Finding
myself at Oslo airport with an additional hour to kill due to
inclement weather conditions in the UK, I yet again had to temper the
frustration caused by travel arrangements gone awry. This time
missing the train I'd booked from Birmingham International as my
flight was re-scheduled to land 15 mins before the train set off.
Even if I somehow possessed the pace of Usain Bolt and the stamina of
Mo Farah I would've struggled to get there in time. In the end the
flight landed after the train had set off so no Bolt-like antics
required. At least I escaped the incessantly inquisitive customs
folk, maybe it's dawned on them that a person waving a Swedish
passport doesn't have to be blond, blue eyed and aryan looking. On
this occasion it simply sufficed to temporarily remove my specs. "I
find people look really different without their glasses". No
shit, Sherlock
Missing the train was in itself not a massive issue, there are two trains every hour, however the sheer familiarity of the situation prompted me to philosophically ponder - is bad luck inflicted upon, or in fact instigated by, us? Nietzsche, Kant, Descartes, what says thee??
For me travel woes are such commonplace that I can't really blame bad luck. Who turns up at the wrong airport in Istanbul? Me! Who gets a lift to Oslo Rygge airport on the wrong day? Me! Who books non-refundable train tickets from the wrong station? Who drops 80 quid on the floor in an internet cafe in Madrid? Who misses the last train back from Manchester and gets a 60 quid taxi back? Moi, moi, moi. So when a private jet carrying a liver for a transplant fatally crashes at Birmingham airport, prompting our flight to Bangkok to be cancelled, or when there's a couple of hours queue to the airport de-icer with unsurprising consequences for onward connections, or when some Icelandic volcano decides to spew up untold ash and I get stuck for days in Barcelona, I've kind of already internalised that it's not just bad luck.
Today was slightly different though, I firmly point the finger to the United Kingdom for being the world's worst winter weather preparer. It's gonna happen every year, stop acting surprised when it does. Granted, my view is skewed, having grown up in a country where snow is a way of life, but surely the complete stand still is a bit pathetic. And costly, I could've arrived back home a full hour earlier and £21.99 better off. Time is money and money is money. Doubly screwed.
I've been home to my mum and dad's for Christmas, just as I have done 35 out of 36 Christmases. Sweden is an excellent place to be in at Christmas, and any other time of year for that matter but I'm sure I'll come back to that in future blogs. My parents live in the country so the darkness, stillness and relative silence adds to the Christmas atmosphere. I was most disappointed at the lack of snow this year though, no cross country skiing opportunities whatsoever. The arctic temperature and crisp winter sun would've been ideal for gliding through the woods on a pair of glass fibre skis. Take out the snow and the conditions are less ideal for any other Christmas-excess combating exercise. My trainers travelled in vain
Regardless I managed to buy some exercise related paraphernalia in the sales. 70% off everything always gets my attention. As does a brand called Swedemount *chuckles*. How can one resist??
Missing the train was in itself not a massive issue, there are two trains every hour, however the sheer familiarity of the situation prompted me to philosophically ponder - is bad luck inflicted upon, or in fact instigated by, us? Nietzsche, Kant, Descartes, what says thee??
For me travel woes are such commonplace that I can't really blame bad luck. Who turns up at the wrong airport in Istanbul? Me! Who gets a lift to Oslo Rygge airport on the wrong day? Me! Who books non-refundable train tickets from the wrong station? Who drops 80 quid on the floor in an internet cafe in Madrid? Who misses the last train back from Manchester and gets a 60 quid taxi back? Moi, moi, moi. So when a private jet carrying a liver for a transplant fatally crashes at Birmingham airport, prompting our flight to Bangkok to be cancelled, or when there's a couple of hours queue to the airport de-icer with unsurprising consequences for onward connections, or when some Icelandic volcano decides to spew up untold ash and I get stuck for days in Barcelona, I've kind of already internalised that it's not just bad luck.
Today was slightly different though, I firmly point the finger to the United Kingdom for being the world's worst winter weather preparer. It's gonna happen every year, stop acting surprised when it does. Granted, my view is skewed, having grown up in a country where snow is a way of life, but surely the complete stand still is a bit pathetic. And costly, I could've arrived back home a full hour earlier and £21.99 better off. Time is money and money is money. Doubly screwed.
I've been home to my mum and dad's for Christmas, just as I have done 35 out of 36 Christmases. Sweden is an excellent place to be in at Christmas, and any other time of year for that matter but I'm sure I'll come back to that in future blogs. My parents live in the country so the darkness, stillness and relative silence adds to the Christmas atmosphere. I was most disappointed at the lack of snow this year though, no cross country skiing opportunities whatsoever. The arctic temperature and crisp winter sun would've been ideal for gliding through the woods on a pair of glass fibre skis. Take out the snow and the conditions are less ideal for any other Christmas-excess combating exercise. My trainers travelled in vain
Regardless I managed to buy some exercise related paraphernalia in the sales. 70% off everything always gets my attention. As does a brand called Swedemount *chuckles*. How can one resist??
From Swedemount's plentiful offerings I picked out a pair of running tights which came to 120 SEK, down from 400. That's approximately £9.80. I also grabbed a pack of sports socks from Caterpillar, unbeknown to me as a sports brand but at 30 SEK or £2.50 who am I to argue. Cheap gear that will hopefully help me along to completing a full marathon in 2015, or 16. 17 would do as well. Swedemount will conquer.
My sister gave me a royal blue running top for Christmas as well so the good folk of Owlerton/Hillsborough/Wincobank will be treated to a distinctly untypical looking Swede hankering round in patriotic colours and tights (eeek!!) adorned with a Sweden flag. A sight to behold no doubt
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