Dag 968: Snowblind

I awoke with a start and waited in silence for a few moments to see if I could sense what had caused me to awake in such a fashion. I heard nothing, so I rolled out of bed and looked out of the window. Although the sun was not yet fully up, I could see that the snow was thick all around and all that I could see was white; covered by the heavy fall during the night. It must have been at least minus 12 outside, but thanks to the triple glazing on the window, I was warm enough inside.

I looked at my watch, it was after 10:00 am and I had slept in. After a quick shower and a breakfast of knäckebröd with cheese, ham and tomato, I got dressed in my thermals, put on my outdoor snow suit and stepped outside into the virgin snow. The first thing that struck me was the silence. This was the third day since I had arrived at this house in a remote part of Sweden and I still wasn't used to the absolute lack of noise. The house was 7 miles from the nearest neighbour and the silence was so complete that it is not possible to imagine what it is like without experiencing it for oneself. It is said that the silence can drive some people to the edge of madness.

I checked that the packing I had done the day before was complete and tied securely to my skidoo. There was no need to lock up the house, so I started the skidoo up and rode due north. After 3 hours of travelling I stopped for a quick lunch and then set off again. I should really have left an hour earlier so I needed to try and make up some time.

I arrived at my final destination at 21:15, tired and hungry. I parked the skidoo and took the cases into the cabin that was to be my home for the next week. My first task was to get the fire going, and then I could think about getting some food ready. I decided to prepare a quick meal of pytt i panna with some beetroot, which I washed down with a single small glass of ice cold O.P Andersson Akvavit.

I now had 7 days in which to solve the puzzle that was the whole reason for my being sent here. It is a puzzle of immense proportions, which one cannot even begin to describe. I had first been told about it 11 years before and I had spent all that time preparing myself for the time that had now arrived. For the puzzle is of such a complex nature that it can only be solved within the Arctic Circle by someone born on the exact date of my birth. A few others had tried and failed and I knew the ramifications could be far reaching if I were to follow in their footsteps, but as I sat by the fire all I could wonder was what dark mysteries fate would bring to my door that night.

Dag 959: Andalucía when will I see you?

When it is snowing out again.

I have recently returned from my annual trip to the Spanish Lourdes, which explains why there has been a distinct lack of postings on the old Critical Mass for a while.

A week before I flew out it was announced on the news that due to a foiled terrorist plot people would no longer be allowed to take hand luggage on board flights into and out of the UK. Instead they would only be allowed to take tickets, passports and money provided it was in a clear plastic bag. We were informed that this was likely to stay in place for some time. To me, it seemed like a knee jerk reaction that would do little to alter the likelihood that any particular plane might get attacked, but would most likely cause a lot of distress to many passengers; who could end up having things they would normally have taken in their hand luggage stolen from their suitcase after checking them in.

I spent the next few days posting letters of complaint to the BBC “have your say” topic about the new security restrictions. I would normally put a link in at this point, but this particular “have your say” topic has disappeared from the BBC website for some reason.

Anyway, by the time I came to travel the restrictions had been reduced to something a bit more sensible and I was able to take my laptop in my hand luggage and the plane didn't get blown up and all was well with the world. Apart from the fact that I left my zip up sweat shirt in the overhead locker due to the stresses involved with making sure we didn’t forget everyone else’s zip up sweatshirts and other belongings.

Booking the hire car had been a bit of a balancing exercise. We would have a lot of luggage so needed to fit all that in for the 2 trips between the airport and the apartment, but apart from that the car would be little used and a small one would fit us all nicely. I could have rented a Clio for about £200 pounds or a Ford Focus for about £260. So, did I want to pay an extra £60 in order to have a less stressful time packing the car on 2 short trips? I decided not, so I went for the Clio.

On arrival we were actually given a Fiat Punto and upon locating it we noticed a man trying to pack his luggage into a Ford Focus in the parking bay next to us. He was complaining that he had a Ford Focus at home and had got all his luggage into it with no problems on the way to the airport, but it wouldn't fit into this one. Each time I have visited Spain I have been surprised that the boot space in my hire car has seemed smaller than I would have expected it to be. My theory is that hire cars in Spain are actually built with smaller boots that the same car would have if it was not destined to be a Spanish hire car. So far I have seen no evidence to refute my theory so it must be right. I had the usual stresses trying to get all of the luggage into the car again, but as always, I finally managed to squash it all in. All of the passengers did, however, end up with various bits of luggage and push chairs etc. on their laps. But 20 minutes later, after turning left at the BMW garage, going under the cable cars and past the lighthouse, we were parked outside the apartment and we didn't need to worry about packing the car again for another 2 weeks and a day.

Once the car was unpacked and the electricity, gas and water turned on we always go en masse to the supermarket to do our main shop of the holiday (after that I just go on my own each morning to get what we need for the day). I always like shopping in foreign supermarkets so this first supermarket trip always gets me a little giddy. One of the things I notice while in Spain is how we get ripped off in the UK with the cost of cans of pop. A can of Sprite at home tends to cost 50p or higher. In the Spanish supermarkets they cost 31 Euro cents each. That is around half the price we pay. Also while we are on the subject of Sprite I should also add that Sprite bought in Spain tastes different to Sprite bought in the UK. They both taste good, but the Spanish version tastes better than good. The first time I ever saw Sprite was on a school trip to Athens and I really liked it. When it became available in the UK some years later I started drinking it, but it never seemed to taste quite so good as it had in Greece. I guess they must have changed to formula of it in the UK to make it taste more like what us Brits think lemonade should taste like. Well, personally I would rather they didn't do things like that. If a drink that used to only be available in other countries is introduced to the UK it should be left exactly the same as it was in the original country. If they want to change the taste, they should give it a different name and make it be a different drink. And while we are on that subject, I hate the way that the UK will start importing a foreign type of beer and then suddenly they stop importing it because they are now brewing it in the UK instead. Only now the UK version of the drink tastes nothing like the original version. It never taste as good once they start getting brewed over here so stop doing it - you stupid breweries.

Fortunately for now I am able to get real Lapin Kulta brewed in Finland from Beers of Europe and I can get real Baltika brewed in Russia from www.tesco.com. Thanks to Paolo and the Blue Blazer in Edinburgh, I have a Baltika glass (which I keep in the freezer), but I don't yet have a Lapin Kulta glass. Does anyone know here I can get one from? Email me at the usual address (and just putting Finland down is not an acceptable answer).

Right so back to Spain – a place in which, I am reliably informed, the rain stays mainly on the plane. Once the shopping was done and we had unpacked everything the holiday could start, and I could sit in my favourite place on evening 1 of the holiday.

My favourite place in Spain

Back in the dark, dank and ominous opening few months of the year the staff of The Cloudhands Weekly Expectorant presented me with a radio controlled shark as a birthday gift. I had decided that the best thing to do with it was save it so I could give it its first airing (and dunking) in the pool in Spain. Although I didn’t know at the time, this was to become known as Operation Chorizo, and I am pleased to report that Operation Chorizo was a complete and resounding success, though, unfortunately, the video evidence was lost due to operator error. And, I don’t just mean that one session of shark footage was lost. Footage was taken on 3 separate sessions and none of it survived, due to what is sometimes referred to as Klum Sithum Syndrome.

Now, I may not have driven over any lemons while in Spain this time around, but I did discover the delights of ITV3. This enabled me to watch an episode of Taggart pretty much every night before going to bed and meant I only ended up watching one of the many DVDs I took with me. You may recall from a previous post that I planned to watch Steget Äfter one night on the balcony and that is exactly what I did. The film was thoroughly enjoyable and sufficiently different from the book to make it count as story in its own right. Books generally have far more happening in them that can be fitted into a 90 minute film so invariably bits have to get cut out and in this case a whole key feature of the book was changed which enabled the story to be easily converted into 90 minutes and also removed a part of the book that would have been quite difficult to have on film – namely a man dressed as a woman that no one realises is actually a man until it is too late (I hope I haven’t ruined the book for anyone).

I watched thw DVD on my laptop, on the second Saturday night of the holiday while sitting on the balcony in my favourite position (see above - I should add that it isn’t really a balcony as it is on the ground floor, but I don’t know what else to call it). I had a few glasses of Absolute vodka with Sprite and then a Salame pizza from Papa Luigis along with a glass or two of cava. I should add that while I was in cultural nirvana watching my highly intelligent production (in Swedish with English subtitles) the others were in the apartment dumbing down to the culturally inept “How do you solve a problem like Maria” or whatever it’s called.

Other holiday highlights included the now ubiquitous lightning tour of Fuengarola Zoo followed by the forking out of money for overpriced toys (that I’ll probably never play with again after the holiday) in the gift shop.

a big cat

The hot suny weather was only interupted for a couple of hours one day by the appearance of a bit of mist, but as you can see it wasn't enough to make us fret.

look at those shores

We carried on the tradition of sticking to the same restaurant for every meal out (namely La Dispenser in Cabopino) until the last day when we had lunch at Giuseppe’s (also in Cabopino) instead. I had a very nice burger with barber queue sauce, though it was a little under cooked for my liking so I shall be asking for mine to be well done next time we eat there.

The only other thing to report on is the in car music. We had a bit of Shirley Clamps first CD to bring back memories of our first trip to Spain and we had a bit of Shirley Clamps latest CD, but for the majority of the time it was Snö by Eva Dahlgren that compelled itself to be played. The CD has grown on me exponentially since buying it, it is simply one of the best CDs I own. I didn’t want to play it on the trip back to the airport as there was a risk that I would forget to retrieve it when we returned the car so we listened to Shirley Clamps Favouriter På Svenska and true to form I forgot to retrieve it when we returned the hire car.

Still, I consoled myself with the fact that I could easily order another copy, but I would also be providing the next renter of that car with the chance of hearing some music they might otherwise never have got to hear.

I have been back at work for a couple of weeks now and it now feels like an age since I was soaking up that Spanish sun. Peter Hammill is playing in Gateshead in a few weeks time and I would like to go, but I haven’t dared ask yet.

Farmer John wants you louder and softer.

Dag 951: Dark Angels Scream......

The moon shone obliquely through a crack in the curtains sending a shard of light into the centre of the rug that had Sergels Torg written into the pattern at one end. The window pain rattled in a sudden gust of wind and I walked over to the window and moved the curtain to one side allowing me to look out.

The sky was cloudless and I could almost see to the end of the garden, but not quite. A sharp crack caused me to look to the left, but all I could see was the stone wall that ran down that side of the garden. I held my breath for a moment as I looked to see what could have made the sound, but I saw nothing move. On the other side of the wall a fully grown fox was hiding in the undergrowth with senses on full alert. It had been sleeping in a wooden crate full of leaves a few days before and when it woke up it was too late to get out of the create as a lid had been put on it and the crate was swaying as it was being carried by 2 men onto a dark red 2.4 litre pathfinder land rover with a large scrape down one side. The land rover had driven for 2 days before reaching the village, where the crate was carefully taken out and the contents tipped onto the county communal compost heap. The fox had waited under the compost until the land rover had driven off and then slowly made its way to where it now lay in hiding. No one living in the village knew it was there and that was the way it was going to stay.

I closed the curtains, put another log on the fire and went into the kitchen. I took a glass, which had been made in Finland, off the shelf and walked into the utility room. I opened the freezer door, put 4 ice cubes into the glass and took out the bottle of Swedish vodka I had recently bought in Spain. It was covered in a thin film of ice and, as usual, I found it hard to unscrew the lid and my hands became very cold. I eventually got the lid off and poured enough vodka into the glass to just reach the top of the ice. I then returned the bottle to the freezer and took out a bottle of Sprite from the fridge. After filling the glass to the brim I put some macadamia nuts into a small bowl and returned to the lounge.

I felt the heat from the fire as I sat down and thought about the song that I needed to write. But that would have to wait, as I was about to watch a Nordic thriller on the television. As the opening music played and I took the first sip of my drink I wondered what dark mysteries fate would bring to my door that night.