Annoyed today, frustrated even....seems like my Swedish has completely fossilised without me knowing it and I find myself getting really pissed off as I listen to the lanquage. Its not that I don't understand anything, thats actually okay, but rather that I understand enough to realise that I'm missing important stuff. For example, my interpretation of a conversation is something like this 'It was a whoophurdegurdeh blobble chooopppp that is jooulllooppp sluffff usually on tuesdays but ting ting surprising amounts of pain. Neefff Neefff wookie woo horribly inflated'. And so on. The really annoying thing is that the answers bloody simple. Get your head down and graft - really, its that easy. There is no special magic to learning a lanquage and, unless you've been hit on the head by a heavy object as a child, no reason why you can't learn. Its simply that you've got to put the time in and since November, with the arrival of E, I have spent little time learning despite the fact that K speaks predominantly in Swedish to me. So I guess the solution is simple. Devise some very cunning device which plugs directly into my cerebal cortex and simultaneously translates Swedish into English and vice versa. Or hit the books a bit more often.
Books: Our Cosmic Habitat by Martin Rees, Schrödingers Kittens and the search for reality by John Gribbin, The Next Fifty Years edited by John Brockman

Weather: Cold. Snow. Wind.

Right now my little boy has the slightly less hot parts of numerous viruses wandering around his body and jump starting his immune system, yep, first vaccination day. So we've got the possibility of fever and sickness to look forward to tonight which is a little complicating as we're supposed to be out for dinner - we shall see.

I remembered a couple of things whilst we were at the surgery which I meant to blog about earlier.

Firstly, candles. When the winter months come the Swedish fight back against the dark and have candles everywhere. Not just the little tin foil ikea jobs either but great tubs of red wax burning outside most shop exits. It was really cool over Christmas as there were massive metal frames decked with candles throughout the town centre. But is does not stop there. When I go into the driving school theres candles burning on the desk and when we were getting blood flow scans in hospital there was a little nest of candles burning in the corner of a room. A lot of candles. Lots of wax. Wicks, in excess. Snuffers, probably very many.

Secondly, shoes. The Swedish style is to take your shoes off as soon as you enter someones house which seems to me pretty sound. In actual fact this is something which I believe the English aspire to but can't quite manage. A few years ago I remember someone sayin that they were impressed by a visitor to their house because 'he took his shoes off', but heres the catch - leave your shoes on in an Englishmans house and everyone's too polite to say anything. Its only later as they are scubbing dogshit, diesel, and used condoms out of the carpet that they will say (in typically whispered tones) 'we won't be inviting them again!". Whats ironic is that in Sweden leaving your shoes on does less damage, given the Nordic propensity for wooden floors, whilst the English love for shag pile means that they effectively have a fluffly magnet for night soil. Its easy to visualise an old carpet as a very large flat dogs arse, peppered with dangle berries (clinkers or whinnets). I remembered this today as before you enter the kiddies surgery you have to take your shoes off - to prevent the rug rats feasting on all the goodies you've trodden in.

Incidently, clinkers...wonder if Cadburys actually know. Perhaps they should be told.

strange Walter Mitty type story from India.....Anil's Doublespeak: The boy who topped NASA but didn't..

its not often I give space to fascists but this made me laugh...Robert Kilroy-Silk : Television For A Generation

.....Raging into the dark....BBC NEWS | Entertainment | Arts | Hunter S Thompson commits suicide

For all you fans of things Brasslike or pale....Moorcock's Weekly Miscellany

Sweden has a real problem with reality shows, for example, just check out tonights' TV listings. On the state channels 1 and 2 no reality shows, so far, so good; but then we turn our attention to channels 3, 4 and 5. Remember, this is just one night. Lets plunge in at the deep end shall we? - Channel 3, has Club Goa (pointless shite), Fame Factory (more pointless shite), and Top Model Sverige (Sweden) (totally pointless mind numbing coma inducing shite), followed by The Swan (utterly banal, shallow smegridden facile shite), which is then followed by Club Goa (PS). So, it is possible to watch nothing but reality shows - on one channel - from 1830 until 0000. If you get bored of watching these (and really, how could that be possible) you can always turn your attention to channel 4 (Paradise Hotel) or channel 5 which has for your viewing delights both Big Brother but also, Amish in the City - you could not make it up.
The Swedes actually invented Bog Brother, so it really is all their fault. Curious as to the sheer number of reality shows I surfed around a little and found a huge amount of nasty natty websites devoted to reality shows - hideous, so much so that I can't be arsed to contaminate my blog.

As Bill Hicks said 'rid the world of all these fevered egos which are tainting our collective unconsciousness making us pay a higher psychic price.'

The kitchen is being taken apart as I blog, the work surface being torn up and a new one being put in place, all part of our masterplan to sell the flat fast - at some point.

Annoyance: spending over 100 kronor on pass port photographs. It all started with my first set of photographs being hurriedly plunged into my bag whilst running for the bus, after they been
taken in the booth in the local shop. Shortly afterwards I inspected them and found a smudged set of photographs with bits of dust and hair stuck to them. So 40 crowns down the drain. Second set, faired better and managed to survive the trip home. But on checking the passport documents I noticed that the UK passport requires colour and full frontal (some kind of fnarr fnarr comment required there, I think) whereas the Swedish machines give Black and White and suggest one ear exposed. So another 40 crowns down the drain with the developing solution. Final set, down to the railway station and managed to fill the machine with 30 crowns before realising that I had no change left. In the quest to find the remainder the bastard machine ate my the money I'd left in it. Rats cocks. 140 kronor for 4 poxy passport photographs. Arse.
Coming up: Incoherent droolings on the fact that we're all living in a simulation. Read more here.
Recent Books: The Coma, Alex Garland (not bad, some good stuff but nothing really new), Black Holes, Wormholes and Time Machines by Jim Al-Khalili (fucking great).
Music: Bill Hicks, Rant in E Minor. (Inspired by the above quote)

and erm, oh yeah, we're all living in a simulation.

Slightly tired, still feeling a bit ill and more than a bit peeved. Yes, Skåne Flu seems to have afflicted me. Now I've always been told that you know that you've got flu if there was a fiver lying on the floor but you just felt too ill to get out of bed to get it, but this has never struck me as a good prognostic tool. For a start it does not seem particularly accurate, not discriminating between paraplegics or the dead, for example, nor does it seem to be index linked. I digress. I would have got out of bed for a fiver, and indeed, have not taken to my bed (though I do find it rather attractive) but have not indulged in any training for a week now and have dozed off on the sofa on several occasions - all signs that all is not well in my temple.

Add to this my parents coming over for the weekend and my mother being struck down by a massive bout of diarrhea - causing hospital visits at three in the morning and all kinds of mayhem - makes for for an interesting few days.

the blogging will return with full megawattage power soon - currently dealing with the crumblies, diarrhea (very hard to spell, had to look it up), sleeplessness and general grump.

more of the same, love the quote 'this is the first time that they have done anal bum together', the fact that these guys are qualified doctors is a little scary.....fitness to practice - home of the 'London Underground' song

!! MSNBC - Does Mars need women? Russians say no: "'After all, women are fragile and delicate creatures; that is why men should lead the way to distant planets and carry women there in their strong hands.'"

Just time to link to this, E has woken up.....London Underground : The Song

To the day, I have been in Sweden for one year. On this day, in 2004, sometime later this morning I boarded the National Express bus to Plymouth and took the journey to Stansted, a while later I touched down on Swedish soil and here I've stayed. Happy? Most definitely.

Musings on the Great Wind of 1882.
- A poem, in the modern style, by the Right Rev. Guthrie Tittwhistle.

Oh thunderous Blast, coursing down dark valleys and deep pools,
that whistled and shrieked on that tiresome journey from Hathersage.
Gathered in the carriage, my buttocks tight on the seat like knife edges,
I chattered to my lady companions, unheeding of the tradgedy to pass.

Oh grievous wind that you rattled against my straining gate,
and then, unheralded save for a noise like a babes breath,
discharged like silent cannon roar 'twixt by breeches and pants,
I had chance to cough to hide this assassin before the horror came.

It seemed the air grew in substance and my companions faces became ashen,
Lady Smithers gave a single folorn cry, like a bird on the wing,
before lapsing into a swoon which was unbroken until Clumply Edge,
Her maid, a crone of many years, but stifled a sudden rebellion from her gut.

But dear Louise, that one so young should suffer so,
from an old mans predilection for pickled sprouts and stale beer,
young, unplucked flower, that such a stench should addle your tender mind,
drooling, like an enfant, you collapsed, and were never of right mind again.

You great Satan! You foul spirit, ghost of digested sustenance,
pervader of gods house, that made me like a common savage to squat,
erupting foul emission from that which is most holy, I pray that heaven,
in all it's glory has supply of enameled or copper plated plugs for suppressive purpose.

The Rev. Tittwhistle was a village vicar of the 'old school', known for his poetry but also fine collection of soil and twigs. A keen naturist, he was frequently found naked in trees, reading the works of Pliny (the younger) and hunting snipe. He died at the age of 98, in an ill advised experiment involving a bag of stoats and a firework.

Except in Plymouth where I predict a wall to wall alcohol fueled bloodbath for the next few years....BBC NEWS | Politics | All-day drink licences available: "The government says more flexible hours will stop drinkers spilling onto the street at once and says few pubs will apply to remain open for 24 hours."

Okay, I'm a big fan of Jack Black, Ben Stiller, and Christopher Walken so seeing a movie on the bottom shelf (alarm bells should have been ringing at this point) with all three actors in it was enough to send a little shiver of excitement down my aching back (I've been running up the beach with logs again) and let out a little bark of excitement (you can get away with much more in public in Sweden). Envy - Such was the quality of this movie that during the last half hour K was surfing the net whilst I was re-classifying my socks by colour - we couldn't quite bear to switch the movie off but even so......this was bad, sure it was not totally shit but it was close. Apparently it spent about two years post production in some kind of limbo and I can see why, how can you take all these talents, put them together in one movie (with a halfway decent idea) and come up with this pellet of poo? Never mind. School of Rock was still good, Dodge ball was excellent and Christopher W appears in my top ten of favourite movies of all time (Deerhunter) so all can be forgiven.

Movie I'd watch right now if it were on Tv: Goodfellas.
Irksome irritation: I keep thinking of things to write about during the day and then promptly forgetting about them later, the solution I feel, lies in a pencil and a piece of paper.
Absolutely cool book: The Timetravellers Wife, very very good - I've been thinking about it all day.
Music: Adagio for Strings, Barber.
Weather: Bracing and cold.
Accomplishment: Pocket parking, nice.
sweet...Intuitor Insultingly Stupid Movie Physics

Yeah, my continuing pillage of the comic book section of the local
biblioteket - this was fucking great. Totally insane and really nicely
drawn. I saw a review which said this was Terry Gilliam crossed
with Blade Runner which is not far off the truth.

Off to Båstad this morning so no activity until sunday or so. God my piles are blue bloody murder this morning, christ only knows whats brought the little bastards down but all my sniggering at Nobby Stiles in Viz does not seem funny at all. I think I'll take a cushion for the train. Ouch.
Båstad is very much one of exclusive places of Sweden, its the site of the Swedish Open (Tennis) and in the high summer very much the place to be seen. When the tennis is on the streets rumble to flash cars rolling up and down the main street, in a very unswedish show of wealth. In the winter, however, its as dead as as dead place after a plague and -alas-most of the coffee shops/bars are closed. Save one, which does nice cakes.

On my bedside table: Peter F Hamilton - Pandoras Star, Ian M Banks - The Algabraist, Stephen W Hawkins - A brief history of time, Jack Finney - Time and Again (Fantasy Masterworks series), Enki Bilal - Nikopol Trilogy (Comic book), Audrey Niffennegger - The Time Travellers Wife.
Stuff I should be doing: sorting out the new newsletter format, don't worry I'm on it.
weather:+2, blueish skies
Site: Great stuff, my quest to find the paperclip museum continues but I found this trove on the way...World of Napkins
TV: While I was doing pull ups last night I watched Worlds Wildest Police Videos, incredibly sick but sort of compelling. The freak who narrates it is more terrifying than any of the snuff they show in the name of 'education', with his gleaming white teeth and plastic hair he says things like 'high on crack and alcohol, this driver was only going one way - straight to jail', believe me, it does not get much better than that.
Strange coincindence: Robert Winston - New show on sleep on BBC, Robert Winston - recently arrested for horse race fixing. Odd.

Very odd. BBC NEWS | World | Middle East | US hostage photo 'is doll hoax': " photograph of what Islamic militants claim is a captive US soldier may have been posed with a toy figure, an army doll manufacturer has said."

SKY LIGHT II

I woke up feeling like someone had been testing bombs deep within the softer parts of my brain. My passage from unconsiousness to something approximating wakefulness was accompanied by a gradual awareness of the pain which was emanating from, not just my head, but most of my body. I gingerly sat up, the movement causing the sepia coloured room to shift horribly around me. My teeth felt like lumps of bakerlite and my tongue a twisted piece of beef jerky. I was slumped on my bed, still dressed (though I noticed my best trousers now had a long blood crusted tear across the left knee) and missing one boot. It was, without doubt, one of the worst hangovers of my life. As my gaze floated around the small bedsit I realised I was not alone. In the corner, beside the oven and dirty white cupboards, sat the massive brooding shape of a fully mature silver back gorilla. He was wearing a small black bowler hat, and smoking a fat cigar; the smoke from which he was watching as it drifted up to the ceiling. He studiously ignored me, and I was on the point of doing the same when I remembered why I had been drinking so hard and freaked out for short while.

I came back to the real, alcohol poisoned world, to find myself sitting opposite the gorilla beside the one dirty window of the room. A filthy rain had been blown in from the sea sometime in the day and the oily traces it had left gave the setting sun a foul piss coloured taint. Far away, past the megascrapers which marked the edge of the city, the cargo ships which moved up the colossal shape of the space elevator at super sonic speed were stitching white lines across the sick, tired sunset. The solar bombs which the Stort Hanth had detonated 12 years ago were still working, the suns surface marred by a black cancer as the electromagnetic forces within it started to slowly tear out its nuclear heart. The gorilla had been sursprisingly gentle, putting the cleanest, which was'nt saying much, towel it could find around my cold shoulders and making me a cup of blueberry tea. It apologised profusely for having drank the last of my coffee, the herbal tea only serving to make my headache worse.

"Your employees offer their deepest condolences" it finally said, its voice gruff, with a slight Lancashire accent. Of course, the Naked Monks would be quick to make sure that Leleths death would not stop me in my tracks, losing them all the months of my work, and their money, which had gone into the 'project'. I bitterly realised, through a shroud of numbed shock and grief which was only hours old that now the project was all the more important to me. Now it was personal.

.......aaah fuck, I don't know...it just falls out of my head, the writing equiv. of a doodle-you don't have to read it do you? Just finished watching equilibrium, with Christian Bale, bloody excellent. Bodes well for the new Batman movie. doodle pip.

uurgggh.

'When 'a was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife' - Henry IV, Part II.