Thorpe Park

I like to travel and occasionally I'll travel somewhere I have no interest in visiting for reasons of curiosity or voyeurism - I'm not really sure. Anyway, yesterday M, O, A and myself went to Thorpe park - with the highest, longest, fastest, loopiest or whatever rides in Europe; at the age of 35 I've attended my first theme park.


I now know where all the chubby, loud and unintelligent people of London hang out (I should know, I was there). Actually, that's unfair; I don't know they're unintelligent, however I do know, from objective observation, that they are fat and loud. (But really, they're dumb).

For the same reason that I can't watch horror films I also can't really see the point of scaring myself shitless with my stomach somewhere up in my oesophagus as the "Detonator" drops me 100m or whatever, or the whatever-it's-called rockets me to 80mph and then twists me into the sky upside-down (etc etc), although I did give it a good try, getting on most of the rides. It seems to me they're trying to recreate a near-death experience with every ride and, quite frankly, I'd be just as happy not getting so intimate with death.


You pay through the nose for everything - to get in, then to fast track the two hour queue (where all the plebs are), then you pay over the odds for rubbish food, then you pay for the privilege of drying yourself after they've drenched you in the water-based rides.

I suppose that judging by all the teenagers getting off the rides screaming (literally!) in my face that the rides give (an unnatural) "natural" high. It gave me a high too, along with a headache, but let's face it, drugs are a lot cheaper, and don't involve so many queues.

Henry

M and I have a new addition to the household. Henry is seven years old, rather fluffy and with a softness for little tubs of tuna. We got him from Battersea lost dogs and cats home (after passing their particurlarly gruelling fitness to be pet-owners test) and he has spent a sizable proportion of the time here twiddling his paws behind the washing machine. But I'm sure he'll come 'round.

He's rather a likeable little fellow:

Stockholm in the rain.

I'm as happy with a bit of rain as the next person. Water is, after all, pretty key to our existence. However the rain in Stockholm on the weekend was just a little rude. This was my view for a large portion of the weekend:

And here's a random street corner in the Gamla Stan (Old Town) in Stockholm. (I know this illustrates more about my obsession with street signs than it says about Stockholm... Still...)

Stockholm

On 08/08/08 M and I celebrated five years as a couple by heading to Stockholm. Why Stockholm? No reason…


A few random thoughts on Stockholm:
- it's expensive
- it's smaller than I thought it would be
- everyone speaks English better than most English people
- people seem tolerant of mistakes, and polite
- it has lots of empty restaurants (see first point)
- none of the mugs have handles
- everyone is good looking
- there are no old people anywhere
- there are lots of young people pushing baby pushers, or with several toddlers in tow
- there are kitchen and furniture design shops everywhere, with extravagently priced and unusual kitchen implements for obscure kitchen-based tasks
- the dogs seem happy
- it's clean

Given the number of babies in abundance in Stockholm M and I agreed that the principal leisure time activity in this city is bedroom-based. Presumably this is a reflection of the length and gloominess of the northern Winter. I'm reliably informed by my friend C, who once attended school with me in Melbourne and now finds himself living there, that the Swedish government generously supports maternity and paternity leave, in addition to generous child care allowances … hence the baby boom finds a happy home here.

Here are a few random photos, taken with my new little digital wunderkind. As always, the film photos are still at the developers.

As you can see from the photo below, it's good to see the Viking cliche is alive and kicking: All these options look relatively similar, if you ask me... but the Bamse Big Viking would be the obvious choice here (just look at that combination of bread, dog, ketchup and mustard! - mmmm). Curious thing though; why can't they find a bun that accomodates the dog without a large part being breadless?


I liked it. I want to go again!

I've been incredibly slack keeping the blog up to date of late. Hopefully I can pull my boot-straps up, or whatever the saying is...