Meet balls

Hej! I just ate some meatballs. They are called kottbullar, which sounds like saying 'shit-buller' or some other trendyesque backwards slang phrase. Anissa and I just had a heated debate about whether or not all human beings had choices. I said they did. Anissa didn't. She got mega indignant and called me a 'spoilt brat'. Now I may be many things....

Anyway, I shall sit here and seethe silently instead. It wasn't so bad really.

This weekend was fun. I was supposed to go and watch the Gaykor do their dress rehearsal on Sat, but got up at 1330 hrs (rehearsal was at 1015). So instead, I went and got the shopping and then came back and drank lemon cider! (they have all sorts of super cider! and at only 2.5% alcohol there's NO DANGER OF GETTING PISSED! More's the pity!).

On Sat night, since I didn't go out to Connections on Fri, thus missing any potential nipple-tweaking, I decided to brave the sub-zero temperatures and go back to Lino where I went last Sat. I got there at about 2230. There was not a soul there! Well, about 3 souls. Things hotted up after about midnight. Paul, breathe in your jealousy - the great thing about this disco is that if a song gets a good reaction, they play it again about 10 mins later! So we had three helpings of Carola's 'Evighet', and three of Linda Bengtzing's 'Jag ljuger sa bra'. And countless renditions of Magnus Carlsson's 'Lev Livet'. Rock.

I was somewhat bemused when an older gent squeezed past me and caressed my stomach. He and his two friends totally stared me out and I was thinking 'oh dear, be this a spitroast cruise?' However, all was revealed about 10 mins later when he came up with his friends and said 'Hi Johnathon, how are you?' 'Errrrrrm.... I'm ok thanks, and you?' 'Oh, I'm fine! I hear you were talking to my boyfriend Johan...'. Me: "...?...". 'Yes, you see, I'm one of your sixty new best friends - in the gay choir!'

Oh god. So it would appear that Stockholm is indeed a small place. It turns out I had talked to his 'man' as he was wont to call him (hello Senga from Glasgow!) on Thursday night. Obviously we had connected thanks to our mutual admiration for Shirley Clamp (now if there were ever a reason to love Sweden...).

So that was quite fun. I then went to another outside bar (!!) in Lino whereupon I was befriended by a policeman from Arlanda airport. Woof! Who then said 'Oh, and this is my boyfriend'. 'Ah! HEJJJ!' Grrr.

The boyfriend was v nice, and we even chatted in Swedish! Amazing what 4 bottles of strong beer will do to you!

The clocks then went forward, after I had met yet another man from the choir, who insisted he was 'not a whore'. Ok. And then I got the last tube home to Aspudden (which I have lovingly nicknamed 'ass-pudding') and tried not to break my face/teeth on the long uphill trek home on the treacherous black ice! I then proceeded to text my ex (oh dear a bad look!) but nothing too too hectic, just saying I had dreamt about him loads, and was he ok.

Don't you hate that 'next day' feeling when you wake up a) feeling like poo and then b) remembering the stupid things you did? ie. texting ex? To be fair, ex replied with a perfectly nice text wishing me luck in Sverige. I then decided the only thing to do with a head like mine was to go for a long walk. Which I then did. I walked into town! It was bloody far away, but it was great. Do you know, I had to walk over a bridge and I looked down and the river underneath had frozen after the ice had already been broken? It was a super sight to see. I walked to Sodermalm, the southern island, got my first kanelbulle (cinnamon cake) and a Tiramisu flavoured chunky KitKat (a tad disappointing actually!) and then strode on into town, crossing the bridge to Gamla Stan, the old town. Unbelievably, someone has written 'LED ZEPPELIN - STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN' in the snow/ice on the river. Like, if you're going to spend that much time writing something, why not write something worthwhile, for ex 'SHIRLEY CLAMP FOR SVERIGES DROTTNING' or 'LINDA WAS ROBBED'??? I mean honestly!

Stockholm is so beautiful, even in the snow.

I came home via the Kungstradgard tube station. A camper station I have yet to see! Then last night, felt v tired after my hungover walk, so declined to go to Patricia, the Stockholm gay equivalent of the Tuxedo Princess in Glasgow. I stayed in and downloaded Pet Shop Boys remixes. Which in a way is just like going to Patricia!

Today I had no work, and it was bitterly cold, so I cleaned! (VAD? - the world). Then I met Anissa in town and we went to a fabulous shop called Indiska, where she bought all sorts of dresses. I took a photo. It will go up tomorrow. We then went to a fabulous gaybar (P, it's that one with the spinning chandelier and 'velvet' look) and had a nice salad. Then we faredodged our way home and here I am.

I do hope some work comes in tomorrow. I mean I paid all this dosh to be a member of the Institute of Translators and Interpreters. And I did the uber-hard exam. So I hope it bears fruit.

Oh, Anissa now knows my meaning of the word 'dolly'. She wouldn't believe I called anyone dolly until I showed her a selection of text messages. Walking around Indiska, I christened everything 'dolly'. It WAS all so dolly!

Anyway, this dolly's signing off now! Shirley Clamp for Queen of Sweden!!