Hot in cool Sweden

Blimey o’reilly!

I actually felt a whiff of hot air run through my scarcely hairy arm yesterday. I know, it’s summer, finally, no, really, I mean finally. I can tell because my skin gets a glow on it and man does it look good. I love the alive look on it. No, am not a metrosex man but here in Sweden I’ve become an expert of sorts on hand and facial creams. My skin tends to dry up as soon as a cloud manages to block the sun. So I had a few beers at my father-in-law’s house and every now and then I would peek at the glow in my arm. I was at peace with mother nature. I smiled to it all.

The glow, by the way, is a sort of sweat, perspiration if you will, that reflects back light, ergo, you know.

I opened the window and I was bared chested. The landscape offers a nice patch of land where agriculture is carried out. The green field is wide open, the sky semish baby blue and the air amazingly lukewarm at 6:30a.m. I usually get up at 5a.m. everyday and no, its not something from my days in the barracks because I have never been an army man.

I sustain the theory that my body clock hasn’t really adjusted to Sweden yet. This easily rationalizes away all kinds of irrational unconcious behaviour from my part and shoos away tiredness. This because at times I experience minor, and I joke here, unexplained narcolepsy. Couple that with the normal depression season here in Sweden during winter and you’ll get my drift.

Either way, just forget about the disgression there, I was stunned to feel the air in my bare chest, it felt good. My beer belly got all ticklish and the view my corner of the swedish highlands offered to my lagañosos eyes was not picture perfect yet amicable as a good nature morning salutation.

The thing is that though summer is here I hate the profution of sweat that I produce at the slightest feel of a sunray on my skin. This is another one of those mutant changes I suffered, I believe, the moment my feet landed on nordic soil. Yes, my whole constitution is in total disarray yet I live.

Loads of seagulls. One would expect this nearby beaches not inland. What the hell do they do here in the Highlands is no mystery. They are after the crayfish on the countless lakes that Sweden is made up of and scandinavian bread leftovers that my neighbours and countless other swedes throw out to the birds.

Swedes tend to be really concious about their discards. There are even garbage disposal spies ready to rat on you the moment you leave plastic on the paper container. No, really, garbage facism does exist here. So food either gets the decompost treatment or its thrown to the birds. One would think the birds be having and overweigth problem but they don’t. They are nice and lean and still manage to do their primal instinct chores: look for yummy earthworms, as my grass attest to witness because every now and then I manage to find patches of uprooted grass here and there, or are those hedgehodges doing the nasty work?

’nuff w/ the summer.