How I love Switzerland, writes Julia Stephenson. Ten years ago, when I was writing my first novel and desperate to escape all distractions, I decamped to Geneva to finish it.

I rented a small eyrie in the Hotel At Home in the Paquis district (my garret was surprisingly cheap; it was only later I realised  this was because it was in the red-light district).

Despite this, the area was quiet and I worked diligently on my tome. I was happy in my garret. It was on the top floor of a tall building, and standing on a chair in my well-equipped kitchenette I had stunning views of Lake Geneva. I have happy memories of spinning my salad in a special Swiss salad spinner contraption, transfixed by the view.

Occasionally I would leave my eyrie to meet my friend Abigail for drinks in various quiet bars in the town. Abigail hated Geneva.

'Nothing ever happens here!' she grumbled. But that’s why I loved it so much. One could go for days, months, years perhaps not speaking to a soul, and this led to unprecedented industry on my part.

Speedy and efficient trains, beautiful views and high recycling rates — Switzerland has it all. So it came as quite a shock to read that trouble is brewing in paradise. Lake Geneva, like many of the country’s lovely lakes, was used as a rubbish dump after the Second World War for unwanted munitions, and with unforeseen consequences...

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