Things my girlfriend and I have argued about (online version)

95

Right, I've returned from Sweden and, quite apart from everything else I have to do, I naturally have nearly a thousand emails to deal with — having indolently not dealt with any new ones that arrived while I was running around Stockholm and Gothenburg for four days. (My Swedish publishers were charming beyond words, incidentally, so I'd like you all to buy the Swedish version of TMGAIHAA — on view here. Even if, in fact, you don't speak Swedish.) The email backlog is my fault, clearly, but I do have to try to make some impression on it before I leave again. Not for Stockholm this time, but, even more excitingly, for Poole. I'll update you Mailing Listers with extra Swedish tales when I get the chance, obviously, but let me just quickly pop by to mention this:

On the day that I had to leave for Sweden, Margret drove me to the city centre so that I could catch my train. She pulled up outside the station, and I jumped out and snatched my bags off the back seat.

'Bring me back something,' she called through the open window of the car.

'Like what?' I replied.

'Something typically Swedish.'

'What on earth… I mean, Sweden's famous for three things: herrings, suicide and pornography. What do you expect me to buy for you, exactly?'

'Well, not the pornography…' She waved a hand dismissively. 'I prefer to watch that here, on my own, at the theatre.' With which, let us say, 'Somewhat Intriguing' statement, she slipped the car into gear and drove away. Leaving me standing there outside the railway station; with a bag in each hand and my head full of considerably more questions than answers.

Dear God, but the woman knows how to make an exit.