We arrived in Switzerland during Autumn, and have been enjoying what is apparently an unusually warm season. Not being from a wintry country, we’re excited by the prospect of a snowy season, although I suspect – based on the looks I get from people in my mothers’ group when I express said excitement – we don’t know what we’re in for.

The forecast last weekend was for -9 and, excitingly, snow. The first flurry arrived on Saturday, although we initially thought it was fat, white rain. Which I suppose, in a way, it is.

We all watched, agape, as the flakes grew and whirled, and the mountains became increasingly white throughout the day. Some right on the horizon looked as though they had been covered thickly in icing sugar.The adults in the house would have preferred to lie on the couch and soak in the view however our wee boss had other ideas. After a day indoors on Saturday there was an epic case of cabin fever, so even though the snow hit Lucerne again on Sunday – this time a heavier shower that coloured all the nearby rooftops white – we decided to suck it up and get outside. A fortifying breakfast was in order (yeah, our little Swans bruiser is knocking back egg, bacon and beans. And looking to pick a fight while she’s at it. It was Sunday morning, right?!)We rugged up in pretty much all our clothing. Laidey appears to have no feet here, or to have sunk into an uber plush rug, but in fact her pants are just embarrassingly large. We made our way to the park at the end of our street. By the time we arrived most of the snow on the ground had melted, but the mountains around held it proudly (and allegedly will now until April). During Loz’s visit, she and I took a tour of Lucerne city, hearing about its medieval and dark ages history, as well as more recent information on voting (all the time and on all manner of matters, like whether to hang original art on the bridge or not). Of course the tour took us to one of the city’s most famous sites: the Löwendenkmal (Lion Monument). I decided to play tour guide for Tim and we made our way across town, huddling into our jackets against the snow (but still peering out of them enthusiastically to ooh and aah as we walked).

The monument is carved into a natural stone wall. It is dedicated to the loyalty and bravery of the Swiss, commemorating mercenaries who died protecting the French monarchy (our tour guide told the story that the French King was quite the coward, and fled the palace leaving the Swiss guard to certainly be slain behind him. He also said that Cowardly King did not make it, and was busted on the streets of Paris and beheaded). Mark Twain famously said of the lion that it is the ‘most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world’ (Adelaide certainly though so, if the tears were anything to go by. She clearly has an appreciation for history and sculpture as opposed to, say, being bored and cold and possibly hungry). The monument was paid for by many monarchies of Europe, all of which used Swiss mercenaries for their bodyguards. The pay, however, was not satisfactory and the sculptor was displeased. Rather than deface the monument itself, he instead carved a (definitely unrequested) pig in which the lion is dying. The snow started to fall again, so we legged it home to drink fortifying red wine. It has continued softly falling all week – and if you come back in April I suspect I shall be moaning about how tedious and miserable it all is, but for now every morning’s fresh touch of white is exciting. Apparently the Swiss buy their little ones skis for their first birthdays, so that they can learn to navigate the slopes as they start to navigate walking. It seems fitting, then, that our first snow has fallen the week our little Addie took her first bumbling, drunken-old-man steps, not too far from her first birthday (for which she will not be receiving skis. Sorry, Adelaide, no future winter olympics career for you)(frankly, the chances were slim anyway with her heritage).

Driving Tim to work this morning was magical: sloping white rooftops, pine trees with snow mounds on the branches, every tree and twig turned from the warm glow of Autumn a few short weeks ago to cold, shimmering crystal. The light is now grey but the white of the snow on the fields makes it brilliant, crisp, other-worldly. It feels as though we have stepped inside a fairy tale.

So, now that we’re in our new home, we’d love to have you over for a drink. For the majority of you that’s not likely to happen in the real world for the near future (although visitors are always, always welcome) so for now, let’s make it virtual.

Our apartment complex is named (the google tells me) after a prominent Swiss social worker, one of the first the country had. (For those that don’t know, this is my previous trade, so it seemed fitting.) We’re on the fifth storey (there are six all up) of a (not exactly garish but definitely not tasteful) yellow building. Sadly, our lift-into-apartment experience appears to have been a one off and we now schmuck it into a common area with everyone else on the floor. One set of neighbours is an older Swiss couple (they were delighted with our girl’s name, and have taken to calling her Heidi, an abbreviation of the German version of her name, Adelheid) and the other is, we think, a younger Italian couple (based on nothing other than their names and a glimpse of one of them in the lift). But enough neighbour stalking – come on in!

Ordinarily, we’d usher you into the kitchen and shove Tim’s cocktail of the moment (usually gin, usually too strong) into your hand. But as this is Switzerland, you need to derobe first. Just to the right of the entry way is the ‘shell cupboard’ (Tim’s words) – a wardrobe that holds shoes, scarves, beanies, coats, gloves; all the outerwear. It’s usually a world of fluster as I’m running late for somewhere or other and, as usual, underestimating the weather and my child’s patience.

Walk down the short corridor and you’ve got our open plan kitchen/dining (to the left) and living room (to the right). Please feel free to grab some virtual salumi and olives from the virtual table on your way through.Tucked in the door in the far left above is our laundry slash general dumping zone. It includes all our recycling, which currently consists of a disgraceful number of wine bottles. From the windows here, you can see the twin spires of the St Leodgedar (built in the 1600s, it’s one of Switerland’s most significant churches apparently), some reflections on the lake if you squint, and of course a bunch of neighbouring apartments. To the right of the living room we have an indoor balcony, a type of sunroom (in a wintery, wintery land). We’ve got views of the Alps (as well as a bunch of miscellaneous rooftops and a bus depot) from those windows as long as the day is clear, which it appears is rare this time of year. It’s been fun moving our existing possessions into a new space. The bookshelves, as I’ve mentioned, have been the only real fail as they are 15cm short for the new ceiling and are subsequently reclining sideways (I like to imagine them doing so sleazily, with one arm supporting their heads). It makes no difference – the girl’s current fave activity is to pull all the books out and throw them on the floor (repeating as quickly as I can reshelve them) (Sisyphus much?).

Moving onward, there’s another corridor that branches off: to the left, the guest room (currently known as Lauren’s room, due to our recent visitor), straight ahead the baby’s bathroom and then to the right, our girl’s room. There are no snaps of Lauren’s room primarily because we rarely go in there, and it is a haphazard mess of power tools and miscellany. Also, you should really come, stay, and see it for yourself.

As always, my Ademalaidey’s room is my favourite. Which is a good thing, given the number of grumpy hours we spend there.

If we head back now towards the entry and turn left – let’s top our glasses up on the way through the kitchen, shall we? – we’ll hit our room. I once went on a tour of a friend’s new house and she described her boudoir as the room ‘where the magic happens’. If ‘magic’ is going to bed before double figures, reading trashy detective fiction and being woken in the fives (if we’re lucky) by the baby, then the description also stands for me. The door you can see there leads out to sunroom balcony, and subsequently we also have views of the Alps slash bus depot from our room. Which makes for a scenic, and occasionally noisy, experience.

The number one thing about our apartment, in a land where storage is not common and for people who don’t come with cupboards, is the walk-in-wardrobe just off our room. It’s large enough to hold (messily, because I’m a pretty lazy housewife) everything we own and it will also fit Adelaide’s travel cot for when we have a full house (say, this coming Christmas). I sort of feel bad that it’ll be her bedroom, but console myself with the fact that we could be putting her in the storage room downstairs.

Our dirty laundry aired, let’s make our way back to the living room for the afore mentioned olives and drinks. Do your best to make sure it’s in real life soon, yeah? Lauren’s room is waiting for you!