British

Blog leave

When we were young, my classmates and I had to get leave to go to the toilet.

Our hands would shoot straight up and we’d say, “Sir, can I go to the toilet?”  To which our teacher would always reply, “Of course you can, but do you have permission?”  And then, hands would rocket straight up again, “Sir, may I go to the toilet?”

Even a simple thing like taking leave, asking for permission or taking time-out seems fraught with confusion.  So how then do I take a brief and temporary leave from my blog?  What’s blog etiquette?  Do I say that, ‘oh well, I’m off for a break’ or just quietly disappear?  Somehow that seems rude: just like slinking away from a party without thanking the hosts.  Either way it makes little to no difference; I am not a professional blogger; I just blog for fun and I have only just started blogging, so blog continuity is hardly an issue.

It’s just that, being so typically British, I still feel as though I ought to apologise for my absence; my taking leave.

So, that’s it; I’m taking blog leave and will return after my Easter in England.

 

Note to Selfie: It’s my blog and I can pause if I want, pause if I want to…

 

 

 

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Right of way

So, I was out on a walk in the woods this morning when I found myself unexpectedly confronted with a bit of a thorny dilemma:: should I, or shouldn’t I?

I’d taken my usual route:  downhill towards the lake, then I’d turned off by the edge of the water before lunging back uphill, though this time through the forest.  The intention being to continue to where the forest track reached the road, where I could then veer off and loop back home.

And that’s just where I came unstuck.  In order to get to the road, I had to go through a small property.  It was once upon a time a farm, but is now only rarely used by the owners as a summer retreat.  Every morning, I follow the dirt track as it skirts the side of the house and every morning I peer through the windows; as the light often catches on the ancient tiled wooden stoves.

This morning was different.  As I left the shelter of the forest and approached the house, I could clearly see a plume of smoke coming out of the chimney.  It was cold and the smoke was being sucked up by the  frosty air.  The sight of this smoke, however, completely unnerved me, and I was thrown into some sort of instantaneous fluster-mode.

Should I just stroll on as per normal?  And if I did, what were the chances of the owners just happening to open their door at the exact, precise moment I was passing by?  Admittedly this was pretty unlikely at 7 in the morning, but you never know with the outdoorsy Swedes.

Or shouldn’t I?  Wouldn’t  it just be safer  wimping out, turning around and taking the long route home?

What added confusion to my indecision is that, thanks to a traditional right, almost nowhere in Sweden is off-limits.  The Right of Public Access, or Allemansrätt, allows you to roam freely throughout the Swedish countryside, even on private land – just such as this.  So, basically you’re pretty much free to walk, cycle, horse-ride, ski or jog almost everywhere so long as you don’t disturb the landowner or cause damage.

Obviously, I wasn’t intent on destruction.  I was just keen to get home and have some breakfast.  But, would I be disturbing them?  I couldn’t help feel that, as the track ran so close to the house (I could have reached out and tapped on the windows), I was treading a fine moral line.

After a few moments of reflection; weighing up the situation and putting everything into perspective, I made my move.  I did just what any typically apologetic British girl would do.

I turned tail, ran back down the dirt track hoping and praying no one had seen me, and  disappeared into the forest;  and took the LONG way home.

That was the right way, wasn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chocolate – a consuming passion?

So, I saw an article in a British paper the other day and I couldn’t stop laughing. And with a blog about Selfie and my love of chocolate, I just had to include this ridiculous bit of narcissistic self-indulgence.

Women are being encouraged by a British department store Harvey Nichols to create 3D chocolate ”Selfies”. They claim that, after countless pictures being taken from countless angles, a silicone mould being formed and filled with chocolate, and then cooled; your exact likeness will be captured in chocolate: for posterity – or until you’re eaten, or left forgotten on a shelf to ‘chocrot’, or covered in dust and then thrown away.

Quite obviously, this is more of a “Chocfie” than a Selfie (as you’re not able to take all those countless photos yourself) – let’s get our facts straight in this example of technical wonderment. But what amazes me most is that women are seriously having this done – as apparently they are. I nearly choked on my Chocolate Nut Granola; my mind running rampant with visions of unnecessary body parts being  3D-imaged in chocolate.

But the people having the BIGGEST laugh are Harvey Nichols, charging £99.00 for six solid chocolate mini busts (head and shoulders, not below!). Somehow I can’t but help feel the emphasis is on Concept rather Substance (=Gimmick)?

3D Chocfie

3D Chocfie

Note to Selfie: Chocolate makes the World go plump!

So very British

Only the other day, someone accused me of being ‘so very British’. Well, they didn’t so much ‘accuse’ me as say it in a very accusatory tone: I think it was as I was apologising profusely when they bumped into me.

That’s my problem, I am so very British: I’m apologetic, spontaneous, ironic, sarcastic and most days suffer from terrible verbal diarrhoea. The Swedes are, on the other hand, not; and I cannot imagine ANYONE accusing them of being chatty.

Despite all my best efforts, I don’t really fit in; I’m just another expat misfit.  I’m a misplaced Selfie with an identity crisis.

And then I got depressed and down. And then I found this, and Everything was Right with the World.

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Being helpless to resist saying “sorry, thanks” every time you pass through a doorway.

It was life affirming!  I recognised myself on every single, highly entertaining page of this highly entertaining book.

Yes, I’m simply British.  And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about that.

Note to Selfie: Remember to buy another copy from Amazon.  Can also be followed on Twitter. https://twitter.com/SoVeryBritish