Happy Ending

.. which is what we say here in the motherplanet the last days of the year. This will be my last posting for 2006. So happy ending to you little lot (no idea how many read my blog!)!

This year has given many revelations, many insights and many wisdoms. I have learned ALL there is about being Single "not always so Swinging". As said before, being a notorious serial monogamist, this year I have been a bit more a random pluralist.

As they say: All well that ends well, I feel that the Closing of The Books is good, I have during December achieved the last very important points and will say good bye to 2006 in a happy spirit. December has added som really healthy Forks up in Asses, Really good Dating and generally a lot of nice attention.

In all this I also met a wonderful man. Ok, must say that is has been awfully silent around Mr Sketch these past days, but don't despair fans, I feel confident we will meet up soon. I am after all in the cold North and he somewhere out of network in the Sherwood Forest.

But Closing of the Books means also to say good bye to old inventory. I cleaned out the closet in end of Q3 too, and it needs to be done again. Hence (one of my favv English word, sounds really nerdy and posh): Inventory write off:
1. Who could be no 1, if not SUPERMAN FRANCE! You came, you saw, and you won, for a while, my heart. And even though you have an AMAZING body (legs, my god, the legs) and the cutest dimples, I hereby announce you -- GONNER.
2. Roberto -- Italian Summer lover: I have tried to get rid of you but now, finally, I think I have succeeded.
3. Irish HeartAche: It's been a long tough year and you are still around, in text-messages, in msn-conversations, everywhere. But no, this is IT. I will NOT have ANY more contact with you. You just love my attention, and what do I get back: Zip and Zero. And I am just as glad. Thank you for being an idiot, we would never had worked out anyway.
4. Swedish Now-married-Attention seeker: Very happy to hear you finally got married so you don't have to chat up myself and probably approx 2000 other girls in bars any longer. For I hope you WILL stay away from the temptations in life now and be a good husband? I hope I will never see you and your terrible too-high-cheekbones again. You really look like LuftWaffe.
5. English Slajmon. Haven't written anything about him on the blog. An old love of mine that I for VERY long thought I would probably marry and have 4-5 kids with. And he kept me warm for a while. Or maybe I was just fooling myself. Anyway. You are hereby officially written off. Not a day too early.

So, that write-off/Eurovision Sinister-contest is now finalized!

Welcome 2007, TABLA RASA. Clean sheet, clean mind, clean closet. Feels wonderful.

And I will celebrate the coming New Year in the beautiful capital of the motherplanet. Possibly wearing the below little outfit that I am trying out tomorrow (pic to the left). I might look like the flower girls on the other picture. We don't know. (http://www.fvhast.com/)

Rather obvious source of inspriation. Elsa Beskow's flowergirls are wonderful, but not really what I want to look like for New Years..

No Gene Mystery

"He is very beautiful", Zlatan Ibrahimovic proudly describes his son in a recent and rare interview.

I sincerely don't think ANYONE today living would be surprised that this master-piece of manhood would get an absolutely GEORGEOUS child. Even if the mother looks like a bad copy of Pamela Anderson. Mr Ibrahimovic also gets very high points for being manly enough to have a 12 year older girlfriend, who is both better educated, and possibly, smarter. Only really strong men can cope with this. And when they got engaged, the journalists asked him: "So, Zlatan, what did you get Helena as an engagement present?". Zlatan looked back at the nosy and nerdy little sport journalist with intellectual goggles, leaned back in the chair and put one of his sexy strong long legs over the other and answered in his sizzling Rosengard-accent: "Present? Hey, she got Zlatan you know."

I love you, ich liebe dich, Zlatan Ibrahimovic.



N.B. For those of you who still haven't had the pleasure to get acquainted to this beauty: He is a Swedish football player. Born from Ex-Jugoslavia-parents, brought up in a rough immigrant part of Malmo, Rosengard. Now playing for Inter in Italy. His football style can be described as: Young Stallion/Unpolished Diamond: Strong, big, quick and determined, still a bit restless and uneven.

In the Error Margin?

"A woman over 35 is less likely to get married than be involved in a terrorist attack" , Cameron Diaz' character Amanda announces in the super duper feel-good film "The Holiday". But hey, what does this make of me? I just turned 34, have already been married AND involved in one of the biggest terrorist attacks in London.

Have been awake ALL night for this trying to figure it out: Am I a statistic wonder? Am I a happening-person, you know, the kind of person that seem to attract events of very low likelyhood? Does this now plainly mean that I can lay back and relax? I am probably out of the error margin of anything happening to me now. Or maybe that's where I am? Floating around in the error margin constantly, impossible to pin down?

According to Wikipedia:
The margin of error expresses the amount of the random variation underlying a survey's results.

Random. My middle name.

De-railing?

Went on a crazy sale-trip to the big shopping mall here in the childhood-town today. Had my niece with me and we chased around like two maniacs. Me as a lost witch in a long black coat and high-heeled boots and my blonde messy hair on the top like a worn broomstick. Like a Mars-invader among a tribe of Sports Leisure-wear.

To bribe the 7-year-old to cope with YET another xmas-sale-shop, we went to get an ice-cream at McDonalds. First thing I see: My old ex-boyfriend with his wife and twin-girls of 4-years old. Bah. Now I will be a little bit sinister. I really like my ex. He is a very handsome and kind and manly guy. We were together when we were 18-19-ish and split when I went to live in London the first time. His wife is probably very kind and caring and possibly also sexy somehow, but please, that fringe will NEVER look good on ANYONE whose Body Mass Index is alarmingly over the health-level. And their little twins wouldn't take ANY harm from eating less McDonald's. SORRY!! I know, I am horrible. But truthful.

Had a long chat with him and he asks: "So, you and your husband really enjoy London then I take it?". I frooze a bit before answering. Seemed like the grapewine of this litte town had not reached his innocent ears?. "Eh", I answer, trying to stay a bit cool, "we got divorced 4 years ago". "We were together for 9 years and then we decided to go separate ways, you know, different views on life and so...", I bla bla'ed, for some reason trying to find an explanation or excuse.

And talking to my ex-boyfriend and thinking of my ex-husband, it's striking how similar they are. Stable family-men with good jobs, handsome and kind. With both of them I was really on the right track. Straight stable old-fashioned tracks laid down on calm ground. But somehow I derailed. Not by accident, but by careful and deliberate steering. And even if it hurt like hell when it happened,
I dare say de-railing was a good thing.

Or as May West put it: "I used to be Snow-White, but I drifted".

Mumsy?

"Hi Dahling, what are you up to?", Mr Sketch asks on a scratchy long-distance telephone line. It was last night and I had just tucked my sister's 7-year old twins to bed. "Oh, hi honey, well I've just been reading a thrilling story about a fingerprint mystery", I answer a bit drowsy from reading after having had 3 glasses of heavy red wine. "Ah" he jokes in a half-cheeky voice, "I bet you're feeling all mumsy now then?" "No", I replied a bit too quickly, "I am feeling all aunti-ish". Not sure why I had to clarify this. Probably to not scare him by insunating child-production-eagerness.

Funny, isn't it. When two people meet at the age of 35 minus. I.e. around 33-34, there is of course a non-outspoken question of "do you want children or not?". I'm not saying that it's getting panicky or so, but still. I don't think anyone really super eager to have babies should waste any time with someone who really doesn't want kids. But then again, do we know this at all? Can we really say what we want until we really face this situation? I have always said that I really really want kids, but then when I married I couldn't think of anything more terrible. Was it because my ex was wrong, or was it because I wasn't ready, or because I really don't want kids?

Anyway, whatever happens. I wont mind being an old mum. I think this will suit me perfectly. I so much enjoy being by myself and not having to care about anyone else in the world. And I am sure that I will be a very devoted and overly-loving mum when/if the kiddies finally arrive.

And the only thing we know about life, is that we don't know anything.

Merry Christmas!

Just a quick note to say very very Merry Christmas to all lovely people in the world. This year is coming to an end more quickly than we know it and there will be a very thoughtful posting later this week. A posting about the truths about life. Or p'raps something a bit more cheerful, like love messages in Northen Sweden in early 21st century. Or something else.

Anyway, looking out through the window in this Swedish ruralness, I start to think that I might change the theme on my blog for next year. As you know, it started as a sinister blog, and turned into some sort of romance-chasing-bla bla. Maybe next year, I will document my quest for contributing to helping out the climate change. No, not joking, but seriously. Through my window I can only see GREEN fields and lawns. It's the bloody 24st of December!! We are supposed to be vading in snow and fighting icicles and freezing our butts off!! WHAT IS HAPPENING!?? I would like to know what I can do to help out with this. I might want to put my valueable resourses (talking, writing and convicing people of all sorts of junk) into doing something necessary for the world.

Just don't know where to start.

Star Struck in Stockholm?

Went out with old friend Mr Garbo (used to have a boat with him called Garbo, in my previous life. He is great by the way. Curious that we still can be such good friends. After all, he is my ex-husband's best pal). We went to one of the best bars in the world: Lilla Baren Pa Riche (Riche's side-bar). I just love this place. It's a healthy mix of glamour and indie. Me loves. It was a great odyssee of beautiful people, as always in this beautiful yet remote part of the world.

The line-up:
1. Physically bumped into CARL JOHAN VALLGREN on my way in. He is my favourite writer of our time. He is imaginative, quirky, modern, new-thinking, and a great writer. Last night he was fabulous in a red suit and a flowery shirt and his long hair was flying around. Read my old posting on him here. Regret so much I didn't slide up to him and say hi. Silly me.
2. Flirted a little, only for the laugh, with PONTUS GARDINGER who really is extremely good looking. My Stockholm flat-mate Ms Gucci ruined my picture though saying he is a slimy young-girl-chaser. Good looking still, maybe a bit too scrubby these days. Probably too much chasing around young girls.
3. Torkel Pettersson. I have a rather peculiar story about him. He used to be my good friend Ms Athlete's platonic love. Two years ago, about this time, we were, as always, at Lilla Baren Pa Riche. And he was there too and before we knew it they were snogging away. So this talented and much cherised DRAMATEN-actor followed us around different bars and then ended up in my old flat in Vasastan. I went to bed and they were doing all sorts of acrobatic exercises on my sofa. A couple of hours later I sense that something was strange. I quickly got dressed and stepped out from my bedroom. And there this so called superstar is still on my sofa. But ALONE!! So my friend Ms Athlete has left him IN MY FLAT!!?? So I woke this big lump of manhood up and threw him out. And can you imagine this, he even tried to pull me on the way out!! Very unpleasant situation, but a bit fun in retrospect. Didn't get hold of Ms Athlete until early afternoon and it sure wasn't words of love she heard from me. So there he was yesterday, glancing around thinking he was fabulous. I think he is more pathetic than Daniel Clover in Bridget Jones' Diary.

Hm, really wished I had said hi to Carl-Johan though. Not for any other reason but to tell him he is great.

Driving home for Christmas

"So, I guess you are still Pagans in Sweden?" Design-savvy Mr Sketch concludes when investigating my very proud Xmas tomtenisse-collection with obvious doubt. Hehe, he should see my family home in Dalarna (very traditional part of North Sweden). Decorated by the biggest Christmas-fetisch in the world: My mum. Rumours have it that this year she has invested in new kitchen curtains with Tomte-nisse-hats on. I am already jealous. We don't know yet, but they might have to be exported to a Notting Hill-flat next year.


Lovely Tomtenisse-picture from Jenny Nystrom. Stolen with pride from Wikipedia.

Love is IN the AIR!

....literally. Or what do you make of this little story. I flew over to the motherplanet early early this morning. Half of the European community had gathered at Stansted and already in the queue to the check-in at mr RyanBryanAirWaffe, I felt the smell of romance. People were smiling and chatting with and flirting with eachother.

Ok, might have been that people were happy to actually be able to travel as planned, despite the fog that had blocked the entire Heathrow. But I think no. I think it's because it's the love season. Up in the air I saw all sorts of constallations of people finding eachother. The young clowny guy next to me chatted all the flight with the quirky girl with a strange leopard-bandana to his left. I saw them exchange numbers at the luggage claim! The absolutely cutest guy in a fabulous tweedy "oliver twist meets the new world"- Hugo Boss -outfit, travelling with his identical really cool 3-year-old son, was firing off with the curvy and blond chav with big red lips next to them. I think both father and son fell pladask.

Somehow I have a warm love feeling inside me. Possibly it has to do with me spending the night before I left with the cutest Santa I have met so far. Mr Sketch. At 10, when I was busy packing and getting ready for Christmas, (and for the taxi to collect me at 20 to 4, zzz), he calls. In his very slow Nottingham/Naaarff Landaaan-voice he whispers that he needs to skive from his job's Xmas-do and come give Little My a kiss. And Little My thought this was a brilliant idea.

This must be love

...or what do you make of this. My date from yesterday, the famous Mr Sketch (who left my flat at 3am this morning, a bit ruffled in the hair..) just texted me something that could only be interpreted as real love. Thing is, we finalized the date with a litte cup of the Swedish Xmas drink Glogg chez moi. And we drank it out of my Moomin mugs. Now he says: "Now I know why I remember them so terrifying...u look a bit like Little My!".

He is really getting better and better.



Little My: "She is a small, determined and fiercely independent Mymble. When she wants something done, she does it straight away. She is very aggressive and totally disrespectful, but can be a good friend. She has a brash personality."

PS. Just like me, except I am almost 6 foot. Hehe.

Quote of the Season

Gorgeous Ms Prada Finland and I and a few others had an afternoon tea in the lovely sun in the hood a couple of days ago. Ms Prada has just been "dumped" by her boyfriend. Dumped is a little bit misuse of words. I would rather say rescued from. Anyway, we were chatting away a bit on this and I asked her: "What would he want to leave you all of a sudden?"

"He told me I made him feel small", she answered sadly, looking at her hands. We nodded silently, sipping our hot Green Tea, thinking that we didn't want to ditch her ex just yet. Then Ms Prada raised her shoulders and continued apologetically, glancing at us with a shy smile and exclaimed: "But he is!". Wonderful revelation! We really couldn't agree more!

Another one bites the dust. But it sure isn't Ms Prada.

The Kiss Trick

Take my advice sweet-hearts: Kiss your dates. All of a sudden a completely new guy might turn up. From being a normal nice and quite handsome guy that could mind as well been a colleague or someone in a business meeting, he is suddently a sex god. Like Mr Sketch on our date last night. Me likes a lot.

Something that I need to dwell on though: how come I always meet leg-fetischists? Of course, not all of them are as pervo as my ex-boyfriend, Mr Erotica-writer, but still? Not that I mind of course. As someone said: my legs are my USP. I still find it strange that men mostly like me with my high-heeled boots on. Don't really mind it though, I quite enjoy it to be perfectly honest.

Mmmmm

Weekend- and half-month recap

Lovely, Sunday again. And I am cuddled up in my lovely sofa in my lovely flat in my lovely part of this wonderlovely town. Perfect. Had a great weekend too. Perfect mix of socializing and being by myself. I sometimes wonder if this is some sort of age-thing; enjoying being with myself. I actually like being in my flat and just relax here that I wonder if I will EVER be able to have a proper relationship again? Maybe I am getting too used to just do what I want, to don't have to consider anyone else, that I will forever be single? Nah, don't think so, but I must say, right now I feel NO rush into a relationship. Which really is a good feeling.

My accounting for the end of the year is going REALLY WELL too! (Check out the Forecast for the Closing of The Books in this posting). I will finish this year with a very good result. December and Q4 have really been to my favour. Things can still happen of course, but mid-month we are looking at very positive results. And of course, my late-year strategy has been a lot more restrictive and less risk-taking, so I couldn't have lost a lot either. But that's ok, I was very courageous in the other quarters.

Date with Mr Sketch went really well by the way. We talked forever. Nothing happened though, and it felt more of a friendly thing than La Grande Amore. We'll see though. We might have another date this week. I really feel like snogging someone, or something more even, must be hormons... So, who knows? We might end up having romantic roll-arounds in the bed! We don't know these things, but as you know, anything can happen in the Spinster's life.

puzz

Come on Engeeeland!

(Btw.. looking back at my previous post: wow what an EGO I must sound like!? Well, am sure you know what I mean anyway.)

Just wanted to give England a bit more cred in my "country-scoring" session. Mr Sketch (good nickname since I met him at Sketch AND he is working with art/design), our current runner-up from the jolly old nation, is doing everything right so far:

• He CALLS instead of texting
• He calls when he says he will call
• He sounds happy and laughs a lot
• He takes initiative and wants to get things organized for our date, without hassle
• When I suggest to meet half way, he says he is happy to travel over the whole town to me
• He laughs at my silly jokes
• He is very unproblematic and says he will find the little bar I suggested without my help

Well done. Much impressed. So far the best date this year. Keep up the good work and you might be able to catch up some well needed last-minute points for 2006 from your fellow "not-so-gentlemenish" countrymen.

A Spinster's love message in X-mas time ;-)

Coming to think more and more of the panic I feel is happening to some people around me. Panic about meeting the right person, or rather panic of not meeting the right person. All my friends are between 30 and 35 and most likely we will live until we are around 80. Possibly even longer. Up until we were 20 we were more or less children. This means that we have only been looking for this "right" person for maybe 14% of our lifetimes. During a time when we have also grown up, educated ourselves, moved maybe to new countries, and been not very "landed". And what are the likelyhood of bumping into this super-right person in such a short time? Plus, some and myself included, have even met someone "right" but grew out of this person and is now ready for number 2! Amazing.

I am a firm believer that it's all a matter of luck. Being in the right place, at the right time, being in the right mood and meeting someone who is also right and in the right timing, is just a very complicated equation! I'm not saying it will not happen, on the contrary, it happens all the time, but it should not be taken for granted. It is not a human right to find love. It's a bonus and should be regarded as a wonderful gift, not as a given. And it makes me always very disturbed when people seem to be bitter about this.

The times in my life that I have been truly unhappy is when I have relied on only one pilar to hold me up: love from a boyfriend/husband. I know, this sounds like sloppy kharma-bla bla, but it's true. Love IS all around and the biggest love is loving yourself. Everything else is secondary.

God bless

Phobia or Being truthful?

Hah, funny thing happened. Just got an email from a bloke I was chatting to on a website last spring. It's a therapy-web thingie from the motherplanet where people/patients can ask qs to "real" therapists and get on-line consulting. The questions are asked openly so all the members of the website can take part of the answers and also comment on them. All quite well made, impressive!

Anyway, early this year I met this Irish guy and things were starting to get rather serious. And as always I started to feel a bit panicky about the whole thing. Started to search for faults in him and getting nervous for all sorts of things. "Oh, should I really go to Ireland for the wedding with him? What if I don't like him really that much?" or "Doesn't he have really terrible clothes?". I know it sounds funny but I really really find it so difficult with new relations. I am afraid of everything: me not liking him, him not liking me, me liking him but then falling out of love and bla bla bla.
So I consulted this website and started discussing with other people with this "commitment phobia"... And now this bloke emails me, about 9 months later to see how I was doing. Funny, because it made me read a bit of the emails and postings I made back then.

And as I answered to this guy, I wonder if it really was a matter of strong Commitment Phobia? Am I really that screwed up from my divorce that I really DREAD getting involved with anyone? When I look back at this Irish guy, I must say I cannot see how we would EVER work out?!

Someone said to me then "maybe it's just simple, he isn't right for you, or you wouldn't think so much about it." I really didn't want to listen to that ear then, but of course she was right. It was only me, again, fooling myself!

Love.... actually?!

Soundtrack: Fernando/Abba AND Love is All Around/Four weddings and a Funeral AND Love is in the air

Is it the xmas-season, is it kharma or is it just... my new blonde highlights? Not sure, but there is really something romantic in the air. And it's everywhere (ok, let's now forget the little fork-mishap with the Sugardaddie in the last two posts).
How about this week's scores:

• Went out for dinner with mum and dad Saturday. Guy at the bar comes up and asks if I want to go out for a drink. (I said no, mainly because I got a bit nervous with my half-deaf and super-curious father sneaking up and wanting to be involved).
• Met this really nice guy in Sketch who IN FACT has called me and asked me out for a drink next week. Very pleased. Well done England.
• On the flight to Brussels tonight the guy next to me in the super bumpy airplane is really "on" and I thought he was going to ask me out. Not really my kind of guy. But still.
• THEN the taxi driver is flirting very openly with me and indicates that he is single and good friend of one of my colleagues. Cute guy, but not my type either, so I squirm out of it.

There definitely is a KHARMA flow in the air. Inspired by the very strong film Love actually my dearest Chablis decided to take the bull by his ears and ask her crush out for a date. And of course he wanted to! Well done Chablis, very high points to you.

Love is in the air.

Chablis tries to soothen my slowly but surely emerging anxiety for the last night's Ass-fork-text to the absent date.

- "Don't worry honey, look upon it from the bright side. Now you're the talk of the day in his office!!" she encourages me enthusiastically and imagines the conversation in the office:

- "That crazy singleton got upset, just because I didn't meet with her as planned. What a crazy lady. And then she says I should stick a fork up my ass. And then the lads all chuckle:
- A FORK?? My God, you never know what foreign maniacs you bump into these days!!".

- "Uhum, great", I murmur from my pile of humanity covered with a blanket, trying to warm up my hang-over chills. What felt like an elegant and brilliant odyssee of triumph has magically turned into an image of a Nordic woman slowly frying her preys over open fire.

Forked up from the backside.

Of forks and men

At 8 pm yesterday I got really fed up and irritated with the extreme lack of decency of the Sugardaddy. What goes on in a man's mind when HE invites to a date but do not have the normal manners to cancel it when he changes his mind? Plus I was bloody irritated with myself for AGAIN being so NAIVE that I actually believe men when they ask me out! Moral of the song: Always mistrust men. But is this where we want to go?

Anyroads, given my sweet and polite personality I decide to text him.

"Hallo Sweet Busy bee, am I totally confused, or werent we meeting up tonite? X"

After this I met my friend Mr Kungsbacka and had a fair amount of red wine. Two hours later there is a buzz in my pocket. Text from the absent date:

"Hi... sorry but today has been a long day and just finished... O( - I hope I havent inconvenienced U...D"

(btw, what is wrong in this country when people actually write words like inconvenienced and hence in texts??)

Mr Kungsbacka and I laughed our heads off. Possibly a bit too much wine. So I answer:

"No props honey. But my good friend Mr Kungsbacka believes I should shuffle a fork up your ass. Do you agree?"

Very quick answer:

"That's an option"

So, end of this story now. Mr Kungsbacka is now convinced that he will call like mad the rest of the week and FORBIDS me to answer. We'll see. Don't think that we will ever hear from eachother to be honest. Too many forks in asses.

Words of wisdom

Among all horrible and crappy web-sites I found this one that is finally one that makes sense. For once, a guy gives a clear and honest view on the Dating process and DO NOT encourage silly games.

www.datingclass.com/articles/dating-rules.shtml

Gives among other things answer to this intricate question:

The women all ask, "How come I meet this guy, we have a great conversation, he asks for my number, I give it to him, and then he never calls? What's wrong with men?"

Hmmm, feels relevant?

My friend Mr Shakiro is very kind. He says "well honey, you know, you are so stunning that men don't dare contacting you. They think you're simply out of their league".

Wimps.

Xenophobia..

..is what i am developing right now. I am sorry, the 30-million-something of the world -- you are cute, funny, sparkling, intelligent, sometimes even good-looking, and totally IMPOSSIBLE. There is just something with me and Englishmen that just DOESN'T work out.

This never fails: I have been dating and meeting and snogging and internet-dated a NUMBER of men from this jolly old part of the world, and it just DOESN'T WORK OUT. Even my 1-year-relationship with an English-guy was a disaster of misunderstandings.

What's wrong? You tell me!! They are just generally smooth-talkers, overly polite to start with and promise you the world, and then they just disappear, without a word. I am not going to get into any deeper into details on this, but let's say we are talking maybe around 10 times I have met with English guys who ask me out, tell me they think I am LOVELY and seem to be OVER THE TOP with me. But then, probably when gallons of warm lager they've been filling themselves with, disappear, they vanish into thin air. Without a word.

And I had promised myself to STOP dating Englishmen. I just decided that few months ago; "I am NOT giving out my contact details to ONE MORE of them". But of course I have. First the bloody Sugardaddie who texted me about 2 weeks ago to book in a date with me TODAY on the 5th of December. I answer "sure, sounds fun". Today is the day, and I haven't heard a WORD from him. I just wonder, do they think they are the world's centre so much that they can just do whatever they want? My male-friend Mr Kungsbacka thinks I should shuffle up a fork his ass. Will do. Temp Flatty Chablis thinks I should call him to show him how decent and truly well-mannered people behave. We'll see, not sure I want to give him that sort of flatter.

Then I met this really nice bloke out on Saturday. We chatted for a while and he wanted to have my number and take me out for a drink. Even if I at first didn't even notice him, I really felt a connection when we spoke. Ok, so I gave him my number. BAD GIRL!!!! Why on earth did I? It always fails. And sure thing. Has he called? But of course not!! Mr Kungsbacka says I am too impatient. So we'll see, but if he doesn't call my Xenophobia is fully developed. I will not believe ONE word an Englishman says ANYMORE in my life.

From no on, no Englisman pls, I am Swedish.

Which is more or less what Gwyneth Paltrow apparently said one year before she met Chris Martin and married him and now she lives in Narfff Laandaan and has two English babies and says she LOOOVVEESSSS the English people. Good for her.

Good bye.

Perception is reality?

After three, again, very persistant text messages and two deliberately missed calls, I pick up the phone when he calls.

- "How are you Roberto" I ask tiredly, waiting to hear his drunken voice. A surprisingly clear voice answers back quickly.
- "Dahling, how ARE you? What are you doing this time of the day?"
- "Well, since it's Thursday afternoon I am at work".
- "Ok, I need to talk to you Swettie pie, and it has to be now."
- "Ok", I answer absently, still occupied with clearing out the long row of red emails in my Inbox.
- "You now Sexy, I have been thinking of us. We had such a great relationship you and I. If you hadn't been cheating on me in Rome last summer, we would still be together." I almost fell off my chair in chock. What is he dreaming about? We didn't have a relationship, honestly, we only only SLEPT together. And I sure wasn't with anyone else when I was in Rome! But I let him continue.
- "Swettie pie, you know, when we met everything was so easy, so right from the beginning. It's so different with the girls I meet now, they are just playing around. But you and I, we were just perfect straight away,. no fooling around". I give up a sly smile. Ok, the reason why it was simple and straightforward was because we WEREN'T IN LOVE nor interested in eachother.
- "So, how is it going with your new boyfriend dahlin? Are you close to eachother, are you getting close?" I murmur some unhearable answer, trying to aviod getting to involved in this white lie about my new love.
- "I can understand it will be difficult to forget me, we were so good for eachother". He continues triumphantly. "We simply couldn't stay together since you want children and I don't. It's that easy". Interesting what made-up reasons people can come up with sometimes. Then I get visions in my head of him being drunk and crazy and acting like a 5-year old boy when I don't want to give him my full attention. Or when he was grumpy like an 70-year old man because I was sweet and bought him Swedish meatballs, but of course with a bit of porc in that he CANNOT eat. But he continues his monologue.
- "So, super-sexy. Have you told your boyfriend that you want to have children yet? You know it will scare him off, like it did with me".
- "Well my Italian Ego-Drama-King, if this was so scary, why are you still calling me, texting me about 4 times a week?" And I hang up, fed up with these completely ground-less discussions.

Where the hell do some people get things from? Is he re-writing history or are our views on our so called relationship so fundamentally diverse?

Not to miss in Helsinki

The Finnish film-maker Aki Kaurismaki owns the Moskva bar and it has been in a couple of his films. We went for a drink last night and loved the place. All worn down Russian-style and small and maybe only 8 people in there, most lonely men. All looking like they came straight from a Kaurismaki film-shot. This Russian lady in the little bar was silently playing some crappy Russian music on the vinyl-player. No one talked very much, just sipping their vodka. My loud German colleague in his pink oxford-shirt, slightly overly-refreshed, suddently burst out his opinon on prostitution "Well who is surprised, we /men/ were just a biological error to start with anyway!". The whole place stopped and stared at him.

This reminded me of "I hired a contract killer" from 1991. A miserable but proud tiny French man is meeting up with his own killer in a shabby East-London pub. When he enters the basement floor, the tatooed lads stop to stare at him. He stares back at them and with his weak voice in very strong French accent he spits back at them "Where I come from we eat places like this for breakfast". One of the best line in film-history.

Very pleased to been told that there are Kaurismaki-boxes at the airport.

Do I live in the wrong country?

This question keeps coming back to me over and over. Why is it that I always meet wonderful men when I am out of the British Isles? For instance, here I am sat in Helsinki for a couple of days, and am amazed. We went out for some drinks last night and I must say I am STUNNED. So many GORGEOUS TALL COOL men everywhere?!! And they speek this soft Finnish-Swedish accent that I learned to love growing up to listening to Tove Jansson reading the stories of the Moomins. Soft, kind, intelligent, modest, thoughtful. That's what they sound like. And they are all sooooo sexy, the little moomin men.

But of course, this is this sort of "vacation-effect" that happens to most people: when you are away you are relaxed and absorbing of your surroundings, and you meet people that are in the same mood. And this also happened to me when I was visiting London before I moved there. I know what I will do! I will one weekend pretend I am a tourist in London, on vacation! I will do touristic things and just be open and happy to all morons that try to chat me up. I will hang out in very touristic places and maybe even take in to a hotel! Yes! That would be awsome!

Maybe I could even make a business concept out of this "Domestic Travels: Be a tourist in you own hometown!". Could be rather cheap too, you can even use your oyster card for the transport! My god, I am a GENIOUS!