Sheer magnitism darling

Earlier in the week I was down in the capital city of London for the concluding modules of a leadership/management course. Combining work and play I managed to fit in a purposeful stroll round a freezing Hampstead Heath, a night out in Awesomestow, Boris biking to Hackney and a sun drenched visit to Greenwich, and getting really drunk on a school night. I also made time to visit the Bond in Motion exhibition at the London Film Museum. It was the one year anniversary so there were related cars on display in Covent Garden as a bonus.

I've had an interest in Bond and his franchise ever since the mid 80s, at one point probably achieving unhealthy levels. I watched the films on repeat, amassed an extensive collection of the James Bond comics and bought whatever merchandise I came across, postcards, posters, records etc. Had I been a fraction older and significantly richer I would've totally gone to the annual Bond conventions in the UK. Molly Peters who played the nurse at the health clinic in Thunderball was a regular 'star' at those if I remember correctly.

For the young me, Bond was sheer excitement. The larger than life plots, the uber villains, the menacing henchmen and women, the exotic locations, the set pieces, the one-liners. My interest has waned with age but I still retain a modicum so I figured I might as well visit the exhibition, despite having zero interest in cars. I'm more of a gadget person myself so I was hoping for an assortment of gadgets in addition to vehicles, perhaps Rosa Klebb's poisonous shoe or Oddjob's decapitating bowler hat, but instead the focus was very much on the vehicles. And there were plenty of them. For example the Mercury Cougar from On Her Majesty's Secret Service, the Lotus Esprit submarine car from The Spy Who Loved Me and of course the silver Aston Martin from Goldfinger, complete with one of my favourite Bond scenes of all time playing in the background. "Ejector seat? You must be joking!". "I never joke about my work 007".

You gotta love the Q branch's ingenuity. Wrist-mounted dart guns, guns concealed in ski poles, water vessels in the shape of a crocodile, watches that double as miniature saws, magnets and lasers, cars driven by mobile phones and of course glasses that allows you to see through people's clothes. Who wouldn't want a pair of those??

I've had an interest in gadgets for as long as I remember, undoubtedly borne out of my geeky obsession with all things Bond. It all started when my parents bought us all a cassette Walkman in 1987 (for some strange reason they were called Freestyles in Sweden). Mine had a three level equalizer and everything. Chuffed is the word. We got said Freestyles to keep us occupied for our trip to South Korea. No wonder really, this was of course in the midst of the cold war so the majority of airlines operating in the west were barred from entering Soviet airspace. Furthermore, we were flying with Korean Airlines, whose flight KAL007 (Bond connection purely coincidental) had been shot down by Soviet missiles 4 years previous so they were clearly going to take the long way round. We flew Stockholm-Paris-Anchorage-Seoul, lasting over 24 hours, and whilst I can't recall exactly what I'd taped for the journey I do remember buying Madonna's True Blue in Seoul for the home leg. It came in a funny grey paper sleeve with a mini picture of the actual album cover, but lacking the inner sleeve with lyrics and credits.

The equalized Freestyle served me well, lasting a good few years, and since then I've bought a plethora of electrical equipment and gadgets to help make life more enjoyable. Some more effective in life enhancing than others. I heart gadgets. Though not to the extent that I will ever feel the need to queue overnight to be first in line to get my hands on Jony Ive's latest design marvel, even committing the cardinal sin according to Apple by skipping device iterations. I clung onto my 3rd generation iPad, the inventively titled 'New iPad', for a good while. It wasn't broke so I wasn't compelled to fix it. Til now, when through an unexpected quirk I noticed that iPads are about 65 quid cheaper in Sweden than the UK, an iPad Air 2 64 GB WiFi costing around 415 quid. That was all the encouragement I needed.

I kept the patriotic wall paper as well because in my mind there are no better motifs out there, the red and white of the Gunners a close second. As each new model represents a restrained nudge forward as opposed to a seismic shift, there are few surprises in store. It is however lighter, faster, smaller and holds the battery for longer, so job's a good 'un.

The battery life of mobile devices leave a lot to be desired and running out of juice is a constant source of frustration. The difference between travelling on public transport listening to tunes of choice as opposed to banal conversations and crying babies is monumental. In the past my refuelling options have been limited to say the least but thanks to this little beauty I shall never again have to endure the painfully dull sound bites of the general public.

It's a solar powered charger for the full range of mobile devices. Not only is it a life saver, it's an eco-conscious life saver. And a cheap one at that, costing a mere £12. It's similar in size but obviously lacking the fire power of the similarly charged Solex Agitator, the central focus of The Man With The Golden Gun. So Bond gadgets may not be such a flight of fancy after all. Now if only I could get my hands on those X-ray glasses...

The art of high brow sleeping

On Friday I tried to be cultured, proper high brow and everything. I went to see Wuthering Heights, the ballet, at the Lyceum. We got our friend Sally a ticket for her birthday and I figured I'd tag along for the LOLs. I'd never been to the ballet before, the closest thing was seeing Black Swan at the cinema and I'm obviously no connoisseur but I imagine that was like Strictly Come Dancing in comparison. One should be open to new experiences, life would be exceptionally dull otherwise, so the time had come to tick ballet off the list that now only really features opera. My preferences are usually distinctly low brow so I approached with reserved enthusiasm as opposed to gay abandon. 

In hindsight my preparations were somewhat ill advised, having been to a matinee screening of the joyless and slow paced Mommy at the rip off art house cinema that is Curzon (Showroom for president!) followed by a pint of Bernard in the Tap and a large chicken mole burrito washed down with a bottle of Desperado at Street Food Chef. I was possibly not in the ultimate frame of mind for breaking my ballet cherry. Lo and behold, halfway through the first act I fell asleep. Not the invigorating R.E.M. sleep either, rather the nodding off kind you do at uni lectures or work training days when you're trying your utmost to stay awake because it's not the done thing to zonk out. If only Alan Partridge would've burst on to the stage with a window climb dance move to rescue me from my slumber. 

Disco nap aside, my virgin ballet outing failed to inspire. It wasn't quite what I'd expected, less tutus and more theatrics. There's just something intrinsically odd to see quarrels, fights, a game of poker, death even, embodied through plies and pointes. Can't think of a situation where finding out that the love of your life has married someone else would cause you to sidle sideways on your tip toes. Maybe I'm just too much of a simpleton. Throwing smashable objects and screaming expletives would come more natural. It did feature a balletic sex scene however, complete with a doggy style thrust from behind, so all was not lost. Not quite sure what the well to do folk of S11/17 made of that one though.

It was surprisingly easy to follow the storyline, even if you weren't overly familiar with it beforehand. Seeing as it's a bonafide classic you probably should know the gist of the story. I certainly should, I read it in A level Swedish, or gymnasiet in Swedish language. That would be 'read' in the loosest sense, I kept falling asleep whenever I opened the pages. Clearly some things never change. We were given a choice of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre to read and write a review of. Despite numerous half hearted attempts I never properly read the whole thing, finding it too complicated and uninspiring. Sleeping was by far the more preferable activity. There was no World Wide Web to bail me out, imagine that kids, but I somehow managed to bungle a book review based on last ditch skim reading. As far as I remember my teacher overlooked the glaring factual errors in a random act of mercy. The upshot is that I still to this day don't quite know the full story of Wuthering Heights, but at least it's been the source of inspiration for a whole lotta sleep. Insomnia remedy at the ready.

Throughout my GCSE and A level years I kept going through fads. In the early 90s I had a bit of a Nirvana inspired grunge phase. Flannel shirts and baggy jeans. I then morphed into a period of only wearing black from head to toe. Black jeans, black t shirts (particularly an Automatic for the People one), black coat. I grew my hair to shoulder length and wore it in a pony tail and felt that my tortured soul was largely misunderstood and miserable. This was followed by a weird retro phase when I was trying my utmost to look like an old man, inspired by god knows what. I 'borrowed' clothes from my dad and trawled round second hand shops on visits to my sister in Stockholm. Back then there was no such thing as vintage and second hand clothes shopping was the unfashionable prerogative of those who had limited financial flexibility. 

Pre-owned clothing has never bothered me. Refusing hand me downs is misplaced snobbery of the worst kind. It ticks plenty of boxes, environmentally friendly, communal, economical. So someone else has worn the clothes before, get over it. As long as it looks in good condition and doesn't smell of piss or faeces it's a go-er. There's an abundance of choice nowadays too, charity shops and vintage shops obviously, clothes swaps, online market places, and of course the mighty eBay.

I buy stuff from eBay in fits and starts. Months will pass without me even opening the mobile app and then I'll have a frenzy of watching and bidding and losing and thinking whatever. I've bought loads of stuff, new and used, at a fraction of the recommended retail price. Bargain Mecca. In particular I've bought designer clothing that I otherwise wouldn't have afforded. A raft of cheap Vicri shirts for around a tenner being my main eBay achievement. Noone does crazy ass prints better, trust me. And since they sit firmly in the formal category, previous owners tend not to have worn them that often which means they're usually in pristine condition. As new even. 

In the past I got carried away with last minute auction duels, losing track of the cost increase as the clock ticked down. Nowadays I'm more methodical and set myself a limit from the start. In the last couple of weeks or I've been on the hunt for cheap shirts and the fruits of my endeavour is this checked number from Zara for £6.60 including postage:

In excellent condition and would've cost around the £25-30 mark new. Bargain. I also happened across this long sleeved top from All Saints, which came in at £8.90 with postage. 

Also in excellent condition, smells of scented fabric conditioner, and at a guess £30-40 new. Bargain 2. Massive savings made on clothes that someone else has fallen out with, discarded in favour of more prized possessions. I'm down with that. Unlike Heathcliff I don't mind scraping the barrel and settling for second best, it won't make me bitter and twisted and scheming. On the contrary, I'll be fine as dandy and thanks to Heathcliff and co fully rested and raring to go. 

Ack Värmeland du sköna

For many years I've pondered the concept of home. Is it 'where the heart is' or 'wherever I lay my hat' or 'Tennessee Mountain' or something altogether different? I'm just back from a brief sojourn to the motherland and I've only just emerged from my customary, temporary, heightened state of flux where home is a duplicity. Sheffield is my home as an independent grown up, where I pay rent and tax (but not allowed to vote) and spend most of my money and days. Damn fine city too, on the move I tell thee, I won't have a bad word said about it.

At the same time home proper is always going to be Sweden, the old and free, the crown in Svea's empire of nations. Sweden provides my identity and I shall carry an unflinching sense of Swedishness with me to the day I die. Most people who have spent time in my presence would probably testify to my penchant for Swedo-gushing at any given opportunity, particularly its relative superiority in comparison with neighbouring countries. Having lived as an ex-pat for the majority of my adult life, I fully acknowledge that I regard Sweden through rose tinted (Superdry Caine) glasses. A sprinkling of xenophobia is allowed in my book. In fairness though it's far from a perfect utopia. It's got its flaws and problems like anywhere else, but it's beautifully flawed, inhabited by a population of confidence-reducing beauty. In short a supreme place to be.

I'm an ardent advocate of Sweden as a tourist destination. Few places have such a multi-dimensional and multi-faceted impact on the senses. Breathtaking is an overused term but highly applicable when describing the vistas that Sweden offers. Spectacular landscapes are all around, from the mountain regions of the North to the yellow rapeseed plains of the south. It doesn't matter where you are, on the coast or inland, mother nature is right there by your side. Free of charge. With an abundance of fresh air and botanical odours. And you get four distinct seasons, just as God the creator intended. If you've not been yet you should make it a priority. The world's most punctual airline gets you there on the cheap. And on time. Or if you've got a bigger budget you can pay a bit more and help the ailing Scandinavian Airlines stay in business.

When it comes to Sweden as a country of residence the picture is a bit different. It's a ridiculously regulated society. In some respects that's a good thing, there's a form of social discipline ingrained in folk in general, but it can also be stifling, especially for individuals who don't fit with Swedish norms. There's an unwritten 'law' that Swedes are meant to abide by called Jantelagen, which basically dictates that people shouldn't think they're something or someone. Any action, behaviour or lifestyle that's lacking humility or restraint is generally frowned upon. Boasting might as well be a criminal offence. For all its reputation as a liberal country, it's strangely judgemental and intolerant. In a respectful and mild mannered way of course.

The good far outweighs the bad mind. Never a stranger to a list, here's my top 10 reasons why Sweden is fantastic

1. Värmland - My home county so I'm biased and not afraid to say that it's the best county in Sweden. Varied and interesting countryside, mixing hilly forests, sprawling farm lands and more than 3000 lakes. The dialect is one of a kind, full of charm whilst perplexing and a source of amusement to anyone not from there. The birthplace of Selma Lagerlöf, Gustaf Fröding, Zarah Leander and Sven Göran Eriksson, Värmland has its own song 'Ack Värmeland, du Sköna', dating back to the early 1800s. A beautiful, haunting and wistful piece of music, it's quite possibly my favourite song of all time. I want it played at my funeral, on repeat.

2. Swedish pop - Pop music is serious business in Sweden. There's no coincidence that the Swedish music exports are worth more than 150 million US dollars every year, the largest per capita in the world. I LOVE Swedish pop, I literally can't live without it. A day without a few spins of Swedish tones is simply a shit day. Of course everyone knows Abba, rightly so. Most will probably remember Roxette, The Cardigans and Ace of Base. Avicii is a Swede. And if the world wasn't so feckle, Robyn would be bigger than Rihanna and Beyonce combined. But there's so much more to enjoy, you could do worse than investigate some, or all, of the following: Kent, The Knife, Fever Ray, Army of Lovers, Laleh, Tove Styrke, Sophie Zelmani, Lili & Sussie/Susie, Lykke Li, Freddie Wadling, Tove Lo, The Sounds, Alcazar, Amanda Jenssen, The Ark, Anna Ternheim, Miss Li, Lars Winnerbäck, Christian Kjellvander, Titiyo, BWO, Stina Nordenstam, Agnes, Loreen, Stockholm Syndrome, Weeping Willows, Mando Diao. And throw in a bit of Dr Alban for good measure.

3. Equality - As a country, Sweden's commitment to equality and fairness is really rather evident in everyday life. Gender equality is norm, it's legally binding to promote gender equality in education, and discrimination on any basis is strongly opposed. Legislation has helped drive social change, women were given the right to vote in the early 1920s and homosexuality was de-criminalised in 1944 (though it remained a mental health condition til 1979). One of the best examples of Swedish attitudes of today is this clip from the annual QX Gay Gala, where awards are given to Homo and Hetero of the Year amongst others.

Amazing. Can't quite imagine Prince Charles doing the same somehow.

4. Feministiskt Initiativ - So gender equality is meant to be the norm but of course true equality will never happen as long as we live in a patriarchal society. The feminist movement will rage on for many years therefore. In Sweden there's now a mainstream political party, Feministiskt Initiativ, based on feminist ideals and the equality for all agenda. In last year's European Parliament election they gained their first MEP and narrowly missed out on a place in Swedish Parliament in the September elections. Roll on 2018!

5. Allemansrätten - The freedom to roam legislation grants the general public access to roam around freely on public or privately owned land for the purpose of recreation. Everyone loves a roam.You can basically roam on any land that isn't someone's garden. This means that people can go for hikes, bike, ski, camp out, visit small idyllic beaches and pick wild mushrooms and berries in the countryside, for free, regardless of who actually owns the land in question. Everyone needs to roam responsibly though - the motto is 'do not disturb, do not destroy'.

6. The welfare state - It's definitely not as welfarey as it used to be but it's still damned good, particularly around parental leave and unemployment benefits. The top tax rate for the stinking rich is 60%. Word! Long may it continue.

7. Swedish meatballs - Easily the best meatball there is. I consume on a monthly basis, never deviating from the simple recipe. Some things don't require change.

8. Retail giants - Clearly not everyone's cup of tea, but Swedish global retail giants Ikea and H&M have made the world just a little bit better. Cheap furniture, 'fun' flatpacks, cheap meatballs and hot dogs, the Swedish food shop, dubious nazi connections. Cheap clothes, dubious sweatshop factories. What more can you ask for?

As the protracted Sheffield branch of Ikea is yet to open, I visited the store in Karlstad, Värmland whilst at home. Bought some cheap tea towels for £1.50.

Also bought a cushion inner to go with a previously purchased cushion cover. At the time I picked up the wrong size inner, much to my chagrin, so I've not been able to use the cushion. The inner was meant to have cost £1.50 but I somehow failed to scan the barcode at the self service till which meant that I inadvertently shop lifted it. Criminal.

I also picked up a blue jumper for £8 in the sale in KappAhl, a clothes chain similar to Next in approach and offerings.

Good colour. I also bought a pair of trousers for the same price in KappAhl. The random sales rack proved rather fruitful.

Going back to H&M, I was killing some time in town after work last Friday so strolled in to their shop in Sheffield city centre and this jumper was directly in my eye line. Deliberated for all of 10 seconds before heading to the tills. £14.99 it set me back. Worth it I reckon.

9. Stockholm - One of my favourite cities in the whole wide world, despite all the pretentious 08or that inhabit it

10. It's not Norway, say no more.

Pop - Art - House

My cinema project of watching a film every week for the whole of 2015 continued yesterday evening with a one off screening of The Light Shines Only There, part of @showroomcinema's Japanese Film Season. Celebrating its 20th birthday this year, The Showroom is a proper good cinema, and a social enterprise at that. Admittedly it can do with a bit of a facelift, like so many of the actors that graces its screens have been and got done, but it's still a great place to watch great movies. You can support the efforts to raise funds for their planned refurb by donating money. Alternatively you can contribute by actually going to see their films. And why wouldn't you want to? Their programming is laudable, particularly in the face of mounting commercial pressures, screening even the more obscure art house films alongside select blockbusters. I salute.

There's now an art house rival in the shape of the brand new Curzon so it'll be interesting to see if the people of Sheffield are discerning enough to support two independent cinemas. Curzon has got the upper hand when it comes to sound and picture quality but they're part of a profit driven company and grossly over-priced. Charging London prices up t'north isn't really a winning formula. The Showroom on the other hand is cheap in comparison. Particularly when films such as The Light Shines Only There are shown as part of their Eye Opener moniker. At £5 a ticket, there is certainly only one winner in the art house cinema price war of Sheffield. For more than double that price we could've 'enjoyed' Fifty Shades of Grey at Curzon yesterday. Tough choice. Whilst on the subject of the Fifty Shades craze, good on ITV for jumping on the bandwagon with their 'bondage for beginners' slot on This Morning the other week. Christine Bleakley and Phillip Schofield getting educated on the virtues of silk blindfolds, feathered spankers and scented candles cum (so to speak) massage oil must surely be enough for some viewers to spew up their elevenses. Try it yourself here.

Anyway, there was certainly no Hollywood gloss whatsoever about The Light Shines Only There. A relentlessly bleak depiction of life at the bottom of Japan's social ladder, there was virtually no let up in the misery. In pop culture reference the tagline 'We found love in a hopeless place' would've summed it up perfectly. The female protagonist was living a hell that even Von Trier would've baulked at and moments of (supposed) tenderness between the central couple somehow managed to disturb. Curiously it was Japan's entry for this year's foreign language Oscar, pretty sure the Academy voters who had a mental or physical wank over American Sniper would've choked on their elevenses at a film that depicts a major taboo subject.

All things considered though, it was a good film. Albeit one that required you to laugh hysterically as you left the screen just to remind you that life isn't quite as shit as the film would have you believe. Just 'Shake it off' like Swifty, pop culture reference #2, and back to normality. Films like these will either leave you feel rather solemn or serve as a reminder that whatever's currently bugging you, someone else has got it far worse. Essentially life is good, and not just because LG says so. Sometimes people need a kick up the arse to be able to see beyond their own life bubble of perceived agony/frustration/stress/other source of moaning, excluding those experiencing proper hardship obviously. It's all about a positive mental attitude. Change your life or change your thinking I say. Remember 'If I surround myself with positive things, I'll gain prosperity'. Pop culture reference #3.

I'm 100% in favour of literally lathering oneself with positive things. It's the quickest shortcut to a prosperous life, not necessarily in monetary terms but in general wellbeing and life experiences. Besides there's little point in doing things that make you feel miserable. Whilst I really rather enjoy bleak and harrowing motion pictures, when it comes to most other popular culture I much prefer the playful, colourful, unpretentious, unserious, hence I LOVE pop art. If there's pop art on display when I'm in town I'm there. It's graphic and tongue in cheek, and most importantly it doesn't require an accompanying essay to make sense of it.

Needless to say I jumped at the opportunity to purchase these fridge magnets at a recent visit to the British Library.

Rather randomly I'd been on the hunt for some good fridge magnets for a while, so imagine the exaltation at finding these ones in the sale, for 2 quid. Grab and go. I had actually been to the Comics Unmasked exhibition they accompanied but somehow failed to spot them in the shop afterwards. All's well that ends well, and they certainly brighten up the greyest of fridges.

By happenstance I was also very kindly and aptly given a set of fridge magnets for my birthday. My hankering for magnets must've become public knowledge. These aren't just any fridge magnets, they're Clueless fridge magnets. Gotta love a bit of Clueless, the most supreme symbiosis of cheesy teen comedy and sharp wit. 'Do you prefer fashion victim or ensembly challenged?'. As much as I love art house cinema, sometimes you just need to watch something jolly and upbeat. The quote factor on display is sky high and it contains the best description of Monet ever: 'From far away it's ok, but up close it's a big old mess'. Precisely my sentiment. I'm not afraid to admit that I've watched Clueless more times than most sane people would, so the magnets are practically perfect in every way.

There you have it, my fridge has become a veritable feast of pop art and a visual representation of all things fun in life. Because at the end of the day, 'Don't worry, be happy'. Pop culture reference #4. The world's our oyster, make the most of it, others do, you can too. That's my 2 pennies of cod psychology life coaching for the day. Plenty more clichés where that came from though, watch this space.