There’s a song I’ve been a bit obsessed by lately, and I don’t understand why. It just makes me happy when I hear it. I first heard it when I was six, and I drove my mother mad with it. I used to play it, for instance, every time we went to visit Ellie in the hospital. I remember playing it her at the funeral. It made me happy. Then I forgot about it.

Sometimes I stumble over the song, and listen to it. It’s still quite silly. But it also still makes me happy. Over the last couple of days, I’ve had bouts when I can’t get it out of my head, and I’ve listened to it again and again. That’s usually a cure for any song that stickies itself to my mind. Play it often enough and I get sick of it.

Except no.

I’m weird.


The last two weeks have been quite busy for me. First, I was in London over the weekend before the one that just finished. I went out on the town with Mark and a friend of one of my Scottish cousins who happen to share a divided ancestry with me. While I’m Scandi-English, he’s Scandi-Scottish. Though his mother is from Gothenburg, and my dad is from Södermanland. So we could be snide at each others’ bits of Swedish geography. All in good spirits of course.

I didn’t go to London to meet him though, but to meet the people I’m going to spend the next year working for. They thought it would be a great idea to invite me and Mark to a company outing. A sort of team building thing. Since I’m coming into the team, it was decided that it would be good if I came and introduced myself and ate some of the barbecued food and drank some of the Sicilian wine. My boss-to-be is a forty-five year old Sicilian woman who looks a bit like a young Maggie Smith. Except her hair is raven black, and her eyes nail you to the wall in their intensity.

The London trip gave Mark and me the chance to stroll around from Earl’s court down to the strand, and then up to Oxford Street where we could go from shop to shop buying nothing. We had a nice dinner in a drop-in restaurant somewhere between the Strand and Trafalgar Square. It felt nice to be like a tourist again.

The week after, Mark spent working as a brick-layer to lay up a pile of gold for our Crete trip later. I spent three of five days selling clothes, for the same purpose. I’ve had a break from the clothes store for months, and now when I came back only one of the people I used to work with is still there. It’s all new people. Even the store manager who has moved on to bigger things in the chain.


This last weekend was dedicated to studenty things. We spent it with mates, getting into trouble. We have to become serious and responsible in a while, but it’s summer and we’re free yet, and there are friends to meet and see. And Stephen has to get into even more trouble with his parents before they drag him into the depths of their bank to become a professional.

The coming week is going to be dedicated to worshipping the laziness.