This content is protected against AI scraping.
We have an election coming up in a few weeks. Of course, not being Swedish, we can’t vote in the national or regional elections however, we can help elect our local representatives. Because of the elections, there are posters springing up everywhere. Someone obviously did not agree with this Centre Party candidate.
In the meanwhilst, I had a text from KSP this morning regarding my post about the Elisabeth Ohlson Retrospective I attended. She told me that she had attended the original Ecce Homo exhibition in Stockholm during Pride 1998. She described it as ‘truly memorable’.
She also corrected my assertion that Ohlson was brought up a Catholic. I have fact-checked this and, thank you KSP, I stand corrected. I have fixed the post accordingly.
I rarely get personal messages regarding my posts and this was a lovely way to begin my day.
And, following the excitement of yesterday, today was a lovely, easy, quiet day. Of course I went shopping then spent a bit of time cooking. Mirinda loved Geraldine’s roasted tomato soup for lunch and her pork fillet mignon for dinner, and I passed on her delight via the Retreat Whatsapp Group. And, coincidentally, it turned out that Bobbie was making the same soup in Georgia. Geraldine, on the other hand, was making her bouillabaisse.
The only thing of any substance that happened was a discussion at the ICA check out, trying to work out what a Swede was in Swedish. Surprisingly, it is not Swede.
I posted a piece years ago, when I was researching at the Science Museum, regarding how the Swede became so named in the UK. You can read the oft-times entertaining story of Patrick Miller here.
The ICA cashier this morning was a young chap who clearly is not an authority on root vegetables. He held aloft a swede and asked what it was. I shrugged and said that I only know it in English and that it is a swede. (Obviously, given my pretty good supermarket Swedish, I did know it’s kålrot in Swedish but I had momentarily forgotten.)
Then, a fellow shopper said he would Google it. He showed me on his phone and I mispronounced it for the benefit of the young chap, which seemed to satisfy him regardless.
Then a voice came from beside me.
“What have you been up to since leaving school then?“
“Not learning Swedish, clearly,” I answered.
It was Alexandra from SFI. Quite a surprise given I haven’t seen her since I left. And what a delightful surprise it was. We chatted (in English) for a bit.
Before finishing this awfully fragmented and rambling post, I feel it would be remiss of me to not include this object I spotted on the footpath while walking home. I don’t know what it is but it certainly looks very sad about being lost.
Poor little thing.
