Fleeing the continent

I've have been in Switzerland. Not filing the Swastikas of the ingots - but some tedious workshop with a squad of over eager antipodeans and Americans in a nauseating internationalist display of team work.

Two things amused me during my return to Blighty. And it is these I share with you.

One.
I was awaiting my train at a non-major Swiss railway station. I was suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity.
The low level platform.
Clock ticking.
A few uniformed conductor types pacing the platform.
Blond man in hat reading a paper seeming familiar but refusing to make eye contact.
Some people speaking German.
I could swear the chap in the hat reading the paper appeared to look like Ilya Kuryakin from the Men from Uncle.
A sense of unbearable tension. A few more types in hats looking nervous waiting for the train.

Yep. I was in The Great Escape.

Two.
Squeazy-Jet flight ex Geneva to Gatwick. French Crew serving over priced drinks and demonstrating kiddy-kraft dinghies.

I had a few Swiss Francs in my wallet and wanted to get rid of them.

The crew worked the aisles. A woman who looked like she had woken up from 1985 from her hairstyle alone - and two French waiter types serving with with aplomb, flair, style and flagrant homosexuality.

Monsieur?
I eyed the contents of my wallet.
'What can I get for Ten Francs?'

A shrug only a Frenchman could achieve.

Ze Stewardess Monsieur?

Have you got any change?