Living in Sweden is character building #9

The hoover, pill and the washing machine.

The above items have changed women’s lives and not the feminist political party and it’s slogans, says this year’s Nobel Prize winner for Literature, Doris Lessing. She’s right. Take notes, Gudrun.
Science and technology have given us girls freedom. Thank God for the silicon push-ups and the extra junk-in-the-trunk-knickers and viagra, eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building #8

That contentious literary prize.

What about Jane Austen for the Nobel bloody literature prize, eh? Why didn’t she ever get anything in the end? Even if it would mean posthumously but that would have been in tune with her whole literary life when you think about it. She became popular way after she was six feet under and only really took off after Bridget Jones nicking the whole Pride and Prejudice plot. But seriously, why not Jane? She’s more read than any of the previous and I am going to say it, the current line up of ”We-have-never-heard-of-them-before-writers”

They are going to announce the literary prize winner this week and I reckon the one they choose probably has not one book available in the book store. The Swedish Academy and their cronies have got some Korean and a Syrian poet on the list. Anyone recognise the names? I am postively sure they are certainly deserving in their own right but what about the ones that have come before? Those that have changed our world by simply writing about it, quietly yet powerfully present in our history as great story tellers and unbeatable, extraordinary will and determinatation fuelled by passions and ideals that have given us the pleasure of being a part of a literary, personal and human experience. I am talking about these writers; (take notes Horace) Jane Austen, Joyce Carol Oats, Sidney Sheldon, Stig Larsson, Ian Banks, J.K Rowling, Philip Roth, Margaret Atwood, Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton, Ben Okri, David Chase ceator of Sopranos and the list goes on. You will agree just like the current Nobel list mine is just as eclectic but I could bet my pavlovas that your mother has read one of these writers. And cried.

I do have to say that after living with the luke warm summers for quite some time, I feel rather the same about the prestigious Nobel awards. I mean seriously, who watches it on TV anyway? I fear that it is losing it’s merits with the rest of us- I am refering to the rest of the reading race, Horace, and not a committee of literary nazis. But I shouldn’t really speak on behalf of the rest of us. In fact the last word should really be left with the founder of the Nobel Prize, Alfred Nobel, the bloke who invented the world’s first weapon of mass destruction, dynamite. He said that the cronies on the committee should give the prize to idealists.“I would like to help dreamers, as they find it hard to get on in life."
Well since he put it like that, might as well give it to me! Eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building # 7

How much is that banana in the window?

Mr Eriksson felt it was time that I learnt something about art and took it upon himself to take my Saturday to take me on a gallery round. I would rather recycle rubbish quite frankly. But I saw this as an opportunity to get him to take me shopping on the way to the galleries. By that time he would be too stuffed to gallery anywhere and we’d be home in time for cocktails.


I said I wanted to check out the new look PUB after seeing the window display. We ventured up to the top floor and I was in seventh heaven but before my fingers could even stroke the fancy gear, Mr Eriksson yanked me away and shoved me in front of a glass cabinet that kept a picture of a banana. What’s the big deal with the banana, I ask? It’s an Andy Warhol original he tells me. Enter Velvet Underground and Andy Warhol 101. Mr Eriksson was salivating as he trapped me into art school class lesson. What about the those jeans over there? I pointed into the distance towards a stack of hazy blue.

To my utter surprise and some what disappointed that my plan failed, we were in an art gallery in a shopping mall. Who would have thought? Art everywhere for Tom, Dick and Jane. The gallery is Operating Place at the PUB department store.

How much is the banana in the window I ask the lady in the gallery. Not for sale, she tells me but then she shows me the other stuff; a possum made of wax made me homesick, a large phalic wooden cone that could be a good hat stand or if the artist made minature battery operated versions that could fit into a handbag…just think how much he could sell. There were some kooky art graphics and paintings that I have to say were cheaper than a pair of jeans and dare I say better designed. I am not what one would call ”knows my art” but I do know good investments when I see one and insisted that Mr Eriksson buy the Kiss My Arse fluffy stool. The lips are really blowing kisses on your bottom when you sit down. I thought I would save it for when I become the boss lady. Everyone should get one of these.

There were some other folk that asked about the Andy Warhol bloke and the Velvets. Apparently they were a part of some movement that obviously made the banana graphic and a can of Campbell’s soup quite famous. The Velvet Underground exhibition is temporary and on it’s way to Tokyo. I wouldn't miss it a rare and most of all free entry into an art exhibition. All that arty farty stuff aside, what turned out to be my plan to go shopping and avoid the art gallery scene ended up being a nice fusion of both fashion and art in the Operating place.
If only marriage could be as compatible like PUB and the Operating Place, very sexy eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building #6

The Business Trip.

My darling Mr Eriksson had to manage on his own for a while as the world outside ( Finland) beckoned my presence at a rather serious kiss-arse-begging-for-money conference. I was decked out in my latest tummy tuck-in knickers recently purchased to keep what is all migrating south an illusion that some things are still perky and north if you know what I mean. Thank God for good knickers and decent bras. They can make or break a deal and that is what I call equal opportunities in the workforce, so go figure little Miss Sweden!

I sat down to a set lunch together with the other conference delegates who came from all over the world, Denmark, Norway, Iceland and Stockholm. I was pleased to be seated next to an individual who also came from Stockholm. As we exchanged our introductions of who we were and our respective functions, he asked if I arrived in Sweden as a refugee. I always seem to have this effect on these highly educated, politically, socially aware and extensively world travelled Swedes. We foreigners are all refugees it seems. I just couln't help myself so I said yes, as a matter of fact I did come to Sweden as a refugee and here I am sitting in this conference in Finland selling tupperware, what an amazing life story! It took him a couple of seconds to realise that I was been sarcastic. He didn’t speak to me again through out the lunch.

About being sarcastic and rude, it was sad to read that Sweden’s number one blogger, Alex Schulman has decided to retire from his game but it was just a matter of time. Mr Eriksson always says to me that a monster that is allowed to be given a lot of room ends up taking far too much space. I get it now. He was referring to Mr Schulman.
After much pondering and reading about the issues surrounding his ”literary death”, I come to one conclusion which is my own analysis and that is the Swedes just do not know how to take the piss out of each other without being nasty about it. It’s an art and the Swedes do not have this in their humour cupboard. The Finns however do. In a strange but definite form of self deprecating humour, the Finns do it better and I would say far superior than their Scandic neighbour. Us southern hemisphere folk also master this art rather well, where we can take the piss out of each other without being a dick about it- take notes, Mr Schulman. There is an art form in how to take the piss out of someone or something without character assasinating the subject, again I hope you are writing this down, Mr Schulman. The Swedish psyche seem to be navally earnest and deadly funny but not much to laugh home about.

Speaking about home, on my return I went into the city and just had to stop at the new windows at the PUB department store. I always associated the place with mothballs and old farmer’s wives for some strange reason, but after seeing the windows one certainly gets the idea that PUB has gotten a bit of puffing up. The only damper to the windows is why on earth the KICKS window haven’t got a window display to join with the others? It looks very odd if you ask me. Maybe someone should tell them.
My favourite window has to be the zombie doctor and the naked patient on the operating table. The doctor is a male mannequin and the patient is a female mannequin. It’s all politically incorrect role models! Get it? Ha! ha! I heard that there was a big deal about it being a bit too sexy in a female degrading way. If only people would chase real flesh and bone problems where the penis is more dominant in real life everyday working issues for the vagina. Eller hur?

Fru Eriksson