Over the last couple of days I've been reading a book by Peter James called 'Dead Tomorrow'. It's a tale of Romanian street children being kidnapped and killed to provide organs to transplant patients in the UK (and elsewhere), and it gave me pause for thought.
One of the central characters is a woman with a terminally ill teenage daughter who is in desperate need of a liver transplant. After being let down by the NHS, and fearing for her daughter's life, she turns to the internet and contacts an international organ broker. Despite knowing that a number of dead bodies have turned up in the area minus their organs, she shuts her mind off to the possibility and chooses to believe what she is told - that the liver will come from a donor who has died in an accident abroad.
Reading it did make me consider just how far I would go if it were a matter of the life or death of one of my children. I like to think that I would never consider buying an organ on the black market, knowing that it would mean someone else's unnecessary demise, but it's easy to say that sitting here with 3 perfectly healthy children sound asleep in their beds. Obviously I hope I'm never in that position, but I can imagine being prepared to do just about anything to give my girls a chance of survival. Would I descend to such desperate measures though?
How far would you go to save your child's life?
Sunday 31 January 2010
Saturday 30 January 2010
Birthday fika
As my birthday is mid-week this year, Mr.B took me out for birthday fika here today:
For those of you who haven't been following me on twitter for the last 6 months and don't already know, fika is a Swedish word which basically means to have cake & coffee. It's a little more complex than that though; for a start, it's not really something you do on your own, and conveys an element of socialising, whether that's with just one friend or an entire office of people. It's quite a large part of Swedish society, and a custom we've been more than happy to adopt since coming here! And the place is Taxinge Slott, or as it's more commonly known, the 'Cake Castle'.
As it was (nearly) my birthday, I treated myself to a serious piece of Sachertorte:
It was tough going, and I nearly didn't make it, but I did eventually manage to get through to the other side.
Our original intention was to go for a walk down by the lake afterwards, but the fact that it was -18C and the paths were knee deep in snow persuaded us that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. Plan B was to have a drive up the road to Mariefred to see if the lake was frozen, and it most certainly was - there are some photos of it on Flickr. It was only -14C up there, so we did manage a quick walk round (didn't dare venture across the ice though, despite the fact that there were footprints in the snow), but then hurried back to the car and home to warm up with a proper English cup of tea (actually, the tea came from Ireland courtesy of @Twistedlilkitty, but you get the idea).
For those of you who haven't been following me on twitter for the last 6 months and don't already know, fika is a Swedish word which basically means to have cake & coffee. It's a little more complex than that though; for a start, it's not really something you do on your own, and conveys an element of socialising, whether that's with just one friend or an entire office of people. It's quite a large part of Swedish society, and a custom we've been more than happy to adopt since coming here! And the place is Taxinge Slott, or as it's more commonly known, the 'Cake Castle'.
As it was (nearly) my birthday, I treated myself to a serious piece of Sachertorte:
It was tough going, and I nearly didn't make it, but I did eventually manage to get through to the other side.
Our original intention was to go for a walk down by the lake afterwards, but the fact that it was -18C and the paths were knee deep in snow persuaded us that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. Plan B was to have a drive up the road to Mariefred to see if the lake was frozen, and it most certainly was - there are some photos of it on Flickr. It was only -14C up there, so we did manage a quick walk round (didn't dare venture across the ice though, despite the fact that there were footprints in the snow), but then hurried back to the car and home to warm up with a proper English cup of tea (actually, the tea came from Ireland courtesy of @Twistedlilkitty, but you get the idea).
Friday 29 January 2010
That Friday Feeling
You know how when you're young, Friday nights are entirely for going out, and a Friday night in is deemed to be something of a failure (unless it's a party of course). Then when you get older and you're either too tired by the end of the week to do anything, or you have kids and it's too much hassle to get a babysitter so you stay in. But even so, there's always a feeling that Friday evening should be a little bit different to the other days; a mini celebration that the working week has finished once more and there are two days of relative freedom to come.
The Swedes of course, have a word for it - fredagsmys - which is basically the act of staying in and relaxing on a Friday night with family and friends, having snacks, drinks and maybe watching tv.
OLW (the equivalent of Walkers I guess) have even used it as the basis for an advert:
If you're not going out tonight, enjoy your fredagsmys.
The Swedes of course, have a word for it - fredagsmys - which is basically the act of staying in and relaxing on a Friday night with family and friends, having snacks, drinks and maybe watching tv.
OLW (the equivalent of Walkers I guess) have even used it as the basis for an advert:
If you're not going out tonight, enjoy your fredagsmys.
Thursday 28 January 2010
Watch out for hidden rocks
One of the most frightening telephone conversations I've ever had was in 2003 and went something like this:
Me (on answering the phone): "Hello, I'm just about to get on the plane to go home. Are you ok?"
Mr.B (in France): Well, I don't want you to worry, but.."
Me: "But what? What have you done?"
Mr.B: "Erm.. I think I've broken my back."
You can imagine my reaction to that - despite being stood in the middle of Glasgow Airport at the time; and it turned out that he had indeed fractured two vertebrae in his lower back whilst skiing. 4 days later he finally came home, happily on his feet (just), but encased in a hard plastic shell from neck to hip. He was very lucky not to be injured more severely, the helmet that I had bullied him into buying and wearing just before that trip very possibly saved his life judging by the huge dent in it. 6 weeks of being horizontal on the sofa followed by several months of physiotherapy and he was almost as good as new.
So when he casually mentioned last night that the 10th anniversary boys' skiing trip was coming up my heart sank. He's only been back to the slopes once since the accident, and it was an incredibly nerve-wracking time. But, like the good little wifey I am, I've encouraged him to go as I can see he really wants to. Still, no matter how many times he tells me it was only a little fall, and he was just unlucky that there happened to be some rocks underneath the snow where he landed, I won't be happy until he's back in one piece.
Plus I've told him if he has so much as a scratch when he gets home, I'm going to break his skis.
Me (on answering the phone): "Hello, I'm just about to get on the plane to go home. Are you ok?"
Mr.B (in France): Well, I don't want you to worry, but.."
Me: "But what? What have you done?"
Mr.B: "Erm.. I think I've broken my back."
You can imagine my reaction to that - despite being stood in the middle of Glasgow Airport at the time; and it turned out that he had indeed fractured two vertebrae in his lower back whilst skiing. 4 days later he finally came home, happily on his feet (just), but encased in a hard plastic shell from neck to hip. He was very lucky not to be injured more severely, the helmet that I had bullied him into buying and wearing just before that trip very possibly saved his life judging by the huge dent in it. 6 weeks of being horizontal on the sofa followed by several months of physiotherapy and he was almost as good as new.
So when he casually mentioned last night that the 10th anniversary boys' skiing trip was coming up my heart sank. He's only been back to the slopes once since the accident, and it was an incredibly nerve-wracking time. But, like the good little wifey I am, I've encouraged him to go as I can see he really wants to. Still, no matter how many times he tells me it was only a little fall, and he was just unlucky that there happened to be some rocks underneath the snow where he landed, I won't be happy until he's back in one piece.
Plus I've told him if he has so much as a scratch when he gets home, I'm going to break his skis.
Wednesday 27 January 2010
When thrifty isn't necessarily a good thing
As the child of a Scotsman brought up in Yorkshire, you can imagine that penny pinching is something I am all too familiar with. Irritatingly, those principles were so firmly ingrained in me from childhood that they still influence my spending patterns on a fairly regular basis.
Which goes a long way towards explaining why, despite desperately wanting a PS3 and/or 360, I have only recently upgraded from my beloved original PS1 to a PS2 - a second hand one of course. We did buy a Wii when they first came out (ostensibly for the kids), but once I'd completed Twilight Princess I largely lost interest in it.
Of course a new console means new games. But naturally, I couldn't possibly buy those new either; cheap pre-owned being the only ones I can really bring myself to hand over my hard-earned cash for (well, Mr.B's hard-earned cash, but what's his is mine). Whilst over in England, I happened upon a shop that was a veritable treasure trove of inexpensive games, and couldn't resist bagging a bargain or six. Sadly, I went for quantity and price over quality so included in the handful I bought are some real pups, but as I've paid money for them I'm determined to play on regardless so it wasn't a complete waste.
So last night I was sat up till 1am trying to get my money's worth on The Golden Compass. I've never seen the film, was distinctly underwhelmed by the original books, and the only reason I bought it was that my friend's daughter had it on her dS ages ago and it didn't look too bad when she was playing it. Unfortunately I can't think of anything nice to say about it. The camera angles are usually placed in such a way to make it as difficult as possible with no way of changing them; there is too much dialogue and cut scenes that you can't speed up or skip; and the mini-games are repetitive and pretty dull (although some of them are occasionally infuriatingly tricky). Will I play through to the end? Probably. I've got to be able to justify spending that £1.99 after all. Will it drive me mad? Almost definitely.
Thriftiness tip of the day:
Should you have a temporary mental aberration and splurge £130 on a dSi but can't bring yourself to spend another tenner on something to keep it in, an odd fluffy sock makes an excellent case. The dS sits nicely in the top, and your games will stay safe underneath it in the toes.
Which goes a long way towards explaining why, despite desperately wanting a PS3 and/or 360, I have only recently upgraded from my beloved original PS1 to a PS2 - a second hand one of course. We did buy a Wii when they first came out (ostensibly for the kids), but once I'd completed Twilight Princess I largely lost interest in it.
Of course a new console means new games. But naturally, I couldn't possibly buy those new either; cheap pre-owned being the only ones I can really bring myself to hand over my hard-earned cash for (well, Mr.B's hard-earned cash, but what's his is mine). Whilst over in England, I happened upon a shop that was a veritable treasure trove of inexpensive games, and couldn't resist bagging a bargain or six. Sadly, I went for quantity and price over quality so included in the handful I bought are some real pups, but as I've paid money for them I'm determined to play on regardless so it wasn't a complete waste.
So last night I was sat up till 1am trying to get my money's worth on The Golden Compass. I've never seen the film, was distinctly underwhelmed by the original books, and the only reason I bought it was that my friend's daughter had it on her dS ages ago and it didn't look too bad when she was playing it. Unfortunately I can't think of anything nice to say about it. The camera angles are usually placed in such a way to make it as difficult as possible with no way of changing them; there is too much dialogue and cut scenes that you can't speed up or skip; and the mini-games are repetitive and pretty dull (although some of them are occasionally infuriatingly tricky). Will I play through to the end? Probably. I've got to be able to justify spending that £1.99 after all. Will it drive me mad? Almost definitely.
Thriftiness tip of the day:
Should you have a temporary mental aberration and splurge £130 on a dSi but can't bring yourself to spend another tenner on something to keep it in, an odd fluffy sock makes an excellent case. The dS sits nicely in the top, and your games will stay safe underneath it in the toes.
Tuesday 26 January 2010
Candles
When we first arrived in Sweden, we were told by some friends who'd been here a couple of years, that once winter arrived we would need candles. Lots of candles. It is dark here (not as dark as the far north of course) but still, sunset is something silly like 2.40pm on the shortest day, with sunrise being around 8.40am. I have previously written a post elsewhere on the lack of sunshine, but what I didn't mention there is what a huge difference having those candles lit makes.
I've always had lots of decorative candles, but now I have an excuse to really indulge myself and our windowsill is lined with little nightlights in glass holders. When they're all lit it looks so pretty and brightens the place up more than you would imagine. I haven't quite reached the 37 I was originally told to get, but I'm working on it!
(Sorry it's short and dull and boring, but I'm tired and I want to go to bed. And no, whilst I would like those candles, they're not mine.)
Monday 25 January 2010
The Gathering Storm (part 1)
Around 15 years ago* I was waiting for a friend; they were running late so to occupy my time I indulged in one of my favourite hobbies of browsing a second hand book stall. Because I'm something of a fast reader, I always tend to be drawn towards chunky books, in the hope that they'll last a bit longer than usual, and my eye was caught by a pair that were book one and two in a series. They weren't particularly cheap considering I was a skint student at the time (one of them still has the £2.25 price sticker on so the pair were probably the equivalent of about 4 pints) but I decided to get them anyway. Little did I know that that spur of the moment purchase would lead me down a long, at times tortuous, and expensive road, and one that still hasn't ended.
If you've been down that road with me, then you'll know exactly what books I'm talking about from the post title, but for those who haven't, they were the first two books in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. My imagination was well and truly caught by the immense world he had created, and by the time I finished the second I was incredibly keen to find the next. It took some time, but I eventually managed to get hold of cheap copies of books 3, 4 and 5 and a christmas book token got me a shiny new hardback copy of number 6. And then I had to wait. Which pretty much covered the next few years. Sadly things started to lose their way around about book number 8 (it felt to me like something of a filler, just something to keep people occupied while the next 'proper' book came out and nothing much happened in it), but I continued buying and reading and things picked up a little - besides, by this point I'd invested too much time and money in it to stop, plus I *really* wanted to know what happened at the end.
Number eleven came out and was the first book I didn't buy straight away, but borrowed from the library. I was kind of hoping that it was going to be the last one, but no. Some threads in the story were beginning to be wrapped up, but new ones were still being introduced. Then tragically, in 2007, Robert Jordan passed away, leaving the story unfinished. Which brings me to where I am now - looking at book twelve, the Gathering Storm which was already in progress back in 2007, but has been completed with the aid of notes left behind by RJ by an author called Brandon Sanderson (who I had never heard of previously). Originally this was intended to be titled A Memory of Light, and be the final book in the series, but has got too long and is being split into three installments. Which will take us to a grand total of 14 books (15 if you include the prequel), an epic tale if ever there was one.
I think this new book is the largest out of all of the WoT books on my bookcase, and having just finished re-reading the previous 11 for the first time in quite a while in preparation (I did buy #11 eventually, can't do with having an incomplete set) I remembered how much I'd loved reading them the very first time. Which makes me slightly nervous about starting on this one. Hopefully this Brandon Sanderson will stay true to the characters we've grown to know so well over the years, and manage to tie up all the hundreds of loose ends that have emerged in the story so far. I am disappointed that this will not be the last, and I'll have to wait a couple more years to read the ending, but I'm grateful that at least they're being written.
* writing that just made me feel incredibly old
If you've been down that road with me, then you'll know exactly what books I'm talking about from the post title, but for those who haven't, they were the first two books in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. My imagination was well and truly caught by the immense world he had created, and by the time I finished the second I was incredibly keen to find the next. It took some time, but I eventually managed to get hold of cheap copies of books 3, 4 and 5 and a christmas book token got me a shiny new hardback copy of number 6. And then I had to wait. Which pretty much covered the next few years. Sadly things started to lose their way around about book number 8 (it felt to me like something of a filler, just something to keep people occupied while the next 'proper' book came out and nothing much happened in it), but I continued buying and reading and things picked up a little - besides, by this point I'd invested too much time and money in it to stop, plus I *really* wanted to know what happened at the end.
Number eleven came out and was the first book I didn't buy straight away, but borrowed from the library. I was kind of hoping that it was going to be the last one, but no. Some threads in the story were beginning to be wrapped up, but new ones were still being introduced. Then tragically, in 2007, Robert Jordan passed away, leaving the story unfinished. Which brings me to where I am now - looking at book twelve, the Gathering Storm which was already in progress back in 2007, but has been completed with the aid of notes left behind by RJ by an author called Brandon Sanderson (who I had never heard of previously). Originally this was intended to be titled A Memory of Light, and be the final book in the series, but has got too long and is being split into three installments. Which will take us to a grand total of 14 books (15 if you include the prequel), an epic tale if ever there was one.
I think this new book is the largest out of all of the WoT books on my bookcase, and having just finished re-reading the previous 11 for the first time in quite a while in preparation (I did buy #11 eventually, can't do with having an incomplete set) I remembered how much I'd loved reading them the very first time. Which makes me slightly nervous about starting on this one. Hopefully this Brandon Sanderson will stay true to the characters we've grown to know so well over the years, and manage to tie up all the hundreds of loose ends that have emerged in the story so far. I am disappointed that this will not be the last, and I'll have to wait a couple more years to read the ending, but I'm grateful that at least they're being written.
* writing that just made me feel incredibly old
Sunday 24 January 2010
Charity and stuff
I've been struggling all day to think of something to put in today's blogpost, and failing miserably (and I know I'm not the only one). The situation hasn't been helped by something of a hangover, a sick husband this morning, and a sick child this evening.
So I'm just going to plug something my friend's girlfriend has started to raise money for Haiti called Ladies Don't Lunch - there is a facebook group here, and a justgiving donation page here.
Thanks.
So I'm just going to plug something my friend's girlfriend has started to raise money for Haiti called Ladies Don't Lunch - there is a facebook group here, and a justgiving donation page here.
Thanks.
Saturday 23 January 2010
Football (yes, really)
I'm not exactly what you would call a football fan. I'll watch England playing in something like the World Cup or Euro whatever, but I'm not that bothered if I don't see it. But despite all that, I take a keen interest in the fortunes of Leeds United, having been indoctrinated in it by my dad for as long as I can remember.
I've only ever been to watch 2 football games in my entire life - the first was about 15 years ago, and was Huddersfield v. Blackpool with my then-boyfriend and his family. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it, the atmosphere was great and it was really easy to get carried away and shout as much as the next person when a referee's decision didn't go our way.
The other game was Leeds v. MK Dons last December. My dad promised me as a small child that he'd take me to see Leeds play when they got into the first division (which was the top of the leagues at the time), and then when they won the first division and when they won the premiership after it came into being, but never did. So when we were living in Milton Keynes, he'd moved and Leeds had fallen so far down that they were in the same division, I had to bully him into finally fulfilling that promise. One of our neighbours was a huge Dons supporter, and arranged for us all to get seats in the season ticket holders stand. We had a great time, despite being the only ones in the entire section cheering for Leeds, and we were really impressed by the people around us who chatted with us throughout the match and managed to commiserate without being too smug when we lost and the Dons won.
But by far and away the best result of the past few years has got to be Leeds beating Man U at Old Trafford in the FA cup 3rd round at the beginning of this month. It thrilled my heart in a way that I would never have expected. Then this evening they held Spurs to a draw at White Hart Lane, giving them a replay that I can't wait for (and the day before my birthday too which has to be a good sign, right?). We won't get it on our tv here though unfortunately, but I may just have to check whether the sports bar in town will be showing it and see if I have the courage to brave it.
But like I said, I'm not a big football fan.
This post was brought to you courtesy of 4 glasses of wine. I can accept no responsibility for any injuries sustained whilst reading it.
I've only ever been to watch 2 football games in my entire life - the first was about 15 years ago, and was Huddersfield v. Blackpool with my then-boyfriend and his family. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it, the atmosphere was great and it was really easy to get carried away and shout as much as the next person when a referee's decision didn't go our way.
The other game was Leeds v. MK Dons last December. My dad promised me as a small child that he'd take me to see Leeds play when they got into the first division (which was the top of the leagues at the time), and then when they won the first division and when they won the premiership after it came into being, but never did. So when we were living in Milton Keynes, he'd moved and Leeds had fallen so far down that they were in the same division, I had to bully him into finally fulfilling that promise. One of our neighbours was a huge Dons supporter, and arranged for us all to get seats in the season ticket holders stand. We had a great time, despite being the only ones in the entire section cheering for Leeds, and we were really impressed by the people around us who chatted with us throughout the match and managed to commiserate without being too smug when we lost and the Dons won.
But by far and away the best result of the past few years has got to be Leeds beating Man U at Old Trafford in the FA cup 3rd round at the beginning of this month. It thrilled my heart in a way that I would never have expected. Then this evening they held Spurs to a draw at White Hart Lane, giving them a replay that I can't wait for (and the day before my birthday too which has to be a good sign, right?). We won't get it on our tv here though unfortunately, but I may just have to check whether the sports bar in town will be showing it and see if I have the courage to brave it.
But like I said, I'm not a big football fan.
This post was brought to you courtesy of 4 glasses of wine. I can accept no responsibility for any injuries sustained whilst reading it.
Friday 22 January 2010
In praise of... pyjamas
I love my pyjamas. I would spend all day in them if I could. Not because I can't be bothered to get dressed (although that does come into it occasionally), but because there's just nothing more comfortable for pottering round the house in.
Unfortunately, despite not being officially employed, I do still have to leave the house in a morning and be seen by other people, and I haven't yet reached the level where I can go out in my baggy grey jogging bottoms and not care what other people may think. I confess I have been known to do the school run in them when there hasn't been time to get dressed, but on those occasions I've stayed firmly inside the car so no-one would know anyway. Typically it was one of these mornings when the police were stopping everyone to breathalyse them, and even though I didn't have to get out and don't think the policelady noticed or particularly cared what I was wearing, I still felt slightly embarrassed.
So although I do put 'proper' clothes on in a morning - well, jeans and a jumper anyway - the first thing I do once the kids have gone to bed is get into my slobby clothes. And when Mr.B is away, I tend to do it as soon as I know we don't need to leave the house again that day. One of the advantages of living in a new town/country is that you don't know anyone so there's no chance of unexpected visitors to necessitate a swift wardrobe change. Or so I assumed - I've been caught out once since we got here, and was mortified one evening when there was a knock at the dor and I answered it in my comfy but terribly unattractive clothes to find the beautifully dressed, immaculately groomed French lady from upstairs who wanted to borrow a chair for a dinner party. Bless her, she didn't even flinch at the sight of me, but I was truly mortified.
My mother would have berated me seven ways from Sunday if she knew what I wore at home - she was very old-fashioned in her views about certain things, and always told me that I should make an effort to look nice for my husband. And she practiced what she preached, inevitably looking well turned out no matter what else was going on. Happily Mr.B doesn't seem to mind too much (and I do make a bit of an effort every now and then) although he does know exactly what my mother would have said and has a little dig once in a while.
At which point I bring out my high heels. Not to wear, to hit him with.
Unfortunately, despite not being officially employed, I do still have to leave the house in a morning and be seen by other people, and I haven't yet reached the level where I can go out in my baggy grey jogging bottoms and not care what other people may think. I confess I have been known to do the school run in them when there hasn't been time to get dressed, but on those occasions I've stayed firmly inside the car so no-one would know anyway. Typically it was one of these mornings when the police were stopping everyone to breathalyse them, and even though I didn't have to get out and don't think the policelady noticed or particularly cared what I was wearing, I still felt slightly embarrassed.
So although I do put 'proper' clothes on in a morning - well, jeans and a jumper anyway - the first thing I do once the kids have gone to bed is get into my slobby clothes. And when Mr.B is away, I tend to do it as soon as I know we don't need to leave the house again that day. One of the advantages of living in a new town/country is that you don't know anyone so there's no chance of unexpected visitors to necessitate a swift wardrobe change. Or so I assumed - I've been caught out once since we got here, and was mortified one evening when there was a knock at the dor and I answered it in my comfy but terribly unattractive clothes to find the beautifully dressed, immaculately groomed French lady from upstairs who wanted to borrow a chair for a dinner party. Bless her, she didn't even flinch at the sight of me, but I was truly mortified.
My mother would have berated me seven ways from Sunday if she knew what I wore at home - she was very old-fashioned in her views about certain things, and always told me that I should make an effort to look nice for my husband. And she practiced what she preached, inevitably looking well turned out no matter what else was going on. Happily Mr.B doesn't seem to mind too much (and I do make a bit of an effort every now and then) although he does know exactly what my mother would have said and has a little dig once in a while.
At which point I bring out my high heels. Not to wear, to hit him with.
Thursday 21 January 2010
Semla cakes
This blog is not going to be all about Sweden, I promise (I have one of those already). I had a few thoughts for posts on here earlier today, but they were all wiped out of my mind when I was reminded by something else I was reading about Semla cakes, and the shocking fact that I haven't had one yet this year.
They are cardamom-spiced buns, with the top cut off so you can put an almond paste mixture inside and fill them with whipped cream.
Traditionally they were only eaten on Shrove Tuesday, but nowadays are available from the New Year through till Easter. We had some on our recce visit last February and they were lovely. Not that they had anything to do with our decision to move over of course - you can't believe that we would be so fickle as to be tempted over by the lure of delicious baked goodies, surely?
But I know where I'll be going this weekend...
(Image from here)
They are cardamom-spiced buns, with the top cut off so you can put an almond paste mixture inside and fill them with whipped cream.
Traditionally they were only eaten on Shrove Tuesday, but nowadays are available from the New Year through till Easter. We had some on our recce visit last February and they were lovely. Not that they had anything to do with our decision to move over of course - you can't believe that we would be so fickle as to be tempted over by the lure of delicious baked goodies, surely?
But I know where I'll be going this weekend...
(Image from here)
Wednesday 20 January 2010
Jag måste tala mer Svenska...
...I must speak more Swedish
I am such a coward.
Since we came to Sweden, I've been having language lessons - 20 hours so far - which have been enough that I can understand bits and pieces when I'm spoken to, and also get the gist of the letters that come home from school sometimes; but when it comes to actually speaking to someone, I go to pieces and cannot remember enough to even string a simple sentence together.
This morning was a prime example. I went across the road to post a letter, and all I had to say was Kan jag skicka detta till England? I was determined to do it, but when the moment arrived, I just kind of waved the letter and muttered something in English. Pathetic really, as I know my pronunciation isn't all that bad, and whilst I can't speak with a proper Swedish accent at the moment, at least I don't speak Swedish with an English accent (so my teacher says, and she seems to think it is a good thing).
It's mostly down to a lack of confidence, aided and abetted by the fact that most people here do understand English which provides an unfortunately convenient get-out clause. It would be all too easy to give up trying altogether, but I'm uncomfortable with making people use my language instead of their own all the time.
Conversation class starts next month, so perhaps that will give me the confidence in my own ability to speak when I'm out and about. I'm sort of dreading it, but hopefully the other company WAGs will be no better than me so I won't feel like a complete failure!
In the meantime, there's always the lady at the coffee shop up the road who is more than happy for me to practise on her, and of course the lovely cakes she sells are merely my reward for trying. Honest.
I am such a coward.
Since we came to Sweden, I've been having language lessons - 20 hours so far - which have been enough that I can understand bits and pieces when I'm spoken to, and also get the gist of the letters that come home from school sometimes; but when it comes to actually speaking to someone, I go to pieces and cannot remember enough to even string a simple sentence together.
This morning was a prime example. I went across the road to post a letter, and all I had to say was Kan jag skicka detta till England? I was determined to do it, but when the moment arrived, I just kind of waved the letter and muttered something in English. Pathetic really, as I know my pronunciation isn't all that bad, and whilst I can't speak with a proper Swedish accent at the moment, at least I don't speak Swedish with an English accent (so my teacher says, and she seems to think it is a good thing).
It's mostly down to a lack of confidence, aided and abetted by the fact that most people here do understand English which provides an unfortunately convenient get-out clause. It would be all too easy to give up trying altogether, but I'm uncomfortable with making people use my language instead of their own all the time.
Conversation class starts next month, so perhaps that will give me the confidence in my own ability to speak when I'm out and about. I'm sort of dreading it, but hopefully the other company WAGs will be no better than me so I won't feel like a complete failure!
In the meantime, there's always the lady at the coffee shop up the road who is more than happy for me to practise on her, and of course the lovely cakes she sells are merely my reward for trying. Honest.
Tuesday 19 January 2010
In a rush
This afternoon, Mr.B flew off somewhere decidedly unglamorous for a business trip, and I fully intend to make the most of the few days he's away.* After our recent visit back to the UK I came home with a fistful of new PS2 games, none of which I've had the chance to try out yet. Judging by my previous form, it's entirely likely that by the time I look at the clock again it will already be tomorrow, and as it would be a shame to fall over on day 2 of this #oneday lark I thought I'd write something (even if I still haven't decided to officially join in).
Sorry, I would write more, but those games are singing to me from the corner...
(* - Not that I was looking forward to him going or anything, but it is nice to have the opportunity to be in control of the tv once in a while)
Sorry, I would write more, but those games are singing to me from the corner...
(* - Not that I was looking forward to him going or anything, but it is nice to have the opportunity to be in control of the tv once in a while)
Monday 18 January 2010
Why I'd love to do #oneaday, but....
For a proper explanation of #oneaday click here.
I was intrigued by the concept of #oneaday when I first saw it appear in my twitter stream at the beginning of the year, and have been reading some of the participating blogs with interest ever since.
There have been a few times that I've considered joining in as I'm really good at starting blogs, but not so good at keeping them updated, and thought that perhaps this would be a motivator for me to get going and be a little more consistent.
And really, how hard can it be to write a quick blog post every day? (Actually, a lot more difficult than you might think.)
My hesitation to join the collective stems from a couple of things. Firstly, self-discipline has never been my strong point (as is evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this when I should be doing my Swedish homework that is due in... tomorrow morning and isn't started yet); and secondly, my worry that an inability to be able to think of anything to write about will merely hammer home to me just how dull my life is at the moment.
Not to mention the fact that some of the stuff I've been reading is really good, and I fear everything I manage to cobble together will look third-rate in comparison.
However, despite all that, I'm going to see if I can post something on here for the next few days, and we'll see how it goes. With a bit of luck it will eventually kickstart my other writing as well which has been sorely neglected for quite some time.
We'll see.
I was intrigued by the concept of #oneaday when I first saw it appear in my twitter stream at the beginning of the year, and have been reading some of the participating blogs with interest ever since.
There have been a few times that I've considered joining in as I'm really good at starting blogs, but not so good at keeping them updated, and thought that perhaps this would be a motivator for me to get going and be a little more consistent.
And really, how hard can it be to write a quick blog post every day? (Actually, a lot more difficult than you might think.)
My hesitation to join the collective stems from a couple of things. Firstly, self-discipline has never been my strong point (as is evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this when I should be doing my Swedish homework that is due in... tomorrow morning and isn't started yet); and secondly, my worry that an inability to be able to think of anything to write about will merely hammer home to me just how dull my life is at the moment.
Not to mention the fact that some of the stuff I've been reading is really good, and I fear everything I manage to cobble together will look third-rate in comparison.
However, despite all that, I'm going to see if I can post something on here for the next few days, and we'll see how it goes. With a bit of luck it will eventually kickstart my other writing as well which has been sorely neglected for quite some time.
We'll see.
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