It’s been quite awhile since I last blogged. I’m not sure if I really want to anymore, but I thought I’d give it a bash again. It’s a little like trying on a jumper that fell down the back of your drawers; you remember it, it brings back some nice and warm feelings; but it’s old, you’ve been there and done that, you’re not sure if it’s for you anymore.
Sweden has snow. That might be a little like saying, ‘bears *cough* in the woods’, but it’s taken its time to arrive. Even then, in fairness, it’s hardly covering the ground. The famed snow of Sweden seems to have given me a body swerve. In other weather related news, Scotland had hurricane winds and a tornado in Glasgow. No, the tornado was not part of my dream to remove the weege from the map, it genuinely happened.
Anyway, I’m abundantly aware that this has become word spew; the inner and not so logical workings of my mind. Scotland is beckoning and as of Thursday I’ll be back in the land of whisky and heather – and fish suppers, strokes, alcoholism, and sectarianism. Scotland is like that rough pal – we all have one of them – you know, the guy who you meet for a pint now and again, you kind of tolerate him because he makes you feel real, like you have your feet on the ground, and let’s face it, you kind of like his crass pathetic self-loathing which makes your life feel all the better. It’s self-affirming. Well, if we accept that description, then Sweden is like your posh upper-middle-class friend who went to private school in Edinburgh, whose daddy is a business man, who plays golf, laughs too often and in a rather snorty fashion, who believes everyone owns a piano, wears jumpers his granny knitted but somehow makes them look good, and who generally makes you feel a little inadequate.
My relationship to each country follows in a similar vein: sometimes I feel I could really fit in here, I enjoy the company of my perfect friend, it seems to really fit my personality. But then sometimes, you get sick of how safe you feel, you become tired of the constant conformity of conscience, the equality of it all. Sometimes you just crave a greasy pie, a cheap pint, and the banter of that grotty but strangely homely pal. Sometimes you just want to be in Caledonia.
Anyway, if any of you have got this far and actually followed this train of thought, then, well, unfortunately I have no prize to give you. But good on you and I promise next time my post will be more lucid.