April 4 : A reminder in the midst of the “lock down” you don’t HAVE to watch TV. Radio is pretty awesome too, esp since you can simultaenously cook and clean, or have a glass of wine on the balcony.
April 9 : Forget online dating, my current online fantasy involves tracked information from Google Flights. I’ll probably have to re-adjust the dates, but it’s awesome to receive these kind of updates.
April 10 : The NRL & The Five Stages Of Grief 1. Denial: no, it’s not happening, we’ll keep going on. 2. Anger: ok, fine, if you insist, we’ll stop. 3. Bargaining: It’s gonna fine, we’ll come back in May, okay? Still to come stage 4. Depression and finally 5. Acceptance
April 14 : Are we looking too much to the Northern hemisphere for guidance on COVID-19? We’re now heading into the traditional flu season here in the Southern hemisphere, and I wonder if things may get worse over the next few months. Sorry for the doom and gloom, I’ve just been wondering.
April 16 : Hubba hubba. @TomChivers : OF COURSE the Swedish deputy state epidemiologist looks like this
April 16 : Donald Trump and the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think we’ve gone pretty strongly from denial into anger.April 16 : Life Aged 20 : There’s a thing happening on Twitter, where people are posting photographs of themselves, aged 20. I couldn’t find one aged 20, but here’s my Brideshead Revisited themed, “21st Birthday” at Tarragindi in Brisbane. Stanley Leasingham cask wine. Classy.
April 20 :Interesting observations on the ABC in @TurnbullMalcolm‘s book, out today. Personally, I don’t like mung beans, nor lattes. And, I must get me an Akubra.. (My response: I don’t have a photograph of me in an akubra, but I do have this.)
April 26 : Sitting on the couch, a bit bored, and then all of a sudden I heard that familiar sound. Not many kids in our street, but he did a good trade in grown up kids!April 29 : It’s International Dance Day. In the midst of this terrible situation, this is just the day to put on some of your favourite music and get dancing!!! It will make you feel awesome!!
It’s hard to believe it, but today was my last full day in Stockholm. With my departure looming, I woke up with a clear mission: it was time to tick off those final bucket-list items that have been lingering on my mind.
I decided to head back out to the archipelago—specifically to Vaxholm. I’ve been here once before during the summer when it’s a bustling, sun-drenched holiday resort. Winter tells a different story. The crowds are thinner, but the ferry was still surprisingly lively. I found myself surrounded by a mix of French and Italian travellers, along with plenty of Swedes heading out for a Friday escape.
This is not a TV screen, it’s the view of the snow and ice from the front window.
The journey takes about 80 to 90 minutes. I’ll admit, I was crossing my fingers for a sea of thick, dramatic ice, but nature had other plans. While there wasn’t as much as I’d hoped for, there was still enough to satisfy the soul, especially as we pulled into Vaxholm. I even managed to snag a short video of an icebreaker working alongside our ferry.
The ferry was completely covered by my weekly transit pass—no extra cost at all, which is always a win for the travel budget. I settled in for a light lunch at the Vaxholm Hotel, right opposite the quay. There’s something incredibly peaceful about a Friday lunch overlooking the frozen water (or at least, the “slushy” water) with a few locals enjoying the view.
As I sat on the bus and train today, I found myself drifting off and wondering about the automated voices you hear on public transport. I ended up discovering a really clever piece of Swedish engineering. It turns out that northbound trains are announced by a female voice, while southbound trains are announced by a male voice. It’s a unique system designed to help commuters with visual impairments know exactly which side of the platform to stand on just by listening to the gender of the voice. It’s such a simple, thoughtful touch that makes the city that much more accessible.
Back in the city this afternoon, I finally tackled something I’ve wanted to do for ages: a traditional Swedish sauna (or bastu). I’ve done the baths in Iceland and Japan, but never the local experience here. I headed to the swimming hall at Medborgarplatsen.
As an amputee, navigating these spaces can sometimes be a bit of a logistical puzzle. At the entrance, there’s a strict “shoes off” rule before you even reach the changing rooms. I had to explain to the staff that my prosthetic limb and shoe are a package deal! They were great about it, though—they gave me these blue plastic covers (very IKEA-esque) to keep the grit off the floors.
After a relaxing 25-metre lap swim, I hit the sauna. It’s a very different vibe from Australia. It’s incredibly family-oriented; fathers and sons all relaxing together, which felt very natural and wholesome. I did have a sweet moment with a little girl who was absolutely transfixed by my prosthetic. Her father was a bit apologetic, but I told him it was no worry at all.
I finished the evening with a quiet glass of wine at a local bar before retreating to the hostel.
To be honest, these past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. I’ve had to remind myself that things are a bit different now than they were during my last visit nine years ago. Between the amputation and the slippery winter streets, I move a little slower than I used to. I haven’t ticked off every single thing I imagined, but I’ve learned to be okay with that. Travel isn’t just about the volume of sights; it’s about the quality of the moments.
Tomorrow, I’m jumping on a four-hour train north to Sundsvall. It’s Melodifestivalen Heat 5 weekend (the massive Swedish lead-up to Eurovision), so the energy in the country is going to be electric.
I was sitting at Star City Casino the other night, and for just a brief moment I wondered if I should have been somewhere else. Normally on a Wednesday night I’d join a group of friends at a pub in Lewisham for a mid-week debrief about our lives over a few beers.
But on Wednesday night this week, another friend (“C”) and I had decided to go to see ABBAMANIA, a brand new musical tribute. And for just a brief moment, I thought to myself, “What the f… am I doing here?”.
At interval, I called a mate at the pub to tell him about the show. “What do you think?”, he asked, at which point I declared the show to be both one of the best, and one of the worst ABBA tribute shows I have ever seen. At that point my friend C, who had been to the famous ABBA concert in Perth, Western Australia, where they evacuated the entertainment centre due to a bomb hoax, suggested to our friend on the phone that he call Star City and make a bomb threat, so we would all have to leave.
ABBAMANIA at Star City Casino
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it was Jeff Kennett who famously described Star City Casino as an “RSL Club on steroids”, making it one of those lines I still laugh out loud about. Well, if Star City is an RSL on steroids, I have to say ABBAMANIA is an ABBA tribute show on steroids, and yet also cortisone. There were moments of absolute joy (literally “goose bump moments) with tremendous performances, such as “The Winner Takes It All”. There were also moments when I felt as though I was witnessing the world’s worst ABBA tribute show, such as when they sang “I’ve Been Waiting For You”. Although the song’s simple arrangement was quite good, it was sung with a “Nashville twang”. “Hive bheen whaiting ferrrr youuuuu”.
And that was a recurrent theme throughout the show: songs sung without meaning. I know what you’re thinking: what meaning could possibly be found in songs like “Mamma Mia” and “Bang A Boomerang”. But the truth is, when you listen closely to their music, even those songs with childlish lyrics are sung with such passion, joy and heartbreak. For example, the vocalist got “Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) completely wrong in its interpretation. When Agnetha sang “There’s not a soul out there, no one to hear my prayer”, she was crying out for intimacy, not just a quick root.
There were also those terribly insincere faux Swedish accents, which inevitably re-inforce the idea Agnetha and Frida were idiots, due to their poor English. And there were dance moves Agnetha and Frida never did. Or dance moves they did, but to an entirely different song. And while the choreography of Agnetha and Frida was always a little more individual and a little more “down-home” (hey, they selected their own costumes and did their own make-up so what would you expect), the choreography of the Agnetha and Frida in this show was quite slick, in a clunky kind of way. Agnetha and Frida hardly ever danced in time together.
Later in the night, I listened in to a couple of nearby conversations about the show. Almost without exception everyone had a great time. I also heard people say how “how close to the originals they were”. It was at that point I wondered whether or not they had seen the same show I had, and whether or not they’d ever seen an ABBA video clip or live concert performance to make an accurate comparison.
But in the same way that if you repeat a story over and over, even if it’s incorrect, it ends up becoming correct, ABBA tribute bands have developed their own mythology about ABBA, far removed from the truth.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those purists who hates ABBA tribute bands, as I’ve been to see quite a few. I’ve also seen “Mamma Mia” a few times, and I’m completely happy with other people re-inerpreting ABBA songs, and seeking to recreate their live performances. I probably would have enjoyed the show more, had they not decided to promote the show as a “re-enactment of ABBA’s last concert performance”. Because it wasn’t. Instead, it was like a tribute show of a tribute show, if you know what I mean. It was more like a Bjorn Again tribute show than an ABBA tribute show.
Anyway, aside from that, I’ve had a reasonably lovely week. I went to dinner tonight with a colleague and a group of her friends who were all absolutely delightful. And also last night I went to Fruits In Suits, a monthly event I often attend. While entering the venue I was greeted by a well-known Eastern Suburbs figure who was there, standing outside saying hello to people, and clearly identifiable, when at the same time he was supposed to be somewhere else.
As I left the house I couldn’t help but notice the rather exotic looking bar stool in the back laneway. There were shades of “The Sound of Music”, I thought to myself, with the material looking like discarded 70s curtains.
“The chair underneath must have been REALLY bad”, a mate commented when I showed him the photograph later in the day.
I was on my way to a friend’s place to continue to help him organise and pack boxes ahead of moving house this week.
I was already running a little late though. I went to bed on Saturday night feeling a little sick. And even though I woke early, I’d gone back to bed for a few more hours to see if my health could improve.
It’s nothing serious, just a bit of a cough/cold/flu thing that seems to be going through my workplace at the moment. A colleague tweeted earlier that she too was feeling a little crook. Presumably something she had picked up from her husband who also works with us. She further noted that another colleague had been coughing earlier in the week.
Despite my illness, we managed to do a fair bit of work today, and it’s looking like he’ll be okay for the removalists on Monday morning.
In record time I made it back from his place at Hurlstone Park, via Ultimo, and then via Surry Hills, to Crown Casino where I had tickets for the opening night of a new production of “West Side Story”.
Discarded bar stool uncovered
Unlike many of the revived musicals, these days, there were no “headline acts”. Instead there was a good strong cast, with an especially strong actor playing the role of Tony. He had a lovely voice.
Although I’m familiar with the music, I’ve never actually seen a production before. For that reason I guess I enjoyed it doubly, as it was something both familiar, but also quite new.
A good show, and a good production.
He stayed around for a drink and snacks at the party afterwards until eventually I began to fade.
On arriving home I couldn’t help but notice the bar stool was still in the back laneway. This time, however, it was sans cover. Underneath it wasn’t so bad afterall.
I’ve spent a couple of hours this afternoon watching “Hamish MacBeth”, the wonderful BBC series of about ten years ago about the police officer in a small Scottish village, Loch Dubh. I really loved the show, and for a while had a brief crush on Robert Carlyle in the lead role.
In contrast with films like “Trainspotting” and “Sixteen Years of Alchol”, “Hamish MacBeth” presented what I believe was a fairly romantic notion of Scotland, although I’ve never been to Scotland, so I can’t be sure. While “Trainspotting” offered an insight into the impact of heroin on a small group of people in Glasgow, the impact of the far more common drug, alcohol, is examined in “Sixteen Years Of Alcohol”, which I’ve just finished watching on “World Movies” on Foxtel.
Sixteen Years of Alcohol
There are other similarities with “Trainspotting”, especially the disenfranchised feelings of the main characters and the violence. Early in the film, for example, the lead character, Frankie bashes up a man, seemingly, without any provocation, and is seen later, jumping with joy, walking with with friends down the street. Minutes later, a man perceived to be gay has a knife thrust down his throat, with his attacker telling him to “suck on this”.
As this film is set in Scotland, is it more than a co-incidence the Celtic peoples are thought to have an alcohol problem? It would be simplistic, however, to see members of the Celtic races as the only ones with alcohol problems. The Swedes do, too. Perhaps it’s more than a co-incidence, then, that this film also begins with an exploration of a childhood shortened or gone wrong, as do many Swedish films, most famously “My Life As A Dog”. As with the Swedes, this film locates the source of the lead characters problems with alcohol and violence in his childhood.
The sadness of the people in this film is also expressed in the music, ranging from the traditional music, to the more recent popularity of the tragic fringe of American country music. I love the way the musical accompaniment to this film – in a minor key – and the heart-felt versions of country music songs “He’ll Have To Go” and “One Day At A Time”.
But there’s room for optimism, with Frankie believing that whenever something very bad in your life is about to occur, a guardian angel looks intervenes, something I think I agree with. “Inside all of us is something beautiful, something that wants to say hello to the world, we only want the world to smile back”, he declares.
The possibility of love helps to change his direction in life, but so does the self-realisation that comes with adult-hood, and that life is ultimately about love and connection, and the recognition that “somebody out there will always remember…” For all of those reasons, you’ve got to change, and “it’s up to you”, not others.
