“Apparently his adviser thinks the UK is like a 3rd world country!!!”

Well I must say this adviser really hit the nail on the head there. He really knows what he’s talking about. The UK is a third world country. A very rich third world country, but even so, a third world county.

I pulled out the kitchen drawer where we store our tea and he just looked confused. We have about teen different types of tea, which is quite normal for an office in Sweden.

-I want normal tea, he said staring down and all the different tins of tea, and of course I knew what he meant.
-I’m very sorry we don’t do normal tea in Sweden, I said to him in my very British accent, Early Gray is as normal as it gets over here, fancy that?
-Fuck that, he kindly answered me and got back to the meeting.

Swedish builders drink strong black coffee and not tea, so you won’t find any Builders Tea in Sweden. However I could offer you a nice cup of rhubarb & cream tea, or how about some red rooibos Champagne & elderflower tea, or maybe some nice Autumn Glow tea. No?

And life is that paradise I was dreaming of when I wasn’t living here. Sweden is the best country you can live in. It’s a fact. And being back, having lived in a grey, dirty, dysfunctional (but oh so lovely) country, I appreciate everything Sweden has to offer. I’m like tourist on drugs; I can’t stop raving about this fantastic country.

But… Stockholm is such a small city. 1 000 000 people share this city with me, which includes the people in the suburbs as well.

I don’t have a travel pass, as I can walk everywhere I want to go. That’s the size of the capital city of Sweden!

And I walk around this heavenly paradise thinking there is something missing, something I’m not sure Sweden can offer me. It could be Boots I’m thinking of, or fox hunting and men in red cord trousers. But then I feel it goes a bit beyond that. It’s hard to put your finger on it.

I’ve just been to London and when I was walking down a very sunny Brompton Road with a strawberry and cream frappuccino from Starbucks in my hand (another thing I can’t get in Sweden), sunglasses on, I had a very content feeling bubbling inside of me. The sun once again melted my very cold, frozen Scandinavian winter soul.

-Would it be weird if I moved back to London cos of the weather? I asked my ex neighbour later that evening, when we stood outside on the balcony of my hotel suite, counting Porsches.

I realise the slight humour in this, since England is the land of rain. But the thought has certainly occurred to me last couple of weeks. And when England delivers only the best, it’s so hard to remember why I choose to move away from it all.

I mean to be in a suite in a five star hotel with your friends, drinking Champagne and eating canapés, life feels rather good. And with Mr double-barrel surname talking poshish in my ear, it’s so easy to just want to move back.

But everyday life in England is not a hotel suite in a five star hotel in London. Everyday life in England is more like a slush puppy and a bag of crisps. I must try to remember that.

Did someone say Paris?

At home it’s also just like normal. The flat is nice and warm. Central heating is of course working and I have water and electricity. The wires and pipes haven’t frozen as they are built in to the wall rather then flapping about outside the wall of the house. Clever you see.

If you want to be somewhere warm in our snow cowered country, you should travel to the west coast where it’s 1°C. That is the warmest place in Sweden right now.

Tomorrow it’s going to be -40°C in some parts of Sweden and we will still go to work.

Questions?

I was just at my favourite bar having cranberry juice when I heard this voice which to me sounded like something godsend. Indeed it was Queen’s English I heard there and then in a trendy bar in Stockholm. My head turned to see where this lovely voice came from.

Bingo!

Mr double-barrelled surname was a head longer then everyone else when I saw him at the Embankment tube station, three weeks later. Straight from work he met me in a three-piece-suit, wig left at work. I didn’t mind.

While the rest of us only dress up at the occasional fancy dress party, England decides to make the stiff and serious atmosphere in a court room a bit more fun by wearing very small wigs and very large gowns.

Yes I do find this behaviour rather odd as last time I had a look it was 2009 and not 1609.

Anyhow, without his wig Mr double-barrelled surname whisked me away to an old pub where we had wine outside, and it made my frozen Scandinavian soul melt. I was standing outside zipping wine at the end of November. My coat wasn’t even done up. I could move back to London for this reason only.

By the next day it was like I was starring in a British romcom with Hugh Grant.

Sussex downs. The BMW parked next to a field belonging to the big Estate. The sun was shinning, me looking smart in brown boots and a green coat, with a big scarf wrapped around my neck. I was made to play this part. He looked casual with jeans, jumper and a down west. I was Cameron, he was Jude.

We walked down an ally in to the forest holding hands, dry autumn leaves rustling under our feet.

It was warm and sunny, and the country side was looking ever so beautiful in all its red and green colours when all of a sudden the sky became grey and heavy showers came down. We run and took shelter by a wall, had a kiss and then the sun came back again and a big rainbow appeared.

I would rent that movie!

Ps. Mr double-barrelled surname has mice in the kitchen of his Fulham house. Naturally.

I remember when I lived in England and once was filling in a form and one of the questions was about my occupation, there was a tick box for ’housewife’. How very 1950’s.

Housewives are an extinct species in Sweden. I know of one; my grandmother. She just turned ninety, bless her!

I had her job once when I was living in England. I of course held a 9-5 job as well but was expected to wash, clean and cook on my spare time whilst the boyfriend was out playing.

I won’t forget that time when I had forced him to cook dinner for me; he stood in the kitchen, looking very lost and asked me how to cook potatoes. I honestly wanted to punch him there and then, really hard.

Ones before we went to a wedding the hubby asked me to iron his shirt for him, and I of course said no. The lady friend we stayed at gave me a very shocking look. I’m sure she was appalled by my behaviour.

She ironed his shirt.

The Swedish man iron his own shirts, feed himself and takes six months pertinently leave whilst mummy brings in the dole.

Once again welcome to the world of today.

I no longer sleep with my window open at night, I’ve swopped for my thicker duvet, I want to have soup and home made bread for lunch and I’ve signed up for an Italian evening course.

Evening courses are also a reliable sign autumn is entering our lives here in Sweden. We tend to want to dance salsa and do pottery with strangers when it starts getting cold.

And the biggest change of all: I just want to sit inside and watch a film and that’s about it.

Long gone are the late summer nights when I stayed up until late. When I went out every day of the week, and still went to work the next day, without feeling tired. The sun, the light and all the good times have this effect on us Swedes.

But now all I want to do is to go to bed early and have a good night sleep. I’ve become boring. But so have the rest of the Swedish population.

Come September and we go into hibernation. It’s the force of nature. It’s the force of the very harsh Scandinavian nature.

We live in a country which is pitch black and freezing cold for about eight months of the year. Yes that’s right, eight months.

Its dark when we wake up, we plough our way through drifts of snow to work. It’s dark all day except for a few hours at lunch. That’s if you are lucky. If you live in the northern parts of Sweden its dark 24/7. Yep.

With this in mind you might understand our obsession for the sun. We need it. We need the light. I don’t know of any other country where doctors prescribe light therapy.

It might sound like a joke to dress all in white and sit in a white room with very bright light, but for some it’s necessary.

And when the first days of spring come, even though the temperature is still more towards zero then ten, we want to be outside. We feel alive for the first time in a very long time.

The sun it’s like a drug to us. We are so depended by it, we crave it. A bad summer could have damaging consequences on our lives.

I’ve had a great summer, with lots of sun, so I’m hoping I’ll make it thorough this winter. I nipped of to Italy for a few weeks just to be on the safe side.

Anyhow, I’m going to bed now and tend to stay there until May.

Good night!

The house had running hot and cold water, a fridge, central heating, telephones, electricity in every room, a lift, a bathroom with both a tub and a separate shower and toilets.

Well this might not sound too impressive but if I tell you the house is now a museum, kept the way it was built and lived in, in the 1890s you might be a bit surprise, as there are still a lot of households in England with much worse living standard.

This should mean by the year of 2130 the Brits can live like kings/an average Swede. There something to look forward to!