Ed. note: I published this a little over a year ago as a journalist-blogger post in the Tribune de Genève but with their move to a new web site last April older posts are no longer available. The information is hard for English speakers to find, and I’ve been asked to publish it again.

Photo, Julie Schindler. Of course, not all cars can be leased, such as the antique ones on display in Morges at the British Classic Car Show.

The practical life: how to lease a car

My neighbour, who repairs bathtubs for a living, drives shiny new Porsches and Mercedes. I always assumed that he must be very successful in his business. I hate to think what he’s thought of my business, based on our family’s recently discarded old clunker. Fortunately, most of my work is done online rather than in person so I rarely have to impress customers with my car.

When the old family Fiat died I decided the time had come for my company to get a car. I would drive it some of the time for personal use. Two accountants have told me since 2002 when I created Zidao Communication, a small online publishing business, that I should lease a car instead of owning one, then calculating my travel and billing the company for it as a personal expense. Two good reasons for this are that car payments are tax deductible and companies are not obliged to pay a deposit, freeing up capital. Maintenance and kilometres are tax deductible.

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Photos: top, grains nearing harvest, St Prex and bottom, Tara and a freshly cut Swiss meadow.

I went to bed last night thinking about Sting. I’m probably not the first woman to do that. The man does have appeal. I went to bed thinking about why I deserve free tickets to go see him 16 September in Geneva. I can think of a hundred reasons why, starting with: because I deserve a nice present, no strings attached and no work to get it. It was the end of a long day and I was tired and there are no anniversaries, birthdays or holidays in sight. It’s the slim-pickings season for gifts.

The reason for all this is that glocals.com is giving away two tickets to Police’s 2007 reunion tour, but you have to win a contest by writing why you deserve these tickets. My first reaction to hearing about the contest was that I never win anything, so why bother. Second was: I’m too busy. My mother died a week ago at the fine age of 95 and I will be going home to the US for a family service in two weeks. Work is piling up and everyone is back from vacation, which means more work. Third was: hmmm, but it would be SO nice to hear Sting.

Here’s why: he’s the best icon I can think of for being over-55 and still terrific (sorry, Mick) in every way. He’s smarter, savvier, funnier and it’s just possible his voice is even better than when he came to fame. Good for him! Good for us. He inspired me to tuck an hour’s walk into my overcrowded work day in front of a computer, and I’m the better for it. If he could sing "Roxanne" way back when and give me shivers and do it again years later with "Fields of Gold," there is hope for us all to take a long, slow ride into the sunset in fine form.

Here’s really why it would be so nice to see and hear him: A little girl who has Rett Syndrome, we think, plays a big part in my life. She’s a real jewel, and she’s also a lot of work. In fairness, what child isn’t? But in addition to making life harder for her family, we’ve always worried about her health, and how long she will be with us. Sometimes that gets us down, and everyone in the family has moments where it’s all too much. During one of those I took a walk near Lake Geneva, around the vineyards and through fields with ripening grains. I had to drive to an appointment soon after, and because those fields had given me some peace I drove by them. A small miracle had Sting singing "Fields of Gold" on the radio. I pulled over and dedicated that song to lovely Tara and whenever I hear it I get a rush of golden love for that girl.

Thanks, Sting.

Contest: Glocals web site (used to be GenevaOnline) and it closes today, Wednesday!

View of Geneva’s jet d’eau on a weathery day in July 2007 (see a series of weather-changing shots taken from the Kempinski terrace in the space of an hour)

The first time I set foot in the Noga Hilton was in 1985. It was cold and gray: November is not Geneva’s best month. I was part of the Time magazine crew sent to cover the Reagan-Gorbachev summit, the meeting that was the beginning of the end of the Cold War. My job was not very exciting for a journalist, but I was told it was essential. I had to guard the table in the Noga Hilton restaurant that gave our photographers the best view in the city of the jet d’eau. The big American television networks had claimed the rooftop area. Between bouts of holding down the table I wrote about Nancy Reagan’s visit for People magazine and walked around Versoix, where some of the meetings were held, looking for local color to add to the Time files we sent to Paris and New York. The Noga Hilton remains linked in my mind to the wallpaper of history’s great journalism stories.

More recently, my impressions of the hotel have been that the hotel’s charm was fading to the point of being almost but not quite funky.

Last week I interviewed the new general manager, with the hotel now under the Kempinski label and a makeover nearly completed. I decided to piggyback the appointment with a late afternoon meeting with another businesswoman. The meeting with the manager was moved up and the second meeting moved back, so I suddenly found myself with one of those unplanned three hours in the middle of the day, too short to go anywhere useful, too long to fritter away. The weather kept changing.

I decided to become one of the new Kempinski’s local customers, sitting down to work in the lounge.  Here’s my verdict:

During the afternoon I was able to find a quiet, well-lit corner of the large lounge area where I could plug in my laptop and work, using the wifi network, which worked fine. The lounge was comfortably busy, a good backdrop for work because the noise level never bothered me. I could see plants in the courtyard and trees and a bit of the lake when I looked up. A good work space. The staff was pleasant and helpful.

It was mid-afternoon, an odd time for a meal, so I ordered a sandwich. I loved my club sandwich, which is something I never order except in hotels, and the French fries were excellent. My favourite touch was the mini Tabasco sauce bottle, cheerful on a wet day. These are the small, stolen pleasures during a work day that make life a bit more fun.

Then I went downstairs to meet my evening appointment at the reception. She was late so I opened my laptop – and failed to get the wifi back. Three people at the reception didn’t know what the problem might be, so I decided it was time to stop working online. My friend arrived and we headed upstairs to the bar. She said someone else had told her the new decor is cold, whereas I had found the lounge just the opposite. But the evening was early, the somewhat empty bar a bit stark and we decided to have drinks outside.

The terrace area is delightful, a mix of wood and aluminum that works. The view of the city is great. She had a glass of wine for SFr6, which is pretty good in the centre of Geneva, and I splurged on a more expensive Pouilly Fuissé, pleased that you can order it by the glass. We sat and watched several weather patterns in the space of a few minutes and continued to sit under our large white umbrella despite a ring of water on the floor outside our table. We agreed there were two negatives, some confusion on the part of the waiter, who seemed to be a trainee and did not know much about wine, and the birds. The waiter will presumably get more training. The bold pigeons and sparrows will need more than training and I will be interested to see what miracles Kempinski can perform to get them to leave guests alone.

The hotel needs a little more time to warm up and iron out small problems, but even with that proviso, I’ll be making more appointments to meet people there. It has parking, is just before the worst of the perpetual city centre traffic jam,  and I like the feel of the place. There’s also always that magic, endlessly changing view of the city’s waterspout.