges a significant height above the other road. You've got to admire that stubborn Swiss determination in building a city on such a steep hill.

And I thought climbing was my most risky activity...A typically graphic French warning sign.

We soon leave the town centre and head towards a large green area on our tourist map. In real life it's rather more white, being submerged beneath a foot of snow. Still, it's pretty, and we look forward to seeing some sites marked on the map: a small castle, a hermit cave, a chocolaterie and a lake. Luckily, the snow proves entertaining for my companion, who hasn't experienced much in her native Caribbean home. I say this, because nearly all our eagerly awaited sites aren't quite as expected:

- The 'petit chateau' is extremely petit and appears to be little more than a house with a fancy name.
- 'L'hermitage' turns out not to be an ancient hermit dwelling place, but an art centre that is distinctly shut.
- 'La chocolaterie' never appears. Big disappointment.

Fortunately, we're treated to an impressive view over the city and the lake and a cosy, little restaurant at the top of the hill provides Swiss cheese and ducks.

The rest of the day sees a bimble through town, an attempted passport exchange with a man selling crepes, lake-side unicyclists on obstacle courses, an amazing children's play area (tested!) and the Olympic Museum, complete with giant, moving models of abs and various other body parts. The outdoor escalator particularly impresses: what better way to encourage people to participate in sport...

A characteristically hassled sprint back to the station and we're safely on our train, back in time for Plus Belle La Vie, France's favourite soap.