Saturday 30 April 2011

Happy May Day!


It's the eve of May Day today which in the Nordic countries is celebrated as a festival for both students and workers. Because I rejoiced the Royal Wedding rather hard last night, I will not be raising (many) glasses to my fellow Baccalaureates tonight, but just wanted to wish all of you out there in 'Scandiland':


 Hauskaa Vappua!


Glad Valborg!

As a post-script I had to show you this picture from last night.

 There are some Royalists in London!

Thursday 28 April 2011

Royal Wedding Fever in London

I admit to being a bit of a confused Republican. I believe in democracy yet I love the romanticism of a Royal Wedding. I went totally gaga over the Swedish Princess Victoria's nuptials last year and have been looking forward to tomorrow's grand occasion here in London.

Unfortunately I'll be working in the book shop in the afternoon so may miss the kiss on the balcony (I know!), but before that my nose will be firmly glued to our TV screen at home, while stuffing myself with fairy cakes Daughter has promised to bake.

For reasons I now really cannot remember, my dear colleague, the super PR woman of the shop, Danny, and I promised to wear hats and proper wedding outfits to mark the day. Now I cannot find anything suitable to wear.

While I'm panicking about dresses, shoes, hats and fascinators, Daughter is getting more and more excited about tomorrow's events so we set off to get some Royal memorabilia. I took her to Selfridges where we found some rather tasteful things:

KK Outlet bone china plate

Emma Bridgewater 'For William and Kate' mug

But Daughter wanted something 'with their faces on it', so we went to a little less upmarket shop and got these:

Two Kate and Wills flags from a tourist shop on Oxford Street
And then tried to hide them for the bus ride home.


I think I might have given birth to another confused Republican...

Tuesday 26 April 2011

Strindberg's Daughter - my new blog

Me posing as Strindberg's Daughter

For my birthday a few days ago I decided to give myself a rather unusual present: a new blog. For some time I've been writing theatre reviews here but thought that they deserved their own place in the blogosphere. Strindberg's Daughter was born!

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while know about my slight obsession with Strindberg; being his daughter is a fantasy that I may yet write about. I don't want to say too much about this here in order not to jinx it, but that's where the name came from.

To celebrate the launch of my new theatre blog, the blogger extraordinaire, fashion editor who divides her time between London and Manhattan and writes about love, life, fashion, design and food, LibertyLondonGirl, asked me to write a guest post on her LLG blog. I am so terribly honoured that I can hardly speak...or write. 

So, here it is, my first guest post ever on LLG. Hope you like and it - and like my new blog too!

Monday 25 April 2011

England's Lane Books gets busy!

Tessa Hadley at England's Lane Books on 21st April
We have so many events lined up at the book shop in London in May that I thought I'd share some of the excitement with you as I can hardly believe the quality of the writers we are going to be hosting.

Only last week we had one of my very favourite writers, Tessa Hadley, visiting London from Cardiff. She read from her Orange 2011 listed novel, The London Train, as well as answered intelligent and sometimes funny questions from the audience. It was a highly enjoyable evening. (Apologies for the quality of the photo - it's taken from a film).

In May the list of events is even more alluring:


Bill Turnbull 6 May
The BBC Breakfast presenter has a special thing about bees, so much so that he's written a book about them, The Bad Beekeeper's Club. The tickets for this event are selling like hotcakes. Bill is like honey to the bees. (Sorry, I couldn't resist the pun.)

Diana Athill 12 May
This lady of letters has a place in the British world of literature one can only dream of: as well as helping Andre Deutsch set up his publishing house, as an editor she's worked with authors like John Updike, Philip Roth, Simone de Beauvoir, V.S Naipaul. She's written several autobiographical books which make absolutely fascinating reading. The latest one, Life Class: The Selected Memoirs of Diana Athill is now out in paperback.

Yrsa Sigurdardottir 18 May
Chill winds from Iceland will blow over our North West London bookshop when this latest best-selling Nordic crime writer comes to talk about her craft. Engineer by day, plotter of dark murders by night, Yrsa has written six novels, three of which have been translated into English (next one Blessed are the Children will come out next year).  I will be reviewing one of her books, My Soul to Take here soon.

June is looking to be equally busy with talented, famed and acclaimed writers wishing to come and talk to eager readers at our book shop on England's Lane. Watch this space for more details soon!

Sunday 24 April 2011

Happy Easter!

I don't go for many Easter decorations, but there are a few favourites I bring out year after year.

Finnish Aarikka wooden Easter decorations.
Georg Jensen Easter egg

Even the box it came in looks stylish.

More Aarikka - wooden eggs

My Easter grass (rairuoho in Finnish) didn't quite grow fast enough...

it should look like this



Oh well, next year I'll start growing it in time.


Hope you are all having a great holiday! xx

Monday 18 April 2011

Historic election results in Finland

The Finnish Embassy in London where Daughter and I cast our votes

Last week I wrote about the importance of using one's right to vote.

This morning I'm in shock at the results of the Finnish general elections announced late Sunday night. Surprising enough that the National Coalition Party (NCP) is now the largest party with 44 seats out of the 200-strong parliament, but most worrying of all is that an extreme right-wing party opposing immigration and the EU bailouts, True Finns, gained a whopping 39 seats. That's an increase of nearly 15 percent, gaining the party 34 extra seats.

Timo Soini. Picture from www.yle.fi
Early this morning the leader of the True Finns, Timo Soini told the press 'We're not extremists, so you can sleep safely.' Isn't it funny how any extremist party always have to refute their policies? When I read in the True Finns manifesto emotionally laden sentences like, 'Our politics are based on Finnish history and Finnish culture', or 'We do not approve of policies which turn a master into a servant in his own home,' a shiver goes down my spine. And I do sleep badly.

Especially when I further read that over 70 percent of the Finnish voters turned up to vote.  Which means this result was not a consequence of voter apathy where only those with extreme views turned up.

Now on the morning after the election the horse trading between the largest parties begins on who's to form the new government in Finland. The Centre Party, which lost 16 seats in the parliament and its position as the largest party in the country, will now most probably go into opposition.

Jyrki Katainen, photo from www.yle.fi
The leader of the largest party, NCP, Jyrki Katainen, told YLE (Finnish National Broadcasting Corporation) that he'll co-operate with any party as long as the numbers and policies work. His historic victory must surely be tinged with regret that the other winners of the elections are the True Finns.

The mind boggles how a government between the NCP (44 seats), the Social Democrats who got 42 seats and the True Finns with their 39 would work. Would it mean a veto on the Portuguese bailout by the EU, as well as restrictions on immigration?

I fear for the future.

Sunday 17 April 2011

A Sunday rant on the digital future for books

Occasionally people will come into England's Lane Books full of awe that a new book shop has opened. 

'You're brave,' they say ominously.

I just smile because I've heard it so many times before, 'Surely all novels are going to be read on something like a Kindle or iPad soon and the printed matter is going to disappear?' 

Since the talk of the digital revolution (or disaster) started, (not long after a similar development in music took place which has seen record shops disappear and music being downloaded for free), the future for the printed matter, be it newspapers or books, has been uncertain. Nobody seems to know what is going to happen, nor how to tackle the provision of digital content at a price, piracy or the preservation of the book form. 

Nor can we agree whether we even need to have tangible books or newspapers if all the same words can be read on a portable device. Wouldn't it be better for the environment if we did away with paper all together?

And more to the point, how is the writer or the journalist going to make money if it's all free online? (Never mind the publisher...) Writers can't go on tour and make money from their art that way. Author readings won't fill stadiums. 

I've heard rumours that journalist work twice the hours these days, keeping their online content up to date, as well as writing the articles in the printed copy, and constantly being 'on duty' online. All for the same money they made two or three years ago. 

As an unpublished writer I can't imagine what it's like to be so wanted and needed as a writer - even on half the previous salary - but I can see that the industry is in turmoil even from my small vantage point in the book shop. Besides, aren't I part of the problem? Here I am on a Sunday morning (when I should be on that beach above) writing my blog - providing content - for free?

I have even gone as far as publishing a whole novel online (it's here folks in case you haven't read it yet). Isn't that wrong, if what we want is writers to get a fair pay for their work?

It's all very confusing. 

In the meantime, however, our little independent bookshop in Northwest London is thriving. It seems people still want to read words in a book form. Some even say they would like both, the digital and the book copy. In my mind that has to be the way to go. If all the legal stuff works and piracy can be effectively policed...but that's another part of the problem and worthy of another blog post all together.

Friday 15 April 2011

7 For All Mankind Jeans

Do you ever find yourself wearng the same pair of trousers day in day out?

Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while know that I'm a fully paid for member of the Serial Buyers Association, and now it seems I have to start another society, one for terminal black jeans wearers.

Since I first pulled on my current favourite pair of black 7's I have worn little else. They are bootcut, midrise and stretchy and came from the guilty-pleasure-shop No 1 Net-a-Porter. They were expensive for a pair of jeans, but with the wear I'm getting out of them I think they'll prove to be good value (this is my excuse and I'm sticking to it).

I've worn them to the theatre with a pair of kitten heels, I'm wearing them today with a pair of trainers. I'm sure when the weather gets warmer again, they will look absolutely fab with a short-sleeved blouse and my Russel&Bromley wedges. Plus - and this is a BIG plus - they make my bum look smaller. Is it any wonder that when it comes to deciding what to wear I find myself pulling the new 7's out time after time?

Thursday 14 April 2011

London: Miro at Tate Modern


Tate Modern has been my favourite London art gallery for a long time, so when we moved up here one of the first things I did was to become a member. At £52 per year it didn't seem such a huge cost especially as Daughter had just started to study History of Art. Perfect excuse....except it's taken me (not Daughter who almost lives there when back in London) six months to visit the gallery, let alone take advantage of the many members' events. Shame on me.

Last night I finally made up for lost time and, with an excited Daughter in tow, took the tube to the South Bank. It was she who dragged me out of the house having spotted the bright red invite to a private viewing of the Spanish artist, Joan Miro's work. And wow was it worth it! I won't try - with my limited knowledge of art - to explain the ins and outs of the exhibition, except to say that I felt truly moved by the bright canvases on display. As usual we both rented the audio guides, which were very well done. Sometimes these can be overly boring, or even too superficial, but this time I felt well informed about the artist, the era and his work.

Miro's bright triptychs in Room 10 were particularly stunning in bright blues. I also loved The Constellations from the 1940's. Because I didn't know Miro's work very well I didn't realise how much of what he did was political, or the other way around, how much Spanish civil war and Franco's dictatorship affected his work. This exhibition, as well as displaying the paintings and sculptures of a great modernist master, also brought to life that era of the country's history.

When we came out of the exhibition rooms into the high-ceilinged hall area, I felt as if I'd seen a really brilliant film, or read an atmospheric book about Spain.

It's a wonderful perk to be able to see an exhibit like this, before it even opens, but as luck would have it there's a competition just put up by the lovely ladies at A Little Bird blog to see Miro at The Tate this spring.

As for me, I've promised myself to make at least a monthly visit to one of the Tates - I'm ashamed to say I've never even been to Tate Britain. Ouch...

Tuesday 12 April 2011

Sweden: Fäviken restaurant in Åre

During my extended skiing trip last month I was lucky enough to visit a most fantastic - and unusual - restaurant near the Åre ski resort in Northern Sweden. The chef, Magnus Nilsson, of the remote Fäviken Magasin has become a bit a celebrity. He has been selected as one of the top ten young chefs by Wall Street Journal and is - alongside Albert Adrian from El Bulli - one of the chefs chosen for the Cook It Raw society.

Here Magnus explains his philosophy on cooking.


The Fäviken Magasin restaurant is set in a 17th century farm and serves food in one sitting, to a menu decided by the chef. All the ingredients are either grown or reared at the farm, or in the waters nearby (we had langustines from Norway). The only ingredients they buy from further afield are salt and pepper, and the dishes they serve strictly follow the seasons (A Cook It Raw principle). This is no mean feat in a place where snow covers the landscape for half of the year and the growing season is three or four months at its best. On the other hand you have the most fantastic wild ingredients: lingonberries, various mushrooms, game. Traditional and newly invented methods are used in preserving the berries, herbs, root vegetables and meat and fish. The chef also likes to use of all an animal - in a very similar way to St John's Bread & Wine (I wrote about that restaurant here).

When we arrived, it was snowing and the farmhouse looked welcoming against the dark blue night.


The path to the front door was lit by fires.


In the restaurant which sits only 12 people, there are no menus. Instead the staff tell you what you are about to eat just after they've served it. There are eight courses (not counting a few amuse de bouche's), and the identity of the wine is concealed for the customers to guess the grape and region, etc. I absolutely hate it when the host at a dinner party decides to play this game. It's usually done just to massage his or her middle-class ego, 'I know so much more about wine than you'. I've never before come across the same done in a commercially run restaurant. But, hey, while in Sweden, you must do what the Swedes do.

The guessing game aside, the food and the incognito wine at Fäviken is indescribably delicious. The tastes are so pure that I found myself thinking about the dishes I ate there for days - even weeks - afterwards.

Plus the staff at Fäviken Magasin could not be friendlier. They take such pride in the unusual dishes that the service can sometimes come across as pure theatre. But then isn't that what a really good dining experience is supposed to be - a very well executed performance?

These were some of the dishes we enjoyed.

Dried moss - yes! And it was delicious.
Dried pork from the farm - I've never tasted meat like it.
Baked trout  with muesli, preserved root vegetables, almost burnt cream and aged cheese.
Cod glazed with honey and fried in a dry pan, swede covered in grains of rye and fried in home made butter, served with cream of cod roe, eggs, vinegar and green juniper berries. 
Langoustine dry roasted with wild cumin served on a bed of dried hay. The scent was divine; I can still remember exactly how this dish tasted.
The chefs cut open the leg of beef to extract the marrow.
Raw heart with marrow and preserved root vegetables.
The home made sour dough bread was out of this world with the uncooked cow's heart. Yes, I know...
Wild raspberry sorbet, thick cream with sugared lingonberries.
Dill being dried in the old hay barn which is now used as the restaurant. 
The dried meat joints hanging from the rafters.
At the end of the evening we were offered tea, coffee and liqueurs.
We all felt very privileged to have been able to enjoy this fantastic restaurant. Although it is not cheap by any means, if you ever find yourself in the Swedish ski resort, you must try the place. Your taste buds will never again accept over-fussy, over-seasoned, or out of season food.

I'm just off to the Heath to forage for some wild leaves....or perhaps not.

Monday 11 April 2011

London life: Power Plates at Good Vibes


After two sessions on Power Plates with evil efficient trainers, my body aches in a way that I had forgotten it could. The only positive thing is that although I haven't lost any weight since starting the intensive 25 minute sessions on the vibrating plates, I feel thinner. And didn't somebody say that muscle weighs more than fat..?

Besides, the folks at Good Vibes in Fitzrovia (they also have studios in Covent Garden and on Liverpool Street) are so wonderfully positive and encouraging that I think even if none of the exercises worked, I'd still feel better after a session.

Even when you first arrive in the bright studio, you are greeted cheerfully. I'd been a good girl and already filled in my form asking me if I had any previous medical conditions (don't you just hate those?), and after the male trainer had checked I was OK to be vibrated on the plates, he said, 'Just relax, I'll tell you what to do.'

To my slight horror, on that Monday morning, I was the only pupil in the studio. 'We'll have a really good workout now,' said the trainer ominously. I giggled nervously and stood on the platform. He turned the machine on and told me to slightly bend my knees to stop my teeth chattering. I was to be on the lowest setting for the first few sessions. 'Let's see how you get on first.'

I was surprised how many Pilates moves we did on the vibrating surface. I'd expected that Power Plates was all based on keeping your balance, but found it was much more than that. The vibration itself seems to exercise your muscles - very few, small moves made me sweat buckets. There were moves that I could only do once or twice, but the trainer immediately had an alternative to try.

Afterwards I felt elated, every muscle in my body felt exercised and I decided to come back for more.

And by the way - I lied about the aching...cross country skiing is still the hardest exercise there is. How quickly I'd forgotten the sore body that activity produced!

In Ylläs, Finnish Lapland, last month
But I do very much recommend Power Plates - it's a fast and furious way to exercise. The brochure says there's no need to shower afterwards, and I guess you're not as sweaty as you'd be after an hour-long session in the gym. However, I'd not be able to go straight from the session back to the office without a shower. Maybe that's just me?

Good Vibes offer a free trial session for new customers and there's an excellent video clip on their site to show you what to expect. (And just in case you wondered - I pay for my own sessions.)

Friday 8 April 2011

Pappa's Girl Part 5

Stockholm 1971


‘This part of town is called Rinkeby. It’s ten stops on the Tunnelbana from the centre of town,’ Pappa told us, ‘That’s what the underground train is called.’
We were walking up the stairs to the second floor of a large block. Our flat was the fourth door along a covered walkway. I counted the doors so that I would find it again. When we arrived it was dark and there were orange lights along the walkway.  Inside the hall was large and square and led into a big kitchen on the left and into a bathroom on the right. By the window in the kitchen there was a round table. It had a plastic tablecloth and four wooden chairs. You could see the walkway and the car park from the window. 
From the hall you could see straight into a large sitting room. There was no furniture apart from an old-looking sofa against the wall, but there were large windows with glass doors. Light brown curtains were hanging either side. Pappa went to open the door. ‘Come and look at this,’ he shouted from the balcony. 
‘There is another door into our bedroom,’ Pappa turned around to look at us standing in the doorway. 'Come in - you're allowed to!' 
Mamma, Anja and I went to stand on the cold cement floor of the balcony. ‘The new furniture should arrive next week,’ Pappa said and squeezed Mamma's waist.
‘What new furniture?’ I whispered to Anja but she just shrugged her shoulders. ‘How am I supposed to know?’
Both Anja and I had our own bedrooms. Mine had a low bed made out of white wood against one wall. Anja’s room was opposite. She’d chosen hers first but I didn’t mind. Pappa looked at me and said, ‘You sure Lisa?’
‘Yes Pappa, I like this room,’ I’d said.
‘Come on girls, let’s make up your beds,’ Mamma said. She took tightly rolled sheets from her large suitcase, laying open in their bedroom. She handed me a pale blue set and Anja a pink one. Apart from the colour, they were both exactly the same. You could tell which was the top sheet by a narrow strip of embroidery at one end. Mamma helped us make up the beds and told us to go and wash in the large bathroom and then to sleep.
‘It’s past eleven o’clock Swedish time, ‘ she said. ‘And that’s past midnight in Finland.’
It felt strange going to bed in Stockholm. I didn’t feel at all sleepy, so I lay on my back under the sweet smelling sheets listening to the noises around me. Mamma and Pappa were talking in muffled voices and Anja was moving about in her room. There were no sounds of cars. At home I could always hear the traffic go past our house. I wondered what Kaarina was doing now. She was probably asleep on one of the beds in her small bedroom. I wished I could kiss her goodnight.
My skin felt prickly all over at the thought of tomorrow.
The walls of my new room looked very white, they glowed even though the room was dark. I could see a street lamp through the curtains. It’s light painted a long orange strip along the wall and the door. I’d left my door ajar, it felt too lonely to shut it completely. I heard Mamma laugh softly. Then she said, ‘Shhh, Mikko.’  I turned to face the door and thought about what Rinkeby would look like in the daylight. Would there be a children’s playground outside the flats here too? Would my school be a tall building like Anja’s new school in Tampere? What were Swedish girls like? I wished I’d find a friend like Kaija and that my teacher would be a nice person like Neiti Päivinen. She never got angry with me, or the others. I’d heard her shout only once at a boy who kept pulling the girls’ hair. But he was horrible and smelt of cooked cabbage. Oh, I hoped there'd not be lots of boys like him in my new school.   

In the morning Mamma knocked on my door.
‘Breakfast is ready,’ she said. Anja was still asleep but Pappa was reading a newspaper in Swedish at the kitchen table. He looked over the paper at me and said, ‘Sleep well, Lissu?’ That was his nickname for me. He hadn’t used it for ages, so I smiled and said, ‘Yes Pappa.’
There was a funny smell in the kitchen like fried onions. Mamma said it was the strange furniture and that when she’d cleaned the flat properly, the smell would go.
‘Your nose, Lisa, is very sensitive,’ she laughed. She was smiling, unpacking boxes in the kitchen. It was nice to see our old cups and plates. Then Mamma found one plate that had broken during the move. Pappa said it was a very expensive Nuutajärvi glass plate, but that it was lucky nothing else was broken.
‘I told you we shouldn’t have taken everything,’ he said to Mamma. But he didn't sound angry. 
Mamma just looked at the large chip on the plate and said nothing. I thought how lucky it was that my doll was in Kaarina’s cellar.
After we’d had breakfast around the kitchen table, Mamma said, ‘Lisa have you unpacked everything in your room?’
She knew I hadn’t so I got up. I walked along the corridor past Mamma and Pappa’s new bedroom and went in to have a look. At the far end the door to the balcony was open. The air was blowing the white, long thin curtains about. Mamma had put the old yellow bedspread on the large double bed. At the foot of the bed was a row of wardrobes. I opened one narrow door and saw Pappa’s winter shoes and his heavy Ulster hanging above it. I closed the door quickly.
The room looked very tidy even though there were two large suitcases and several unopened boxes stacked on the floor. On either side of the bed was a small table, and a white lamp screwed onto the wall above. I flicked the switch and a bright light came on. I imagined Pappa lying on the bed reading a newspaper, his legs crossed and his socks shiny and loose on his feet. Sometimes he fell asleep like that in the middle of the afternoon with the paper folded neatly next to him, his arms crossed over his chest.  I closed the door quietly behind me and went to my room.        
My bedroom had a white desk against a large window overlooking a path between the house blocks of the estate. I could see a group of boys cycling there. They were shouting to each other while peddling without holding onto the handlebars, or pulling the front wheel up off the pavement. They laughed, daring each other to do more tricks. Suddenly one of them looked up and I moved behind the thin cotton curtain.
‘Do you want to come to the shop with me,’ Mamma was standing at the door. She looked at my unopened boxes.
‘Yes please!’ I said.
‘You’ll have to promise me you’ll unpack as soon as we come back.’ She wagged her finger at me but she was smiling. ‘Take your coat. It looks warm but there is a wind and it’s a bit of a walk, I think,’ she said from the corridor. Then Anja stood there, sleepy-looking.
‘Are you coming to the shop?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Mamma wants me to come because I can speak Swedish,’ she said and walked out. She wasn’t even dressed yet so I knew it would be a while before we left. I sat down on my bed and opened one of the boxes.

On the way to the shop we walked past the boys on their bicycles. I tried not to look at them, but I saw from the corner of my eye that they were still being silly. I wondered if they went to the same school Anja and I would start the following Monday. That was the day after tomorrow, I thought.
‘Can you believe we’re here?’ Mamma said and linked arms with us. Anja said, ‘It’s so cool, there are so many girls here the same age as me. I saw them walking on this path.’
Mamma pointed at a low building in the distance and said, ‘That’s your new school.’ She knew where everything was because she’d been here with Pappa before. Pappa had shown her the flat and they’d walked around to our new school and met the teachers.
‘Wow,’ Anja said. ‘So cool!’
We walked along the path. It went under a road. In the tunnel our voices made an echo and we laughed. Then there was a long uphill road and steps up to square. At one end was a shop with glass door. Inside the shop smelled of sweet fruit. There we large baskets of bananas and apples, mounds of tomatoes and different coloured peppers. Pappa was right, everything was bigger and better in Sweden. Anja and I found the sweet aisle and looked at the different unfamiliar packets. They all looked so delicious, but I had left my money in the new flat.
‘Let’s see if Mamma will buy us some,’ Anja said and took my arm. We ran along the isles and isles of foodstuffs, finally finding Mamma at the bread counter.
‘Ah, Anja, thank goodness. I want some of those cakes but the lady doesn’t understand and I can’t say it,’ she said. Mamma looked red in her face and the woman had her eyebrows raised.  She wore a white apron and had very blonde, curly hair. She said something but Anja didn’t understand her either. Anja pointed through a glass case at a green cake that had four ready-cut slices left and put up four fingers and said something in Swedish. The woman didn’t reply but took a knife and slid the four slices into a cardboard container. Then she closed the lid and wrote a number on it and handed the box to Anja. We all smiled and said, ‘Tack’, and the woman said something again but didn’t smile. Anja shook her head to her and we left.
Mamma had lots of food in her trolley. ‘I’m ready, let’s go,’ she said. Her face was still a bit red and she looked sad. ‘She was very rude, that woman!’ she said to Anja.
Anja shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Can we have some sweets?’
Mamma looked at her and said, ‘Alright, one each.’ ‘But not a big one,’ she shouted after us. A woman with an equally full trolley was coming the other way and we nearly bumped into her. I said, ‘Anteeksi’. She looked at me angrily and I realised I’d said ‘sorry’ in Finnish.
Jävla Finne,’ The woman said and pushed her trolley away.
‘Come on,’ Anja said.
‘What did she say?’ I asked Anja. She was pulling my arm and we were running. Anja didn’t reply, so I thought she didn’t know either.
‘What’s sorry in Swedish?’ I asked when we were standing in the fully stacked sweet aisle again.
Förlåt,’ she said and picked up a heavy bar wrapped up in a golden coloured paper.
‘I’ll have the same,’ I said. Then, looking at her I said carefully, ‘Vorlat?’
‘No, you copycat, it’s FÖR - LÅT!’ 
'That's not what that woman said to me.'
Anja was quiet for a moment. Then, glancing quickly around her, she whispered in my year, 'She called you a Fucking Finn.' 

Wednesday 6 April 2011

Voting in Finnish general elections


I've written before here about my slight obsession with democracy and elections and the importance of using your right to vote. Hence, I was excited like a little girl, when a few weeks ago, the voting slip for this year's Finnish general elections popped through my letterbox.

Finland has been an independent country with universal suffrage since 1917 - this is only a couple of generations ago, and in my view should never be taken for granted. I won't give you another history lesson (I can hear you nodding off already); all I'll say is that a country situated next to a large superpower values its independence - and being able to freely vote for a government is part of this.

My problem is that since I don't live in Finland, I'm not as up to date with the politics there as I should. When I go 'home', I spend most of my time in Åland, a self-governing part of Finland which has its own elections, or in Sweden, and often don't visit Finland at all. (My Finnish heart aches).

So this morning I've spent an hour looking through the candidate listings. I know which party I want to vote for, and I still vote in the constituency I lived in when I left the country some 25 (ish) years ago, so the list has only about forty or so names. The first thing I look for is anyone I know (this is possible in a country of only 5 million people), next for any women, because I feel the need to carry out some positive discrimination. This may not be necessary: Finland currently has a female President as well as a female Prime Minister, but I need to make my list of possible candidates shorter, so this is as good a way as any. Then I take away all teachers - I don't know why, just because - and I have a manageable list to choose from.

Due to the wonders of the interweb I can now Google my shortlist and hey presto, I have my own little election campaign on screen - most candidates even have a video clip succinctly stating their policies.

After some careful consideration, I have my candidate, and can say I chose her with some kind of an academic approach as opposed to just sticking a pin blindly on a list (which has happened, sadly, in the past).

I cannot tell you how excited I now am about the prospect of casting my vote later. What's more the Finnish Embassy will today - to celebrate the first day of voting - throw it's doors open and have guided tours of the Embassy building in Knightsbridge. I cannot wait to see the sauna in the basement - will it still be there, I wonder?  There will reputedly be coffee and cinnamon buns on offer too.

Afterwards to celebrate the whole wonderful free election process, and being multicultural, I will take Daughter for royal tea - as recommended by my blogging heroine, LLG. I can't wait.

Tuesday 5 April 2011

Book review: The Summer Without Men by Siri Hustvedt



Siri Hustvedt is one of my favourite authors; if she chose to write a book about watching paint dry, I'd be riveted. I know not everybody shares my point of view, some think her writing pretentious (Mon Dieu!) but I am always deeply moved by her stories.

In her latest novel, The Summer Without Men, Mia's husband of thirty years, Boris, suddenly falls madly in love (lust?) with a young Frenchwoman, and asks for a 'pause' from the marriage. Mia falls to pieces, but the book isn't about this. We join the story when she's no longer 'temporarily deranged' and has decided to leave Brooklyn - and the marital home - to be closer to her mother in Minnesota.

In the 'backwater town' where Mia grew up, she begins to recover. She teaches poetry to a group of teenage girls, receives reports on Boris via her daughter, learns the secrets of the 'Five Swans' - the elderly women who live in the same old people's home as her mother. There's a troubled couple with two small children living next to flat Mia rents; there's a crisis amongst her poetry students.

All the women around Mia: her neighbour, the young, harassed mother; the teenage girls whose cruelty towards one another seems to know no bounds; the dignified Five Swans, force Mia to reflect on her own situation, but also to distance herself from it. When the Psychiatrist, Dr S., tells Mia she's enjoying herself, Mia is surprised to find this to be true.

But don't get me wrong - this book is no 'ode to women' - quite the opposite. It's an enchanting tale of a marriage as well as a reflective look on what it is to be a girl and a woman. I read this book - very aptly - while on holiday with my girlfriends. It made me cry and it made me laugh. You really cannot ask any more from a book.

Summer Without Men by Siri Hustvedt is published by Sceptre and the hard back costs £14.99 from good book sellers.      

Monday 4 April 2011

My favourite London restaurant: St John's Bread and Wine

Picture from www.stjohnbreadandwine.com

There are very few eateries anywhere - be it in Helsinki, Stockholm or London - which I totally love and which are consistently excellent.

When we lived in the sticks there was a local pub which served fantastic British/French classics at reasonable prices. This 'local' was a ten minute drive away; still we became such regulars that we were treated like VIP's. A table was always found for us, even when the place was full to heaving (I never quite discovered how they managed this), they knew the wines we liked and were able to recommend something different every time that we'd fall in love with. The food wasn't outstanding, but it was consistently good. But a few months before we left the area, the pub changed hands and started to go downhill. I took this as a positive sign that we were doing the right thing by moving away.

The place that I most love in London is very different from our former local pub in sticksville. It's a proper celebrated restaurant called St John's Bread and Wine (or St John's Wood and Wine as we call it - don't ask) on Commercial Street in Spitalfields. Many people know it and love it, so I'm not exactly a pioneer in recommending the place to you.

But I urge you to try this restaurant if you can. The format is slightly different from the usual - the tables are pared down, the atmosphere is relaxed and buzzy and the food is prepared from fresh, seasonal ingredients. There's a lot of offal but also fish and delicious vegetable dishes. We've been trying to recreate their simple green salad of shredded lettuce, mint and spring onions, but can never quite get the taste just right.

The menu consists of several small bites - much like tapas - which you can have to share (or all to yourself if you can't agree with your dining partner or don't know them well enough). Last weekend some of the choices were,

New Season Garlic Soup, Snails & Bacon
Crispy Pig's Skin, Chicory & Red Onion ('Just like posh pork scratchings,' said Daughter)
Ox Heart & Celeriac
Courgettes, Butter Beans & Goat's Curd
Razor Clams

The food arrives as soon as it's prepared so everything is hot and fresh. It costs between about £6-00 and £11-00 per dish. There are also a few (more expensive) 'large plates' if you wish to have a traditional meal with starter, main and pudding. The in-house baked bread is amazing (and my downfall as I never quite manage NOT to gorge on it before the food arrives), the staff are friendly and the wines are chosen with care. We always have the house red and white, and they are both absolutely excellent. We've eaten at this place more times than I can remember, and I've never been disappointed.

Last weekend we went there to celebrate a family birthday. I'd asked to have a table by the window and that was exactly what we got. They even put a little candle in one of the puddings, luckily there was no singing...

There's a sister restaurant, St John in Smithfield and the men behind the restaurants (and now a hotel) Fergus Henderson and Trevor Gulliver, have written several books and won many accolades for their ethos of 'nose to tail eating'.

I cannot wait to try out the new St John Hotel and its reportedly amazing bar in the West End. If its anything like the restaurant in Spitalfields, it's soon going to be a favourite of mine.

Sunday 3 April 2011

Happy Mother's Day (in the UK)!

While a surprise breakfast is being prepared for me and I'm enjoying a glass of champagne laced with orange juice, I thought I'd post my (random) thoughts on motherhood.

Now I've written that, it hardly seems a topic that could be covered in a blog post. But here goes.

In the Sunday Times today, there's an excellent piece by India Knight on how, in her view, too many modern mothers are best friends with their off-spring (daughters in particular), and not the laying-down-the-law kind of mothers of her childhood.

Putting the complicated relationship between mother and daughter aside, I do agree with India Knight and think that a parent should be a parent. We should not worry about popularity when trying to bring up our children. There should be no excuses for saying no, or for making rules, or for setting limits to children's behaviour.

I remember when I fell pregnant we said what so many people say to their childless friends, 'Having a baby isn't going to change our lives.' How naive we were.

Now I cannot imagine life without my wonderful children, and I feel very lucky.

I only wish I could celebrate Mother's Day with my mother - but alas she is in Finland where this special day isn't until May. Many a time I've forgotten to get her a card when they are still in the shops and had to send some unfortunate shop assistant to the store room two months later to dig out any left-over ones from March. I also have to admit to having once or twice forgotten about Finnish mother's day all together. Luckily being my mother, she has always forgiven me (in time). But I do sometimes wish the EU would co-ordinate important days like this - they seem to be so keen on standardising everything else.

But, back to my breakfast - look what my daughter, freshly back from uni, served up!

Blueberry pancakes, crispy pancetta and strawberries with lashings of maple syrup.

I think I might need a little lie down now...

Saturday 2 April 2011

London Tower Bridge

The upper walkway of the Tower Bridge in London must be one of the most stunning and unique venues to host a drinks do - or as was the case last night - the Englishman's university alumni event.

I didn't really know what to expect, and it was only as we were walking towards the bridge, that I remembered that on one of the BBC's The Apprentice series the candidates had to organise two rival events there - one of each of the covered old walkways.

This was the view of the bridge as we approached from the  South side.
The sun was just setting over the Thames when we got to the top of the bridge. Left is The Shard, one of the tallest buildings in the world being built. I don't envy the topmost crane operator, although the view from his place of work must be stunning.


This was the walkway where the drinks party was being held.

View towards the City of London.

View of the second walkway

The two walkways as seen from below.

One of the two engines which operate the opening and the closing of the bridge.

When I saw this sign on our tour of the bridge my eyes started to glaze over.

View of the Tower Bridge from the South Bank of the Thames.

After the party had wound down and we were walking along the Thames to the tube station, it struck me how lovely London is. And how much changed since I started coming here in the early Eighties. In those days you would not have dared to go South of the river late at night; whereas now it was full of families enjoying the mild weather and the stunning views of the lit-up buildings either side of the riverbank.