The Bridge - The Latest Scandi TV crime series

There seems to be no end to appetite for Scandinavian drama in the UK at the moment. After Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy achieved record book sales, and the more gentle Wallander detective series grew popular, the dark and moody Danish TV phenomena, The Killing, as well as the Danish political drama, Borgen, both took UK by storm. 

Now there's a new, and even better, Danish/Swedish TV collaboration, Bron, or The Bridge. A woman is found dead on the Öresund bridge between Denmark and Sweden. As she is lying exactly on the border, a detective from each country is assigned to the case. The Swedish female detective Saga Noren (Sofia Helin) has long blonde hair and angelic looks, but is, as described by her underlings, 'A bit special.' Saga is a brilliant detective; she's methodological and unemotional. But there are downsides to her character: she likes to have sex but doesn't understand why it should be combined with a relationship; she's a stickler for rules, however ridiculous they may be. Her Danish colleague, Martin Rodhe (Kim Bodnia) could not be more different; as the investigation turns into a race to find a serial killer, we see that Rodhe is, if anything, rather too emotionally charged.

The Bridge follows the Scandinavian crime writing tradition which began in the sixties with Sjöwall and Wahlöö, in that it focuses on serious problems in Swedish (and here Danish) societies, which on the surface seem perfect. It also plays heavily into Swedish and Danish stereotypes: Martin with his round form and his tendency to take the easy way out is the archetypal Dane, while leather trouser wearing, humourless Saga is how Swedish women are often seen in the rest of the Nordic countries. Even if none of this has any base in reality, it makes good television.

The series is also a fast-paced roller coaster. I had to hide my face behind a cushion on several occasions as we speed watched the DVD set, but there's also great humour in it, with actual laugh-out-loud moments. It's in the relationship between the two detectives where the strength of Bjorn Stein's writing lies. Saga always tells the truth and adheres strictly to regulations (even though her name means 'fairytale' in English), while Martin doesn't mind telling a few porkies to save himself and others grief. As the case becomes more complicated and serious, the relationship between Saga and Martin also grows. Both actors are excellent in their roles, but Sofia Helin outshines Kim Bodna with her fully convincing portrayal of the cold-blooded female investigator, Saga.

If you didn't catch the first two episodes of The Bridge on BBC4 last Saturday, I recommend you watch it online here. Bron is Scandi crime at its best.

The Bridge

BBC4 Saturdays at 9 pm

(Episode 1 & 2 were shown on 21.04.2012)

PS. Many thanks for my friend who lent me the DVD's and kept nagging I should watch them. I wish I'd done it months ago!

Birthday Beautifications

There's only one day in a year when it really matters how I look: my birthday. It's the one day I can be sure that someone will take a picture of me first thing in the morning, wearing no make-up, and preserve it for posterity. So some time ago I decided that, once a year at least, I need help (and spend money) to look my best.

So, I began today with a luxurious facial, at Cowshed Spa, just off Carnaby Street in London, followed by less enjoyable eyebrow tidy & tint. This time I also decided to have my eyelashes tinted.

To me I look as if I'd woken up the morning after a night out, having not taken my make-up off...

My hair, as always, is on top of the list when I want to look my best and obviously I wanted to visit my favourite salon in London, Rossano Ferretti. My lovely hairdresser, Clare, first did my colour using the clever cling film technique I wrote about here, then, while we listened to the thunder and lighting outside the salon (can't believe it's late April, nearly May), she cut and styled my hair.

This is not a look I'd usually wish to share, but I wanted show you how the colour is done.

Here's the result of today's efforts. Although it was raining cats and dogs when I left the salon, I managed not to get absolutely soaked on my way to the tube.

I'm not wearing a stitch of make-up.

Cowshed Spa
31 Foubert's Place
London
W1F 7QG
Tel. 02075340870
www.cowshedonline.com

Rossano Ferretti
17 St George Street
London
W1S 1FJ
Tel. 02074930555
www.metodororossanoferretti.com

The London Book Fair 2012

This is the first glimpse of London Olympia you see when you walk from the Earl's Court Tube station.

It's been a few years since I last went to the London Book Fair. I remember the occasion well because as well as being my birthday, I got talking to an agent who asked me to send him my latest manuscript, 'Immediately'. Nothing came of the exchange, but it was certainly memorable.

Another thing that struck me that day was the total lack of amenities for writers at the London Book Fair. Looking over the vast exhibition hall at Olympia, I wondered how it was that when your badge read, 'Author' you were the least welcomed visitor at any stall. Apart from the few self-publishing sharks who in those non-digital days were trying to sell their £1,000 a pop (and some) publishing 'deals', no-one else wanted to know an unpublished author. Yet, all the industry and deals being made in front of my eyes, must have begun with words written down by an unpublished writer (poet/photographer/illustrator).

That day, three years ago, I was feeling bold after my encounter with Mr Agent (and my birthday), and blagged a pass to the International Rights Centre on the second floor of the exhibition hall. I knew from my research that this is where all the agents sit and do their deals of the week. I wasn't planning to accost any of the agents who had not replied to my approaches (the worst crime of them all in my book), although this seemed very tempting. Instead I just wanted to see what their secret den looked like. Sadly, it was quite disappointingly unglamourous. There were rows and rows of little cubicles where well-dressed (mostly) women sat and scribbled in their notebooks (this was the pre-iPad age). After wandering about for a while, I had a coffee in their private cafe and headed downstairs.

This year at the Book Fair, I felt so much more grown-up. I was here with a mission, to find out everything new going on in publishing. I had taken the precaution not to display my lowly badge of 'Author' but was surprised to find that this year there was something called Author Lounge at the fair. On closer inspection it was just the same old, same old: self-publishing companies, now offering digital deals costing much less money. (Progress?) I headed instead for the Digital Zone where I sat through a few lectures. These proved to be very educational. It is mind blowing how quickly the publishing industry is changing. Take dictionaries: the online digital versions of the two heavy volumes I still use give so much more content. It's no wonder that these products can still be sold at a healthy price online.

I also listened to the Booker Prize winning author, Howard Jacobson, who was interviewed by Lisa Appignanesi at the English Pen Cafe. He was so witty and self-deprecating that I immediately wanted to go and buy all of his books.

Apologies for the picture - there were a lot of people listening to Howard Jacobson.

Listening to Howard Jacobson's stories and being able to laugh at writers and the publishing industry was a perfect way to end the first day at The London Book Fair.

A Swedish Evening at The Haberdashery

I first noticed that The Haberdashery was a little different from the other coffee houses in our new London area of Crouch End because of this sign:

It says, 'Unattended children will be given espresso and a free kitten.' I chuckled to myself all the way home - it was such a refreshing and funny sign I knew I had to visit the cafe next time I was shopping in Middle Lane.

So, a few weekends later, the Englishman and I stopped for a coffee and a bite to eat at The Haberdashery and found that we had - together with the rest of the area - fallen in love with this little quirky place serving fantastic coffee, salads, home made breads and cakes. There was just the one table free, and soon there was a queue outside.

Nothing at the Haberdashery is boring or ugly: even the loo has a design statement with the light cord adorned with a large roll of thread; the breads are served in small clay flower pots; the hot chocolate in tiny pudding basins; the food on vintage mismatched dishes. And in the background there's music from old vinyls.

When Massimo at the cafe told us about their plans to start a monthly supper club, we immediately booked the last table for a Swedish evening. That was two weeks ago.

Before this Friday, the day of the Swedish supper, I wondered if a small coffee place could pull off a full evening of food and fun, and whether the predominantly day-time venue would lend itself to night-time. But I shouldn't have worried; even from the outside the Haberdashery looked magical in the twilight. The tables were adorned with vintage coffee cups, inside of which little tea lights flickered. A string of fairy lights mingled with the bunting.

Massimo serving the drinks.

The atmosphere was very jolly and festive. 

As soon as we sat down we were offered a glass of Prosecco - not very Swedish, I know, but the welcome drink set the celebratory mood for the evening.

And the food didn't disappoint either. For me it was a little like a busman's holiday, as you know if you've read my blog before, I lived in Sweden as a child and both my mother and sister still live in Stockholm, so I'm no stranger to Swedish cuisine.

The menu on Friday was very much 'Husmanskost', or everyday Swedish food. We started with home cured Gravad Lax and Toast Skagen. The salmon was absolutely delicious, not too dry or overly salty, and the crayfish tails in a sauce of mayonnaise and creme fraiche in the Toast Skagen were just lemony and creamy enough. The fresh dill, scattered everywhere, brought memories of summers spent on the Åland Islands. Lovely.

Gravad Lax and Toast Skagen

Home made delicious bread with butter served in a sweet vintage pate jar.

The second course evoked my childhood even more: Lindström's Biff (minced beef with beetroot) was a staple in our home. This one was juicy and very tasty and came with Hasselbackspotatis - a finely sliced potato roasted in the oven with butter. All very filling, but so very nice. 

Lindström's Biff and Haselbackspotatis.

Next we had another fish course, this time fried herring with creamy mashed potatoes. Again this was a fine Husmanskost dish, but by this stage we were all so full up that we really couldn't do the dish justice.

Fillet of herring with creamy potato mash. 

And there were still puddings to contend with...the Kladdkaka, a chocolate mud cake, was intensely chocolaty, but I was so full of food I could only just have a little taste of it. As I considered asking for a doggie bag, a further pudding of rhubarb and yogurt arrived. This was the perfect end to the meal - it was refreshing and not too sweet. I just wish I'd left a little more room in my tummy for the final piece de resistance of this excellent first supper club evening at The Haberdashery.

Kladdkaka.

Rhubarb 'fool'.

Oh, and the wines were very good too - I had a few glasses of fruity Pino Grigio which suited all the dishes very well. To help the pudding go down better I ordered a glass of Prosecco to finish the evening off with a flourish. A decision which I regretted the next morning when I woke with a slightly heavy head. Oh well, a good time was had by us all. And as my mother says, 'Nobody died.' (I often wonder what she'd say if some did die, but that's another conversation - or blog).

Now I cannot wait for the next culinary evening at The Haberdashery, which will be a Croatian feast. We were promised smaller helpings, and I will try to drink less wine. (A fat chance...).

The next supper club at The Haberdashery is on May 11th. It's very good value at £35.00 for a five-course meal including a glass of Prosecco, but the evenings get booked up very quickly, so hurry.

The Haberdashery
Eatery, Coffe House and Old Vinyls

22 Middle Lane

Crouch End 

London N8 8PL

020 8342 8098
info@the-haberdashery.com 

William Boyd and a new James Bond book

William Boyd - picture from BBC.co.uk

I heard some brilliant news on the radio this morning. One of my very favourite writers, William Boyd, is going to write a new Bond book. I loved his latest novel, Waiting for Sunrise (my review is here), and although I'm very much looking forward to the new book, it got me thinking about the recent rush of well-known writers who've written sequels to famous novels, or who are writing novels using a well-known character.

The grand dame of crime, PD James, wrote a sequel to Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice, Death Comes to Pemberley, last year. Just a month before that, in October 2011, the hugely popular children's writer, Anthony Horowitz, came out with a new Sherlock Holmes book, The House of Silk. Both books did very well on the best seller lists, as did the previously produced Bond book by Sebastian Faulks, Devil May Care. So you might say William Boyd is onto a good thing...

But, but.

None of the above writers need publicity, nor (one would hope) are they in the business of writing something just for the money (or I may just be naive).

So why do it? Why take a well-known character and write a story for him/her? Have these prolific writers run out of ideas?

In the case of PD James, who at 91 surely now does exactly what she wants rather than what is asked of her, writing a sequel to Pride and Prejudice had been a life-long ambition. This showed in her excellent book, which in the foreword has a posthumous apology to Austen, who herself had said that if she felt Pride and Prejudice needed a sequel she would have written it. So a task and half, then, to write a sequel against the original creator's wishes.

When interviewed this morning, William Boyd said that he was honoured to be asked by the estate of Ian Fleming to write a new Bond book. He was introduced to the glamorous spy by his father and having read the books, loved them all. Boyd has even included Ian Fleming as a character in one of his own books, Any Human Heart. When asked if it would be 'like wearing a straightjacket' to have to write in a specific genre and style, Boyd said, 'No'. He added that it was rather as if another writer had given him permission to play with his toys.

And there, in once sentence, Boyd explained to me why so many writers have a fascination with famous characters. What I would see as a writing exercise (if you've ever taken a course in creative writing at some stage the tutor will get you to copy another writer's style), Boyd and perhaps the others, view it as an adventure in writing.

Whatever the case, I cannot wait to read the new Bond book, which according to Boyd will be set in 1969, and will be an old-fashioned spy thriller. If that doesn't whet the appetite of any James Bond fan, I don't know what will.

The New Rossano Ferretti Hairspa in London

If you're read this blog regularly you know by now how important my hair is to my appearance. I'd go as far as to say that I don't really care about the rest as long as my hair is OK. So you can imagine that I was immediately tempted by a new salon to open in London, that of Italian born hairdresser Rossano Ferretti.

Rossano Ferretti isn't just any celebrity hairdresser; he has solid roots (as it were) in the business having grown up in a rural Italian village where both his parents were hairdressers. (There is a picture of his mother on the wall of the London salon). He now runs 20 salons (in Milan, Paris, New York, LA, Miami, Venice, to name but a few cities) together with his sister, Lorenzo. London is his latest enterprise.

Rossano Ferretti himself says the reason for his success is a closely guarded technique called 'The Method', in which hair is cut in several directions to make it fall naturally. The colour treatments are different too: Clare, my hairdresser, blended several shades and with the help of cling film rather than the usual foils, applied it so that it looked 'soft and harmonic'. My hair looked like it did when as a child I'd spent a long sun-filled summer in our cottage by the lake in central Finland. What's more, my roots are barely visible now after more than two months (I had no time to have my colour done on my last visit).

Another factor which I am sure contributes to Rossano Ferretti's success across the world is that all his salons are set in old historic buildings. In London Rossano has turned a house on St George Street, which belonged to William Morris, (it's handily just off Regent Street and opposite the Vogue offices), into a luxurious spa.

When you enter the house you're first welcomed by a most handsome man (and you think you've stepped into a Calvin Klein perfume ad), then as you go up the spiral staircase to the first floor, a friendly lady settles you into a room with disconcertingly few mirrors for a hairdressers. Instead there is a large black shiny table where the consultation, as well as the colour application takes place. This is all in order to relax the client - Rossano has realised that no woman (or man for that matter) wishes to see themselves with head-full of foils or cling film. Clever man.

There are three more floors, including private spaces for those celebrity clients who do not wish to be seen by others while their tresses are being perfected. Everywhere there are chandeliers, black gleaming marble and smiling staff. It's as if you've stepped into a wealthy person's domain and you are the most important guest they've ever had in their mansion.

Of course this kind of luxury hairdressing isn't cheap. But I have to say both my colour and cut have lasted longer than the usual six weeks, so... Also, for that occasional treat, I would wholeheartedly recommend the Rossono Ferretti experience. Come to think of it, my birthday is coming up....

Rossano Ferretti Hairspa
17 St George Street
London
W1S 1FJ
Telephone 02074930555
london@metodorossanoferretti.com
www.metodorossanoferretti.com

It's raining, it's pouring...

For the first time ever, due to the low levels of rainfall, there's a hose-pipe ban in the UK this early in the year. The summer isn't even here, yet we are already suffering from drought. For my non-UK followers the ban means that we are not allowed to use a hosepipe to water our gardens or wash cars (etc.). Also, fountains like Trafalgar Square in central London have been switched off to save water.

Trafalgar Square will be dry for the rest of the summer.

And since yesterday afternoon it's been raining in North London. I hate rainy days, yet I know it's good for the water levels in the country, so I shouldn't complain.

My thyme is already looking greener after the rain.

Whenever there are news items about drought, or flash floods for that matter, I think back to the excellent novel by Doris Lessing, Mara and Dan, which is set in a bleak future when the world has literally run out of water. The first chapters where the young Mara struggles to survive alone in an abandoned village in central Africa with skeletons of dead cows for company, are so harrowing, I've never since taken the luxury of having taps with running water for granted.

I saw Doris Lessing read from and talk about this novel years and years ago at Bath Festival, and I remember being struck by her comment that the book was basically an adventure story. It's typical of the Nobel Prize winning Doris Lessing that even in a tale that she said she wrote to entertain her son, there had to be a strong social message.

So I should wish you a happy rainy Easter Monday....

Happy Easter!

Just a picture post today...

Eggs painted by my family today.

Traditional Swedish Easter decorations on display in Åre.

And more of the same.

My version of the Swedish tradition.

Happy Easter everyone - hope you are having a great holiday!

Le Havre by Aki Kaurismäki

Andre Wilms and Francois Monnie

Le Havre, the latest film by the maverick Finnish Director, Aki Kaurismäki, premiered in London last night. It has taken a long time to arrive here across the Channel, because this Finnish/French collaboration was first shown in Cannes last year and is already out on DVD in Finland. But the fact that an European art film of this kind is on even general release here, with a reasonable ad campaign, must be seen as a good thing. So better late than never, I say.

Advert in The Standard Thursday 5 April 2012

I dragged my whole family to The Renoir near Russell Square in London to see Le Havre, partly because of the Finnish director, and I never miss an opportunity to remind the now grown-up children of their Finnish roots. Also, The Man Without a Past is one of my favourite films and I went to school and university with the Executive Producer of Le Havre, Hanna Hemilä.

Le Havre is a story, told in French with French/Finnish cast, of a kindly shoe shiner Marcel Marx (Andre Wilms) who, having fallen on bad times (too many people wear sports shoes nowadays), takes pity on an illegal African immigrant boy, Idrissa, (Blondin Miguel) and hides him from the French authorities. But this is a Kaurismäki film, so we're not plunged into a dark tale of social injustice, nor into a fast plotted thriller. At each turn our assumptions are overturned as this simple tale of good and bad becomes more and more surreal.

The pace of the film is in Kaurismäki's signature style, slow. The director allows us the time to examine each character in detail. The still shots are like pieces of static art, rather than scenes out of moving pictures. At the start of the film, for example, Idrissa is told to flee the container in which he is found merely by the facial expressions of his (we find out later) grandfather. Or, we are initially told of the terrible illness of Marcel's wife, Arletty (Kati Outinen - a veteran of Kaurismäki's films), through her silent suffering.

As a consequence Le Havre is like watching a cartoon in slow motion. In my opinion this lack of pace is the Achilles heel of the film. Although beautifully shot and plotted, I think Le Havre could have been about half an hour shorter. As an old teacher of my creative writing class once said, 'There's no excuse for boring the reader.' I think the same goes for films. However beautifully shot, however cleverly plotted, however good the dialogue is, none of it is any use if the audience, half-way through it, fidgeting in their seats, are wishing for the film to end.

In spite of this, there are some funny, laugh-out-loud, moments in the film. The dialogue between the characters is often truly comic, as is the general chatter we are privy to in the bar which Monsieur Marx frequents. But the comedy arrives too late - Kaurismäki does not allow his audience to feel the humour until they've already wished the film's speedy conclusion.

This slow pace and the still shots put great pressure on the actors, something which they all deal with admirably. Andre Wilms as Marcel Marx in the lead is superbly understated in his natural generosity; Francois Monnie as the Detective with a kind heart is quietly menacing. I've also been a fan of Elina Salo since I was growing up in Finland and she was always on TV in old black and white 50's films, or as the voice of Little My in the Moomintrolls. Here she is brilliantly cast as the pretty, ageing cafe owner, Claire, with a heavy past.

Elina Salo with Andre Wilms

There is one thing in Le Havre that puzzled all of us, that of the appearance of boiled eggs. They were everywhere: in Marcel's lunchbox, at the counter in Claire's bar, even on the breakfast table chez Marx.

For all its slowness of pace, I'd still recommend you go and see this film (and not just because of my Finnish connections). Kaurismäki has a knack for making his stories and characters stay with you forever. I've been reliving Le Havre all night - hence this blog.

There is an excellent interview by Simon Hattenstone with Aki Kaurismäki in The Guardian online here.

More about the Crouch End Festival in London

Here is a video all about the festival - hot off the press!

The Shard in London

Picture of how the shard will look when finished. From www.the-shard.com

The newest skyscraper being built in London is called The Shard. It'll form a new area on the South Bank called London Bridge Quarter and it will be the highest building in Europe. According to the developers, The Shard will be 'a vertical town' with an open viewing gallery, restaurants, apartments and a five-star hotel. I believe The Shard is going to be a truly remarkable building and I cannot wait to go and see it from the inside. (It will be open to the public, I've been told).

But then I have a thing about modern buildings. I love The Ark in London (although this building has had its problems) and I also really admire the look of The Gherkin.

The Gherkin

All new buildings in London get a lot of criticism, and as I'm not an architect I cannot compete in any professional discussion about whether only mock Georgian or mock Regency style should be allowed in our Capital. All I know is that I love beautiful things, and in my mind all these buildings are beautiful and magnificent.

I've been watching The Shard go up over the last two years, because its construction began at about the time when we moved to London two years ago. It soon began to dominate the skyline in the areas that I travelled in. It's slap bang in the middle of my vision when I sit on the top of the bus from Highgate to Archway, from Hampstead down to Camden, or from Crouch End down to Finsbury Park, or when I walk the terrier up to Parliament Hill on Hampstead Heath. I've been told there is a great view from Alexander Palace too, but I am yet to see it.

Here are some of the pictures I've taken of the Shard during the past two years.

The view as night fell from The Tower Bridge

And one from Borough Market...

and right up close and personal.

This was taken somewhere around the back of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre.

View from New End in Hampstead - you can just spot The Shard in the distance.

You can see the fitting of the final piece of steel onto the very top of The Shard, which is happening today, on the BBC site here.

Crouch End Festival 4 - 13 May 2012

Visit the festival site here for more info. 

At the end of last year, when I told my London friends we'd finally found a flat to buy, and were moving to Crouch End, several of them said, 'You'll love it there - it's a very creative place'. At first I was flattered because this meant they thought I was creative too (several years working as accountant hadn't corrupted me after all), but then I worried that this term 'creative place' was English code for 'run down' or 'not as expensive as NW3' (which is where we were living at the time). Over the years I've got to know that the English very rarely say what they mean...

I also pondered over this statement because I couldn't quite understand how exactly a place shows itself as 'being creative'.

But after last night I know all these friends were right, because I attended a hugely energetic and creative meeting of The Crouch End Festival organisers.

This first ever Crouch End Festival is a brainchild of several people in a group called Crouch End Creatives, and it will take place all around Crouch End, N8, on 4 to 13 May 2012. There will be near to 100 acts, ranging from belly dancing to poetry readings and they will be performing in local coffee shops, galleries and schools. There will be burlesque shows, concerts in parks, knitting workshops, children's theatre performances, arts and crafts workshops and fine art exhibitions. The whole programme will be announced around mid-April, and I will do a post about my favourite creative events and recommendations nearer the time. One thing is for sure - after meeting many of the creative people involved last night, I can safely say there will be something for everyone at The Crouch End Festival.

I leave you with a wonderful clip of one of the acts, Rosy Summerbell. She'll be performing during the festival and I cannot wait to see her in action.

Westfield shopping centre in Stratford

The Olympic site as viewed from Westfield shopping centre. 

I was planning to write a post about the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford near the Olympic site today, because last week Daughter and I finally got to go and test this, the newest shopping mall in London. But before I even managed to put one finger to keyboard, I had an email from Bloglovin and saw that my blogging guru and friend, Liberty London Girl, had only yesterday blogged about exactly the same thing.

My experience at Westfield Stratford wasn't as negative as LLG's; we actually quite liked the shopping centre. It has all the brands you'd expect and few that you wouldn't (Mulberry and Prada were a surprise to me, although I never got to sample their wares - read on....).

The staff in the shops seemed friendlier than they are, say, on Oxford Street, and the space was light and airy. There were nice chain restaurants to eat in, as well as the normal cafes and fast food outlets.

But, but.

I completely see the points LLG makes. (You can read her post here, I won't recap too much). Even though we had chosen a less busy day, (last Thursday, just before the Easter school holidays in the UK) and a time (11am to 4 pm), and we are both able bodied, it was still a real challenge to find our way around the centre. It's true that there are far too few signs or maps; the doors are heavy and there could be more guidance on which way to exit the shopping mall. When I wanted to head home, I had to consult a poor shopping assistant on her break to find out if I was walking in the right direction for the London Overground (I wasn't). The loos are incredibly few and far in between; I can't imagine what happens when the centre is full - we had to queue at the ladies when it was relatively quiet.

Also due to the lack of maps or directions, we completely missed the outdoor shopping area, The Street, even though we had lunch at Jamie's Italian - which was very good - and which is situated right by The Street. Hence I missed out on Prada and Mulberry. A shame, although with my strict budget at the moment all I could have done was to drool look.

So, for all its faults, Stratford is still a place I'd rather visit once than not at all, especially now when the Olympic site is getting its finishing touches. I, at least, felt quite excited when I got the occasional glimpse of the Olympic buildings. But then, as a fairly new Londoner I sometimes still feel such a tourist when going about the city.

Not skiing in Åre and 'old' friends

This pretty mountain train terminus is one of my favourite buildings in Åre village.

I've just come back from a skiing holiday to Sweden, where we'd planned to spend most of the time on the beautiful pistes of Åre. In the event I got only a few days on the mountains, because unseasonably warm weather brought rain, strong winds and melting snow.

It looked hopeful at night when we had a fresh covering of snow...

But in the morning the snow had turned into rain.

Each day more of the snow was disappearing off the mountain and down streams towards the Åre lake in the valley.

But the point of the holiday really wasn't the skiing alone. My ten day stay in Åre ended with a long weekend with my 'old' girlfriends.

I consider myself very lucky in that I have loyal group of friends from school who over the years have made the effort for us all to keep in touch. In the first years when I lived in England I was very bad at this, and things got even worse when my children were born. But my friends are a determined bunch (particularly one - you know who you are!) and didn't give up on me.

I love this home ware and clothing store.

There are five of us and in the last few years we've managed to meet at least once per year. We've had lunches in Helsinki, weekends in London, Paris, Rome, Athens and Åre in Northern Sweden, but to name few of our 'girly trip' destinations. It's rare that all five can make a 'meet', but this year, first time in four years, we were all re-united for a skiing holiday with no skiing...

Instead of spending the days on the pistes, we laughed much, watched some silly DVD's (Bridesmaids), and shopped together in the chic shops in the little village of Åre. We swam in the nearby hotel pool, bathed in my friend's genuine Finnish sauna (something not always available in Sweden) and lolled in her hot tub afterwards - giggling like the girls we were when we met at sixteen - while enjoying a glass (or two) of champagne and ignoring the cold drizzle falling on us. We talked about everything and anything. At times I had to remind myself that we were no longer teenagers and at school; that we were serious grown-ups with some of us having grown-up children ourselves.

And last weekend as I came home to the summery London weather from a wet non-skiing holiday, I felt incredibly refreshed, but not in a way one usually does, with aching legs and the feeling that you've really done some serious excercise. No, this time it was my mind and soul that had had the holiday.

Thank you dear, dear friends. I cannot wait for our next outing.