Back in the days of 7-inch vinyl, there was always the B-side. There was the hit song on the A-side, and on the B-side there was, generally speaking, a song favoured by the artist, but never likely to be a hit record.
I often quite liked the B-sides. They were often good songs. In 1977, ABBA released an “alternative version” of their song, “Why Did It Have To Be Me” called, “Happy Hawaii” (described as an earlier version of the song), which was interesting to hear. Occasionally, there were double A-side records. But generally, B-sides were the also-rans.
And that’s how I feel about Heat 3 of Melodifestivalen, the Swedish contest which chooses an entry for the Eurovision Song Contest. They were all quite good songs, but nothing really memorable.
The only song which I thought was really any good, both in the song and in the performance was “Visions”.
I think part of the problem with Melodifestivalen at the moment is the small talent pool of songwriters and singers. With a few exceptions, it’s the same people every year. Or if they’re not the same people, it’s people who look and sound like others.
For example, the singer of “Den du är”, Elisa, looked remarkably like Sanna Nielsen.
Every year it’s the same. There’s a bunch of pop songs (though nothing terribly contempoary); there’s a rock band; there’s a dansband (Swedish spelling); there’s a few older people. And every year, it really comes down to two or three mostly young men competing.
I wasn’t entirely sure it would survive the flight back, but thankfully it did. A couple of the bits of wire needed straightening, but no major problems, and the radio plays like a treat. It now has pride of place in my office at work.
For months, I’ve been falling down the YouTube rabbit hole of “everyday carry-on” videos. Most of them feel like glorified product placements for bags and gadgets you probably don’t need. As an amputee, I’ve learned pretty quickly that I really don’t have the luxury of carrying excess baggage, so these videos have been very useful in a general sense.
When I weighed my gear at the airport this morning, the total was a mere 5.5 kilograms. This brings me to my first secret: since losing my leg, I’ve never actually had my luggage weighed by Jetstar staff. They see the leg and give me a wide berth. I suspect it’s because they assume my bag is full of medical essentials—shrinkers, liners, or even a spare limb—which don’t count towards weight limits anyway. I floated this theory to one of the wheelchair support staff today; she was a bit coy, but she gave me a knowing nod and a smile.
In contrast, I watched a couple nearby struggling with 22 kilograms between them when they were only allowed 14. The bloke was wearing several kilos of gear in his pockets, including a massive power bank he only unpacked after the scales. They also had a “mystery” medical bag with a blood pressure monitor poking out the top. It made me wonder: why carry so much stuff?
I’ve always been a light packer, but I’m even more minimalist now. Years ago, I ditched wheeled suitcases—they’re heavy and a nightmare to use. I still have “trauma” from dragging a dodgy wheel over European cobblestones. Now, I use a backpack to help with my weight distribution and balance.
That backpack is all I’m taking for Europe and Asia, plus a small sling bag for my amputation-related gear. My strategy for the mixed climates is simple: pack for the cold and let the warm weather look after itself. I’ve got one puffer jacket compressed down to nothing and a thinner one I’ll wear on the plane as a mid-layer. If I’ve missed anything for the European leg, I’ll just hit a second-hand shop and donate it back before I leave.
Even though I don’t always use a wheelchair, I usually book wheelchair support for flights. You never know how far the gate is or if there are stairs involved—some of those Chinese airports are massive, and I know I’ll be trekking across the tarmac in the Swedish Arctic soon. It’s a bit of a “travel hack,” but you often breeze through security in a chair.
Mind you, today was an exception. I tested positive twice during screening (likely some residue on the chair or equipment). The woman assisting me was rolling her eyes, muttering that some of the security staff don’t know what they’re doing. A nice perk, though, is that wheelchair assistance often results in an empty seat next to you. On the Lismore run or other domestic hops, I frequently score a whole row to myself.
Unfortunately, the “Amputee Advantage” couldn’t save my connection today. I was supposed to fly Sydney to Melbourne at 9:40 AM to catch a 2:20 PM flight to Bangkok. I originally thought a three-hour buffer was overkill, but a four-hour technical delay in Sydney proved me wrong. We sat on the tarmac forever, and my anxiety spiked. If I’d had just 20 more minutes, I might have made it. Instead, I watched my Bangkok flight disappear.
Jetstar put me up at the Parkroyal Melbourne Airport and handed over a $30 food voucher. It doesn’t go far—it won’t even cover the $44 breakfast buffet tomorrow—but it’s something. So, the trip starts a day late. I was tempted to head into the city tonight, but I’ve decided to stay put, enjoy the comfy bed, and recharge before I try again tomorrow.
I’ve spent the night listening to the wonderful album, “Vapen och ammunition” by the Swedish pop/rock band, Kent. Given the news events of the last few days, it’s interesting that “Vapen och ammunition” translates as “Weapons and ammunition”. Perhaps subconsciously, it was an album that I was drawn to because of the title, though more likely, it’s simply because it’s a good album which I like very much, and which has become a firm favourite over the last decade.
I first discovered it through my friend Yvette who spent six months living in Sweden about a decade ago. It was one of the albums she bought while living there, and sang along to in “Swenglish”, finding the most approximate English language lyric that matched the Swedish. “I rack my dog, I rack my bone” was her English language equivalent to “Vi räknar dagar, räknar år”. “We’re counting days, we’re counting years” is the actual translation, though I still often sing, “I rack my dog, I rack my bone”.
When she came back from Sweden, she played the CD and loaned it to me. After a couple of months she asked, “Do you think I could back that Kent CD?”. Yes, I’d hung on to it a little longer than was polite, because I was enjoying it far too much, with its catchy melodies, good instrumentation, and cryptic Swedish lyrics. And, as I later discovered, thanks to Youtube, some really terrific video clips.
Perhaps the most interesting clip from this album, and certainly the most controversial is the song “Kärleken väntar” (“Love Waits”). The clip features a teenage couple who decide they should have sex for the first time. As you watch the clip, you see them fumble their way through the experience, revealing their inexperience in a tender, but also slightly humorous way. I’m still not entirely sure what the lyric is saying about how “Love Waits”, as it’s a phrase commonly associated with a conservative Christian campaign which occurred in the United States during the 80s and 90s.
It seems to me the lyrics from Kent songs are often a little obscure. Sometimes they’re perhaps a little too poetic for my basic understanding of Swedish. The opening line from the song “Dom Andra” (The Others) always touches me, though… “En ensam kvinna söker en man” which translates as “A lonely woman seeks a man”… wow.
But as was noted by my friend, Yvette, you can hear pretty much anything in a Kent song. And I do love this misheard lyric video clip compiled a few years ago.
Although I’ve listened to quite a few subsequent albums by Kent, it’s this one which still resonates for me. I think this was when they were at their musical peak.
In some ways, Kent are Sweden’s answer to U2. They’ve been around since the dark ages, and have gone through various transitions. Sometimes they’ve been cool, other times they’ve been considered quite daggy. A couple of years ago, for example, when my friend Damien’s friend, Joel had a Swedish boyfriend, Damien informed me that Kent were “very unfashionable”. Meh.
Of course, I drink like a fish. But over time my body seems to have built up a bit of resistance, so I don’t often get hangovers. Today, however, was an exception: I woke with one of those mind-numbing hangovers.
Last night I went out looking for something to eat and headed towards the “gay area” of Tokyo. The first bar I called into (for a beer) had the best name for a bar ever: Cholesterol. And then it went on and on, met some lovely people, and suddenly it was 5 am.
Even though I’ve visited Stockholm twice before, I haven’t visited all of the obvious tourist attractions. One notable omission has been home/gallery/museum of Prins Eugins Waldemasudde, located on Djurgården.
I don’t know why I haven’t been there before. Maybe I figured it was just going to a bit of a boring old house, and there was too much else to see in Stockholm in the middle of summer? If so, I was completely wrong.
The house itself is completely charming. Prins Eugins obviously had an eye for good design, as the house enjoys wonderful views and seems completely in touch with its environment. It’s very much an open, airy kind of space.
Outside also, there are lots of wonderful places to sit and enjoy the sunshine and completely relax, which I did for much of the day.
Prins Eugins was also, an artist and, thus, the house is full of many of his own works, as well as those of many other Swedish and European artists. His paintings are okay, I guess. Nothing really special in my opinion. It seems like he was a better collector than he was an artist, in my view.
However I did like his taste in books, which I thought, reflected an obviously worldly man with broad interests.
He died without heir – yeah, you guessed right – and so now his house is a gallery/museum space with a couple of current exhibitions. One features a lot of 19th century Italian works which held little interest for me.
Waldemarsudde
Waldemarsudde
Lars Wallin at Waldemarsudde
I was more interested in the exhibition of works by Swedish designer, Lars Wallin. Not being much of a fashionista myself, I’d never heard of Lars Wallin until I walked into the exhibition.
I discovered, quickly, however, I was VERY familiar with a lot of his work, as he has designed stage costumes for some very well known Swedish pop stars, including Nanne Grönvall and Peter Jöback. It was fascinating to see so many of the costumes up close.
And although dresses aren’t really “my thing” I was completely taken by the beauty of some of his work. There’s a series of red dresses, in particular, which I thought were just amazing.
Overall, a really great space, and a great way to spend a lovely sunny day in Stockholm.
My weekend was shaping up to be pretty quiet, but it turned into a whirlwind of social activity and thought-provoking theatre.
It all started with a vague plan to catch up with a friend I hadn’t seen since before Christmas. We decided on an early dinner on Saturday — we’re both past the age of late-night clubbing and prefer a more relaxed pace of a 5.30pm dinner.
It turned out my friend had a $100 voucher for the pub we dined at! Apparently, she’d had a bad experience there a while back and had written a polite letter of complaint. The restaurant appreciated her feedback and gave her the voucher as an apology. We certainly put it to good use, enjoying a delicious meal and some lovely wine.
On Sunday, I had loosely planned to see a play called “Jacky” at the Belvoir Street Theater with another friend. https://belvoir.com.au/productions/jacky/ I was intrigued by the premise: a young, queer Aboriginal boy from “Up North” moves to Melbourne and navigates a complex life, including being a sex worker, so he could save money to buy a house.
The play delved into his relationships, particularly with his brother and a client who unexpectedly turns out to be the ex-husband of his employer.
What I found most compelling was how “Jacky” explored the intricacies of indigenous identity in Australia, raising questions about representation and community.
The play was surprisingly funny at times, which provided a nice contrast to the more serious themes.
My friend’s partner is Aboriginal, and we both have some understanding of the nuances of indigenous culture, so we found it particularly thought-provoking.
Then, out of the blue, an old friend called on Sunday morning and invited me to see “Hamlet Camp” at CarriageWorks. https://carriageworks.com.au/events/hamlet-camp-2025/ I knew nothing about it, but was immediately intrigued.
The play featured three actors who had played Hamlet throughout their careers, reflecting on the triumphs and burdens of portraying such an iconic role. The first half, which focused on their personal experiences as actors, was captivating. There were poignant moments of reflection alongside laugh-out-loud anecdotes about the ups and downs of their careers. My friend and I were completely absorbed in their stories.
The second half shifted to a fictionalized workshop where these “Hamlet” actors gathered to work through the challenges of the role, and the legacy of having played the role. While still entertaining, it wasn’t quite as engaging as the first half’s intimate monologues.
Nevertheless, the entire 90-minute performance flew by.
Despite having minimal plans initially, my weekend was a delightful mix of engaging theater, good food, and stimulating conversations with friends. It was a reminder that sometimes the most fulfilling experiences arise unexpectedly.
