We Are Newsworthy

Well, it took forty years, but I finally got myself in one of the national newspapers. Best of all, I did it without sadistically murdering someone and eating their pubic-hair, which appears to be an increasingly easy way into the headlines nowadays.

Nope. Jo, Freya and I got into the DN Sunday supplement for just being, really, though more specifically for being vegan. But don’t let the Sunday supplement suffix fool you, my non-existent readers; the DN is a newspaper of distinction here in Sweden, equivalent to The Times, Telegraph or the slightly inferior Guardian. And although the Sundayness of it implies a jauntier, lifestyle feel, one should still consider it a worthy contribution to the journalistic world.

Lotten, our neighbour and (after her decision to base an article on us) admirer good friend wrote an article about four families and their different ways of saving the planet. Not that I’d ever seen myself in the same light that some do Superman, and I would never vocally make such claims, though it is of course well-deserved (if not a bit embarrassing) to receive such accolade from the rest of society. I would obviously not even try to compare our “work” with the great names (like Gandhi), though unlike Gandhi we continue our fight without the fame-game he and his ego were involved in. No, we are more comparable with the likes of the Nobel Prize winners (which Gandhi has never won, by the way), I would say, than to the star-struck elite who go on and on like a broken record about their “plight”.

The article did a very good job of making us (and thereby vegans) look normal, approachable and a little bit cool. I’d had a good idea of what I wanted to get across, which, despite the lack of column space, I think we manged to do quite well. Anyway, hats off to Lotten, who did a splendid job.

Mission To Sigtuna

We went on a mission today to Sigtuna.

Without our usual co-pilot, Chris.

We’re………sorry, Chris.

In our defence it was more of a mini-mission, Sigtuna being neither that far away nor that big a place. Also, I don’t reckon Chris would mind, since I believe he’s currently diving in Egypt. Still, it did feel treacherous, and we had to console ourselves by eating pommes-frites and onion rings when we got there.

Sigtuna is a quaint village situated by Lake Malar, the third biggest lake in Sweden. It’s one of those touristy places that, despite having lots of modern shops strewn along its main road, still manages to blend them into the surrounding architecture without it being too much of an eyesore.

In fact the only eyesore we saw was a seashore t-shirt store. Actually it wasn’t, but once I saw a tongue-twister on the horizon my animal instincts took over. No, the only eyesore in the rustic village of Sigtuna was the brutally bleak crazy-golf course. Seemingly designed by a clinically depressed Puritan who had got a degree in drawing straight lines, thereafter eschewing his education because drawing lines was too much fun, I think I’d find more enjoyable things to do if I were locked in a white windowless room with a golf ball and a knife with which to stab myself repeatedly in the eyes.

Apart from that it was a wonderfully relaxing day out that all the family seemed to appreciate.

A Return To Work (That’s What You Think)

Last week was Easter holidays, and my third week away from work. I’ve been feeling more or less okay during this time, having the uncomfortable feelings of the beginnings of a panic attack relatively few times.

Yesterday morning, from 5.30 until early afternoon I was overcome with a terrible feeling of sadness, one which created an emptiness in my stomach, and seemed to spread itself along my spine. I cried almost non-stop, unable to shake away the desperation.

I’d decided to go back to work this morning. I awoke earlier than the alarm, as I usually do on work mornings, and felt quite calm at the prospect of my return. As I lay there, thoughts of school started to filter through my inner calm, and within half an hour I was swallowing a pill to prevent the onset of an attack.

It’s easy to link these two happenings to my workplace, but I am truly surprised at the ferociousness of the unwillingness my subconscious is showing. I knew it would be difficult until I can get proper help (both medicinal and therapeutic), but these are very clear signals I am being given.

I Can Take You All On (Nobody Heard That, Right?)!

I kept a diary when I was younger. It was an unsuccessful attempt, partially because I got fed up after a few months, partially because it was a diary. Diaries, at least those not written German-born Jewish girls living in Amsterdam during the German occupation of the Netherlands in World War II, tend to be dull affairs, trivial matters of one’s own mundane life with little or no insight into one’s own way of thinking. Mine certainly was. I think the problem stemmed from not really understanding what future purpose my future scribblings would have, and only having a diary that offered four or five lines per day (an invitation to writers’ block if ever there was one).

When I started this blog I had neither the experience of putting my thoughts to words, nor a reason for doing it, and it shows. Even when I found the purpose (for future-Freya) it took me a while to think in blogging terms, though I now feel happy with most of the entries I screeve.

There is, I have found, another reason to blog, one which a pen-and-paper diary can never compete with: public, yet craven, slagging off.

Venting one’s spleen on paper is all very well and good and psychologically la-di-da, but it’s like swearing loudly in the bathroom: no-one, with the possible exception of one’s nearest and dearest, is going to know.

My gibing Lia recently is a fine example of self-serving slagging. I can, safely and reasonably anonymously (or, at least, difficult to reach from overseas), use someone’s innocent – yet incorrect – statement as a source of my own apposite amusement. Doing so in a public forum such as the Internet makes the whole experience that much more valid, as I openly taunt ignorance, and, at the same time, leave myself open to the same type of wickedness from the countless number of people who think my views are ludicrous and my comments asinine. In theory, anyway.

I intentionally keep my blog as low-profile as I can. I do not make any of my writing more publicly available than this site permits. So, while it is in a very real sense open to all, my anonymity remains intact, hidden amongst the millions of other web-pages out there; thus, I can slag off whatever/whomever I choose, with minimal fear of reprisal.

We Have Contact (And I Didn’t Use The Crass “Wii”)

Lotten came up on Monday to finalise an article she has written about us, which should appear in a Sunday supplement of one of the big nationals, DN, later this/next month. She brought her laptop with her, and during our conversation she tried to connect to her email client via wi-fi.

Her connection may have been fast, but it took me and my synapses nanoseconds to see how I could exploit the situation, particularly when she mentioned her connection was unlocked.

Suffice to say, I have now set up both Jo’s DS and my Wii to Lotten’s hotspot (must remember to mention that to her sometime). I was terribly impressed at how easy it all was, and, while it’s not as fast as my “other” connection I shall not complain, considering it’s costing me nothing.

I had been considering wi-fiing the flat myself, but due to some rubbish reason my Internet provider has given I’d not be able to use the free wi-fi modem they are offering. I could buy a wi-fi router to plug into my useless current modem, but spending 700 crowns on achieving a setup that other people are getting for free niggles me somewhat. But now I don’t have to.

Chris, Jack and Mark all have Wiis (with only Mark not having it in online mode yet), so I can see the next few months being fairly interesting, especially with Mario Kart being released next month.