Bye, bye Blogger!

Have decided to move my blog to Wordpress. Henceforth, you will find my words of wisdom at:

http://notmypenguin.wordpress.com/

More nostalgia...

This time in the form of Flying Viking Kittens which entertained me no end during university times in Bath. I also recommend you check out the Spongemonkeys if you were at all amused by those funky kittens.

Almost stealing from Emma..

but only almost. And completely inocently. It seems we have some kind of synergy. Good old Emma dishes out a skärpning to H&M for it's love-in with designers and the ensuing hysteria and I see said post just as I log in to give out about people queuing outside H&M, Hansa Compagniet or anywhere else for that matter before it opens on a Sunday. I'll be honest, no day is acceptable but least of al a Sunday. If you've something that needs buying so urgently, go on Saturday you fools. There are over 60 shops at Hansa... do people really think that many others are going to go there at midday on a Sunday, go to the same shop and buy the same item they had their eyes on and it just happens to be the last one in stock. Of course they're not... they went on Saturday! Better still... they all queue up and then stroll in so casually so they don't look foolish. Erm, too late!

Best get down there early, Kalle! You never know...

Rispeck!

Was just browsing on the old YouTube. I was looking for some good A-Team/Mr.T clips to have a chuckle at but instead came across this pearler of a clip. Mr.T, as we all know, would do anything for the kids but that doesn't mean the great man will allow a no-good punk lipping off to his momma. Oh my, no! Respect to all the mothers out there, Mr.T-stylee...



Brilliant, I'm sure you'll agree.

Finally...

I've been slack. Incredibly slack. Laziness and a lack of inspiration have been the principal causes of said slackness. Alas, no longer. I am making a triumphant return. Like Wispas.

'Tis but a short post as technically I should be reading Paddy Clarke ha ha ha as part of my course. A short coffee break has allowed me to get back on the blogging wagon. What fun it has been! Enjoy my friends...

A tip... play the video in fullscreen mode.

inactivity

Due to the following

-a presentation
-a honeymoon
-an essay
-a broken computer

Essay should be done and dusted by mid-morning tomorrow leaving me a little blogging time before I jet off to Warsaw for the weekend. In other news, today I saw a grown man wearing an overall (a kind of jumpsuit for winter climes that I do not know the English word for) It was multi-coloured. He had a thin brown belt as an accessory. It was ace! What I didn't understand, however, was why he wore a baseball cap. Surely if it's that cold you'd put a proper woolly hat on. Also, baseball is bloody awful!

Victory is mine..

Ok. Perhaps not victory, but a mild sense of personal pride for what many would deem a particularly modest achievement. I have found out how to embed YouTube clips direct in to the blog. No mean feat for somebody as unknowledgeable as my good self. So, for your viewing pleasure, I present 'Geordie Jeans':

Kulkorvar...

... är inte korvar. Och verkligen inte kul.

Alltså, nu skriver jag på svenska för första gången på den här bloggen. Det känns konstigt. Och bra. Mest bra. Anledningen till att jag skriver på svenska är, som ni väl redan har uppfattat, de här korvjävlarna. Det skulle inte funka att skriva om dem på engelska. I alla fall...

Jag är walesare och gillar därmed korv. Riktiga korvar alltså. Med kött i. För ungefär 24 kronor får du ca. 68 kulkorvar som innehåller:

Vatten, gris- och nötkött (34%), potatismjöl, fläsk - och svålprotein, svål, koksalt, antioxidationsmedel E325, E300, blodprotein av nöt och gris, socker, kryddor, potatisfiber, köttbuljongextrakt, arom, konserveringmedel E250, E262, rökarom

Hur kul är det nu?

Man ser tydligt att det innehåller rökarom. Gott. Den andra aromen då? Vad är det för arom? Är det bara allmän arom? Kan man köpa det?

Jag har letat lite efter vad de olika ingredienserna är men inte lyckats helt. Men E250 och 262 är konserveringsmedel. Bäde börjar på 'natrium' så jag antar att det är salt av något slag. Så koksalt plus två andra sorters salt. Kan tänka mig att köttbuljongsextrakten har salt i också. Fyra sorters salt! Hmmmmm...

Sugen? Inte? Tänkte väl det...

När jag på jakt efter information angående ingredienserna så hittade jag en rolig kommentar på någon matsida. Den lyder som följer:

"Förövrigt hatar jag korv. :D (hans smiley) Korv med bröd kan va gott dock, länge sen jag åt det. All annan korv tycker jag e äcklig."

Sakta i backarna! Vad sade du? Blir korven annorlunda bara för att man har bröd? Eller är det en speciell sorts korv som man bara får med bröd?

Äckligt!

Gott!

On the buses...

My friends. It seems that I have re-established my blogging routine somewhat. I am, therefore, reverting to 'the good old days' (about 2 months ago) where Sydsvenskan amongst others provided me with a seemingly endless supply of material.

Today's story comes from Sydsvenskan via Tysta Tankar. For those not able (or too lazy) to read the article, it goes a bit like this.

Man exposes himself to female passengers on a bus from Copenhagen and masturbates in front of them. Arrested upon arrival in Malmö. The women had apparently had the misfortune of being on the same bus as the man on the trip to Copenhagen. He, quelle surprise, had exposed himself and masturbated then too.

My questions are thus:

Why was he not arrested upon arrival in Copenhagen?

Why was he allowed back on the bus in the evening?

Assuming the women got up and moved, did he follow them?

If so, how was his balance affected walking down a bus aisle whilst otherwise engaged in self-love?

Can you walk up an aisle? It just sounds wrong. I've only ever heard of walking down the aisle. People walk down the aisle when getting married. Do they walk back up the aisle afterwards? Or is it down regardless?

Also, the t-shirt this guy was wearing should surely have given the game away!

"What do you mean 'Am I going to wank on this bus?' Whatever gave you that idea? Oh..."

More joy...

Just to be on the safe side before I hit the aforementioned horse-fodder.

Another Youtube clip which makes me laugh every time.

Enjoy! If you haven't seen Father Ted before now. Rent it, download it, whatever. Just make sure you see it!

A bit of positivity!

A lot of my blog entries are negative. Funny. But negative. So here is a little something to brighten our day now that winter is closing in on us quicker than sicky Elin has ploughed through series 3 of The West Wing.

A little clip from the You Tube that I found on another blog that I, as of yesterday, am a devoted follower of. She held a lecture for our course and it was probably the best lecture I've ever had. Better even than my old Italian Politics teacher's lecture on Machiavelli which opened with a Van-Damme 'Kickboxer' reference. It was that good...

Am currently writing a literature review together with Elin and it's to be handed in tomorrow. Meanwhile, my coursies are going to an 80s disco at KB. Hmmmm... What would I rather be doing?

Not to end on a negative note I should point out that the writing is going well. Warm dessert wine is being sipped and I soon shall be hitting the proverbial hay hoping that H will allow us a full nights sleep before we crack on with the essay tomorrow. Tomorrow will also see meat delivered to my door (thank you, Choco, Therese and Isabella). I love meat. Meat delivered to my door is going to be spectacular.

Meat!

Also, a mere 10 sleeps till we set off for honeymoon the first in Austria. Prima!

Leben. Ist. Gut.

The Wedding

As of 26th September, I am officially a married man. Nothing is different. I never really expected it to be.

Being non-religious both, we opted for a civil service which would be quick, free and devoid of any lord-thanking. We were told it would be a quick service but I am still shocked as to how short it was. The woman who wed us (who was sporting some kind of animal-print jacket, Leopard I believe) told us that being that the service would be in English it'd be shorter than the normal 3-4 minutes.

After about 90 seconds it was all over and I was invited, and I quote Leopard-Lady, to 'kiss the broad'! I accepted. Just prior to the service I must admit I introduced myself to L-L as Elin. Wasn't nervous. Honestly.

The party at Ängavallen was a triumph. Fantastic food was eaten. Great wine was drunk. Superb, emotive speeches were given (all of which were presented beautifully by toastmaster and blogger extraordinaire, Emma). Then the beer flowed, the dance floor filled, ties were wrapped around heads and a great time was had by all!

Also, I wore spiffing purple braces!

Poo-bags in Bokskogen

On Saturday, we (myself, Elin, Hjallis and another couple and their daughter) took the bus out to Torups Rekreationsområde more commonly known as Bokskogen. When one goes to the forest, one inevitably does the following:

• Eats/drinks far too much (in our case soup and bread, coffee, biscuits, scones, coffee and kanelbullar)
• Feels unbelievably tired after having walked around for a mere few hours
• Picks up a large stick to carry round
• Says thing like 'we should definitely do this more often', knowing full well it won't happen because one is a lazy townie!

After a few hours of walking we came across something that I have seen previously and been most irritated but have left it out of the blog. No more. You see, there are people, stupid people, who take their dogs out for a walk and then, after picking up Rovers' business with one of those little poo-bags (as all good dog owners do) they then proceed to throw said poo-bag on the ground again instead of a in a bin. Why? Why would you pick up poo only to throw it on the floor again? Surely the most unpleasant aspect is bending down and scooping up the poo? It can be squishy, for example. That's just not fun. But having picked up squishy poo, why not just dispose of it in the correct manner? All you are doing is preserving the life of aforementioned poo. Some poor curious squirrel is going to come along and rip open that bag and be subjected to a squishy, stinky unwelcome surprise. Poor squirrel.

This is not an isolated incident. I have seen it too many times for it to be a coincidence. Put your dogs damn poo in the poo-bag, put the poo-bag in a bin. Or take it home and throw on your own bloody floor where I don't have to see it and be annoyed. Say you'd bin it quick sharp if it was your own floor. Bloody poo-criminal!

Rant over!

Je suis rubbish

... my updating skills are pathetic. I was busy with getting married and all but still.

Just a short post as I'm muchos hungry. It seems that you can, if seriously lacking in inspiration, buy a gift voucher for COOP supermarkets to give to your loved ones. Or anyone else for that matter. I don't think COOP mind. Gift vouchers are a cop-out at the best of times... but for a supermarket? Disgraceful!

Hairdressers and their infinte creativity

Firstly, apologies (again) for the slackness in regards to blog updating in recent times. I have, oddly enough, been quite busy with school, Hjalmar, football and primarily wedding stuff. It is now a mere four days away and everything is yet to fall in to place. Some smart-arse, sceptics among you may be inclined to point out that things to not just fall in to place and it takes planning and organisation to make things like weddings run smoothly, but this is not my forté so a considerable amount has been left to the proverbial eleventh hour. Anyhoo, I'm sure it'll be fine come Saturday.

Otherwise my day has been spent at school where I had my first meeting with my mentor. All is well and I'm happy with my placement school in Rosengård! I have also wandered around Malmö looking for shoes for Hjalmar... all to no avail! I also wanted to find a back-up tie in case the one I've ordered doesn't materialise but Hjallis was having none of it.

Now, to the main point of the post... hairdressers and creativity. This is a rough estimate but there are about 700 million hairdressers in Malmö. And I think it's fair to say that 99% have brilliant names. So inventive...

Today, I passed my absolute favourite ever:

'Hair Force One'... genius. The idea of naming your salon after the aeroplane of the president of the US of A doesn't just come to mere mortals like myself... only to those on a higher intellectual and creative plain. Hairdressers clearly belong in that group that roam that cerebral highveld.

In other news, my team were in Sydsvenskan today after winning our Australian Rules football competition. Huzzah!

Here it is... Hair Force One! I doff my cap to thee!

A long overdue update...

This weekend has been a bit of a non-event in all fairness. A case of acute lumbago (ryggskott for you swedes) during training put paid not only to my plans to play football on Saturday but also stopped the stag-night festivities planned by my dear friends. Shame!

Instead, I pretty much felt sorry for myself. Friday, in particular was decidedly rubbish! Following the instructions from the doctor I attempted to keep myself moving and succeeded only in wandering around Malmö like a lost war veteran... who may or may not have soiled himself depending on your angle of viewing. Also did a quite a few pregnant-woman-two-handed-pushes-to-bottom-of-back-whilst-breathing-out-forcefully numbers!

Sunday was more productive. Bread was baked with the help of Hjalmar. His first time. 4 litres of soup, the split-pea variety, was made. General cleanig was done. Muchos delicious meat devoured in the evening. A most pleasing food-day.

*Picture tonight*

Monday was spent taking care of a feverish Hjalmar. A lot of Alfons Åberg and Thomas the Tank Engine has been watched.

As of yesterday, I'm officially a student again. Joy of joys! Should have much more time for blogging...

ON/OFF

I can't be the only person to have noticed that the ON/OFF advert jingle goes as follows:

We aim to please,

and if you're not satisfied we're down on our knees!

Hmmmm...

Enough said, really.

Nerdiness!

I was browsing the sport pages on dn.se only to come across, much to my astonishment, an article about Englands' recent triumph over Australia in the Ashes (Cricket stuff, for those not in the know).

Now, I like cricket. Have grown up with it. I get it. People in Sweden, through no fault of their own, generally don't. Generally to the tune of 99.9%. I can accept cluelessness and bored, vacant stares when I enthusiastically attempt (in vain) to explain the game to Swedes. It's pretty much par for the course!

However, if one publishes an article on the topic of cricket and, more specifically, the Ashes 2009 then I expect a lot better. Especially if it is a high-end newspaper like Dagens Nyheter. The article was full of erroneous statements and inaccuracies that I will not go in to now. Needless to say, I was highly peeved and took out my frustration using a little tab that allows you to suggest corrections to their articles and sending them a small essay with the mistakes that needed correcting.

2 days later... they've only gone and updated it! Victory is mine! I took on Dagens Nyheter and won! They did not change all I demanded. They are still referring to The Oval (cricket ground) as the Mecka of international cricket. Fools! If there is to be a 'Mecka' then surely it would be the ground known to all with any knowledge of cricket as 'the home of cricket', Lords!

This picture displays adequately my feelings upon seeing they had taken heed of my message:

I am the Ultimate (cricket-mistake-in-sweden-correcting) Warrior

I am also a huge nerd!

Tabloids, glossies and 'sex'

This is a topic that popped in to my head last week that I've been meaning to bring up since. It would have appeared sooner but I've been busy. When not busy, I've been lazy.

I should clarify what I mean before continuing. I am referring specifically to the combining of the word 'sex' and another word to create new words. I say tabloids and glossies as this is predominantly where I have come across such bastardisation of the english language but indubitably there are others guilty of the linguistc crime. Examples, I hear you cry...

One of the earliest examples I came across was the now classic 'Sex-pert'. An expert on the topic of sex. Usually some kind of agony aunt giving advice to those who require it on a host of carnal matters. This person is almost always referred to as 'our resident sex-pert' because a normal expert is just not as raunchy and fun! From this early misdemeanour the problem has spiralled out of control. I am a staunch advocate of lists as those (few) people who read my blog will no doubt concur. Here is another, this time with words regularly paired with 'sex':

• 'Sex-pertise' - The aforementioned Sex-pert is often asked to provide their 'sex-pertise'. A natural progression to ease our way in. Occasionally, the words are doubled up in the same sentence which is particularly heinous.
• 'Sex-ploits' - Sexual exploits of person or persons (usually a minor celebrity).
• 'Sex-capades' - See 'sex-ploits'.
• 'Sex-tasy' - A certain kind of ecstasy obtained only via the medium of sex.
• 'Sex-tacular' - Now we're really scraping the barrel!
• 'Sex-athon' - I kid you not. I've seen it used!

Here are some more innovative ways I think the formula could be used:

• Sex-communication - to be expelled from the church on grounds of sexual discrepancies.
• Sex-ploitation - Exploitation of the word sex to make something appear more interesting than it really is.

Innuendo - IN YOUR ENDO! (Thank you kindly, Scrubs!)

False advertising?

Saw this in the shop the other day...

Reading the label would suggest that this jam would contain oranges, right? Wrong!

Closer inspection would reveal that the closest thing to orange in this jar was 'orange acidity regulator'. Whatever that is? My initial thought was that it would regulate the acidity of the oranges, but there aren't any. So it might be an acidity regulator with either orange colour or taste or both. Where is the acidity coming from though if there are no oranges? Worrying!

Yesterday (pm)

In an attempt to cool my rage at Scientologists I took a stroll in to town with Hjallis. First, I handed in the document confirming that Elin and I are legally permitted to be married. A mere 39 days to go!

Then I thought I might stroll down and have a quick perusal of what Malmöfestivalen has to

offer. I shouldn't have. Worthless tat is once again the order of the day. By the time I'd reached the third stand I'd given up hope. I like trying new foods but when I have to walk through huge crowds of people past endless rows of vendors purveying worthless rubbish it just puts me off! Here is what I wish people wouldn't try to sell to me:

• black hoodies with names of various rubbish metal bands
• wind chimes
• ridiculously overpriced balloons
• ponchos, panpipes, pashminas, paintings and 'palestinian' scarves. I know of, and symapthise with, the plight of palestinians in the OPT. Wearing a scarf doesn't improve that knowledge. Makes me look like a fool though!
• bloody langos
• Finally (although I really could go on for days) t-shirts sporting motifs such as the following:

They are just terrible!

I once saw a couple on a train with matching wolf t-shirts in this syle. Astounding! One thing that did make me happy whilst at the festival was hearing a man who apparently could only speak in sentences of one word. It went a little bit like this:

Man: Tjena!

friend: Hej. Roligt att se dig

Man: Läget?

friend: bara bra, tack

Man: Skönt

friend: Ja

Man: Semester?

other: Ja, det har jag. Några dagar kvar bara, tråkigt nog.

Man: Detsamma

other: Men du, du får ha det så bra!

Man: Detsamma

other: Hej då!

Man: Hej!

Top work! No energy needlessly wasted on an excess of words. I could learn a thing or two from him.

At 5pm I went to an Öppet Hus at Orkanen regarding my upcoming teaching studies. Little information gathered but I got a notebook, a bottle, a pen and snazzy bag to carry said freebies in. Score! We, then, had visitors in the form of Si, Mizzle and baby Milla. Admiration of new baby. Board games played. Few beers drank. Crap jokes made. Very nice indeed.

Yesterday (am).

Like most people in Sweden we have a wee note on the post-box instructing people that junk-mail is not wanted. We do not even accept the Swedish bible that is the IKEA catalogue For the most part this sign has been respected for the nigh on 5 years I have resided here in Malmö. Of course, we have received the odd unwanted brochure/flyer for various services rendered but never in great proportion and never with any degree of regularity. Imagine, then, my horror upon receiving no less that 4 pieces of junk-mail yesterday morning. Here's what I got: (in order of annoyance factor - least annoying first)

• An offer from Skånska Dagbladet to subscribe to their paper for 1 SEK per day. It smacked of desperation and I just felt a little bit sorry for them really. They try their best.
• Some form of offer from a photo shop. Not interested. Little irritated now.
• A flyer telling me all about the extra cheap filth available at my least favourte food-store, LIDL. Their merchandise is sub-standard and they treat their employees like dirt. Pretty angry by now only to see....
• ... a questionnaire from the Church of Scientology in Malmö. Arlöv, actually. But they say Malmö. 200 questions that when examined by one of their 'auditors' would give clues as to where my life is going wrong and how I can be happy. Firstly, I'm already happy, thank-you muchly. Secondly, I have a nagging feeling that they'd suggest I'd be happier if I joined, and gave piles of hard-earned cash to, the Church of .. er... of course... Scientology. Funny that!

Reasons I'm sceptical about Scientology:

1. It's a belief system started by a guy who wrote comics
2. In order to learn 'truths' you have to give them lots of money
3. They pester people with stress-tests and junk-mail
4. All religions is full of incredible stories but Scientology rules in thi department. See below...

Two key 'incidents':

Incident I (Scientology's Big Bang?) is set four quadrillion years ago and provides a cosmological explanation of the origin of all universes. The unsuspecting thetan (our undying soul) was subjected to a loud snapping noise followed by a flood of luminescence, then saw a chariot followed by a trumpeting cherub. After a loud set of snaps, the thetan was overwhelmed by darkness. This is described as the implant opening the gateway to this universe, meaning that these traumatic memories are what separates thetans from their static (natural, godlike) state.

Incident II (the implants) is a blinder. Xenu, the dictator of the muchos evil "Galactic Confederacy" who, 75 million years ago, brought billions of his people to Earth in DC-8 like spacecraft (aeroplanes bascially), stacked them around volcanoes and killed them using hydrogen bombs. The 'thetans' (souly doo-das) that came out of the bodies were trapped by Xenu and his gang of cronies in an electronic ribbon. They were forced to watch 3D-super movies (like Jaws 3) for no less that 36 days where all ideas of god, the devil, all world religions etc. (and oddly images likening modern England) were forced in to them. They then clustered and attached themselves to bodies and have done so ever since causing us no end of bother. Obviously the only way to be rid of these pesky blighters is to, that's right, give lots of money to Scientologists!

Leave. Me. Alone.

Feminist pornography

Yet more from my seemingly sole source of news and information, Sydsvenskan.

Let me start by saying that I think that the project itself is fine. A good idea. A 'so-called' democratisation of porn would no doubt be welcomed in most quarters. My sole concern with this project is the, to me, rather flippant comment - "we got 105 mins of film for 500 000 SEK". Pauper that I am this sounds like a lot...

Now, I admit I know very little of the world of film (pornographic or otherwise) and how much things cost. However, my impression of pornography is that the majority of the films could get 105 mins of film for about 50 SEK. Let us be truthful to ourselves, it doesn't really require that much! Doubtless many will poo-poo my uninformed musings on the price of film-making but quite frankly I couldn't give a monkeys.

Watch out...

Elin has just this morning kindly informed me of a new word hitting swedish shores presently.... meggings! Like leggings. But for men. Male leggings. Meggings. You get it. A quick googling of said product provided me with a multitude of examples. Here are two fine pairs:

Now, I come from a place where tolerance and understanding tends not to be high on the list of people's character traits. In Layman's terms, you'd probably get a royal pasting if you slipped on a pair of these fellas.

Now, I'm not condoning fashion-related violence but sincerely hope that this fashion shocker never catches on. Especially the sky-blue variety.

More pearls of wisdom...

... this time from a 'prominent' Malaysian doctor (possibly not a doctor) via my beloved Sydsvenskan. Unfortunately, I am unable to locate the article on the website so you will have to take my word for it.

It seems that helpful when attempting to stave off the threat of the much over-hyped swine-flu one need only refrain from (a) homosexual relations and (b) masturbation.

The eminent alternative-medicinist (yes, that probably is a made-up word but using 'medic' seems to me wholly inappropriate) has suggested that said nefarious activities cause "friction heat which in turn leads to the body becoming hyperacidised" which we all know means we become more susceptible to disease... ahem.

Luckily for heterosexuals and people with no hands 'normal sexual relations' between members of the opposite sex are completely safe. Hmmmm. I'm confused. From what I have puzzled together from sex education classes, TV, books, chat with friends and family and actually having a child I have come to the perhaps naive conclusion that there is some element of friction in hetero sex too. To the library...

Swings and Roundabouts

Meant to write a wee snippet on this yesterday but Elin was in study mode and the laptop was thus under her control for most of the day.

In Sydsvenskan yesterday there was an article about this fella who shared a cab with a woman then lured her in to his apartment under the pretence of collecting money to pay his share of said taxi-ride. He then proceeded to rape the woman and the police arrested him within a few hours. It turns out that the woman was HIV-positive and the man may have been infected. Poetic justice?

According to the article the suspect is said to be feeling 'very bad'. The reason why he's feeling so down is not disclosed. Is it the raping that's bothering him? Probably not. The getting caught? A little bit probably but the punsihment for rape in Sweden, mentioned in a previous post, aren't much of a deterrent so it must be the HIV thing.

Hard cheese, old boy!

Sauna World Championships!

Apparently they exist. They've just taken place. In Finland. Obviously. An article on dn.se has informed me that particularly tough conditions meant the winners, Timo Kaukonen (mens) and Tatjana Archipenko (womens), could hold out 3 mins 49 secs and 3 mins 9 seconds respectively. First ever Russian to win, Archipenko. Congratulations to her!

Here are 4 female 'competitors' with winner Archipenko second from left. Whether there were more then 4 in total is not stated.

I'm not really interested as to why people do this sort of thing, moreas to how the hell they hear about it? Does someone just think to themselves "I like having a sauna. Pretty good at it too, I reckon. I wonder if there is a world championships I could enter?"

Also, even more intriguing... Why do three of them look like they're cold?

Sweet potatoes...

.. oh, how I have longed for their return to the supermarket. Today, an otherwise grey and uninspiring monday morning, they appeared before me like orange-skinned... erm... potatoey (nice adjective) Jesus/Allah/Buddha-types. Tonight I shall sacrifice many of your kind in aid of a delicious curry.

I would like to start by congratulting my fantastic friends Si and Mizzle on the birth of their daughter on Thursday. Welcome to parenthood both. The fun starts here! Let's hope you can get away from BB today or tomorrow so that the discrimination against Simmo (and other men) can end. Bloody UMAS! With so much effort being put in to encourage fathers to assume more responsibility, to take an equal share of parental leave, to essentially be as equal as possible when it comes to parenting it boggles the mind that the father gets pushed out immediately aside from a few visiting hours during the day! Viva Patienthotellet!

Anyhoo, that is quite enough of my negativity souring what should be (and is) a most joyous occasion. Thursday was none too shabby for my part either. Myself, Hjallisen and Elin's sister Linnea eventually, after some ticket-machine trouble and consequently a missed train, made our way to Höör where we greeted by the grand-parents for a day of east-coast action.

The days merriment included:

• Lunch at Buhres Fiskrökeri in Kivik. If you have the means, I'd highly recommend it. It's so choice. What film? Anyone....? Anyone....? Click here for the answer.
• A quick stop-off at Kiviks Musteri for juice supplies. Refreshing in the utmost!
• A pleasant, if tiring, walk in Stenshuvuds Nationalpark. Carrying young Hjalmar through forest and up steep slopes is no cake-walk I'll have you know. Luckily help was at hand in form of mormor, morfar and Nea. Hjalmar enjoyed the views but was more impressed by first a beetle and, then, a disgusting white snail we saw.
• Coffee and cake. Never wrong!
• A quick jump in the sea near Haväng. Water warm. Sand soft and white. Surroundings spectacular.

Upon returning to Malmö, Elin and I went out to the place we're having our wedding party to finalise some key details. All went swimmingly and now we can chillax* (kind of) until the 26th september.

Yesterday we were at an 80th birthday garden party in Bankeryd outside Jönköping. I ate too much. Too much cheese. Too much meat. And too much cake. The result was a pathetic effort when it came to dinner at Hjalmars great grandmothers that evening.

Today we're off swimming again before trucking on to Linköping. Hjalmar has been out in the garden eating blackcurrants and an ant.

I started this post yesterday but the laptop ran out of battery so I can now happily add a further congratulatory message. This time to my friend Graham who successfully convinced his girlfriend Amy that marrying him would be a good idea. Top work, G. Good luck to you both. Especially Amy.

*I'd like to thank 'Family Guy' for introducing me to the word 'chillax'. Best new word in ages.

explain please!

Fem ärs fängelse för sexövergrepp - Burlöv - Sydsvenskan - Nyheter dygnet runt

Just saw this article on Sydsvenskans homepage and am now particularly annoyed. Firstly, this 62 year old man is convicted for 11 cases of rape plus sexual assault of girls between 11 and 16 and sentenced to 7 years which is an obscenely short sentence for the crime.

However, to make things worse the high court then decided that it was actually a smaller number of rapes... only 2 cases of rape and 6 of raping a child. Therefore the sentence was reduced to five years. 5 years! For 8 cases of rape! I like a lot about Sweden. Leniency when it comes to raping of minors is not one of them!

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Sexual Equality in the UK

Whilst visiting family in Wales earlier this summer I happened upon this sign which cheered me up on an otherwise sombre day. I was at a funeral. The wake for said funeral was at a working men's club, a most British of institutions created originally so the working classes, men and women, would have somewhere to convene, socialise and generally get steaming. I am a fan of said concept as beer is cheap as chiperoos! Having lived in Sweden for nigh on 5 years you can imagine my joy of getting a three-drink round for less than £5!

As you can see, this particular club is a bit behind the times when it comes to gender issues and sport. Almost without exception, men in sport get more support, coverage, money and accolades tan their female counterparts but surely... surely waiting until 2009 to let some women use a snooker table in the pub is ridiculous!? Did they never think of it before now? Or was it voted down by committee members? How did they justify the permittance of women into the snooker room?

Committee member 1: Right fellas, we've had a few women saying they should be allowed to play snooker. What do we do?

CM2: I don't know, they're awfully irrational these females and are bound to go for red then pink all the time even though there is an easier shot on the black. It's in their nature!

CM3: True enough but we knew this day would come. After all, they did get the vote in 1928. I'm surprised we've kept them out for this long.

CM4: He has a point you know and if those stupid yankees can vote for a dark fellow as president then I see no reason why we can't allow women to play snooker in our club

All: Agreed

CM 2: But only with a membership card...

CM1: On Tuesdays...

CM4: Naked...

CM3: Too far, Archie, too far!

I've no doubt that's how it would have gone. None at all.

To training with me!

Le weekend

A busy weekend meant that updating the blog before now, whilst far from impossible, would have caused me a slight inconvenience... and nobody wants that on the weekend.

A brief summation of the weekends activities as per twitter update on the right of screen:

• SAFL Grand Final - my team get a jolly-good pasting. Boo! I don't really care. Yay!
• The sea was fantastically refreshing after running around in a most unexpected chaleur
• Beers were icy-cold and thoroughly deserved despite aforementioned defeat
• Snoozing was brief but pleasant. Hjalmar decided that a quick stint on the piano would no doubt aid my slumber but was a little too enthusiastic and energetic in his ivory-tinkling and the opposite effect was achieved.
• African Dress Party at Debaser was a winner. A farewell party for some dear friends who depart for Ghana on Wednesday that saw some serious effort from some, none from others in the dress-up stakes, decent food, delicious cocktails and 'gay' (not my description) beers and a bartender who looked like the Nickelback fella only with a thousand yard stare any Vietnam veteran would be proud of. Arrived home at a thoroughly reasonable 2am to be met by an extremely cheery and awake Hjalmar, pleasant but really not ideal. Little punk!

Brunch at Café Ceder on Sunday. A key topic broached was 1980's Africa-inspired tropical juice drinks in the UK. Namely Um Bongo (they drink it in the Congo, obviously) and Kia-Ora which is too orangey for crows but ok for dogs apparently. I'm no expert on crows, or dogs for that matter, so am unable to vouch for the validity of this statement.

Nazi Shoes

Have recently become quite the internet-shopper with numerous purchases from tradera. Was particularly delighted with a pair of new-looking adidas trainers to young Hjallis yesterday for a mere 70kr. Good walking shoes. The young scamp could no doubt do some solid walking in said shoes. However, my joy was to be shortlived when I got a mail from the seller and saw that their mail address was nazi(name)@hotmail.com. Balls!

I am a fan of bargain shoes. I am not a fan of giving money to nazis. Nazis in general are pretty rubbish. In fact, I can't think of a single good one.

First blogspot post and disgusting omelette-mix

A new chapter in my short blogging history commences with a move from Metro to Blogger. There is no specific theme behind this blog as you can see from the old entries posted below.

Many of them are much in the style of this mornings' post where I stumble across something I have difficulty processing for one reason or another, followed by my often nonsenical musings on said something. Todays' post concerns a strange product I found at Coop Extra recently - namely a ready-made omelette mix in a carton. Many questions spring to mind

Who decided that this was a product worth selling? Who buys it? Why? Last time I checked omelettes required very few ingredients and barely any effort. Furthermore, this ready-mix had a lot of ingredients I do not associate with omelettes... most of them beginning with E followed by a long number

If I was a rich man I’d buy a carton just to test it. But I’m not. So I won’t. In these financial climes I just can’t justify such frivolous spending. Maybe someone more daring than I can buy it and invite me round for dinner?

Enough for now. More later.

2-2

An unexpected encounter with 'moustachioed arch-nemesis' this morning. The upper hand was mine. The bus stopped mere metres from where I was standing whilst he stood forlornly at the official stopping place believing the yellow behemoth occupying would rumble off allowing him to waltz unchallenged to his favourite aisle seat. Alas, he was mistaken. I lowered my head for some private smirking, a second at most. I looked up, and the moustachioed devil swooped in like the proverbial hawk. Not only was he now positioned in front of me, but the guy in front of me too.

Inconcievable.

And so, just like that, arch-nemesis is back on level terms. 2-2. Bitter, I make no attempt to muffle my hayfever-induced sneezing in a spiteful attempt to wake him (because as per usual he is asleep within seconds)but there is no rousing him from his self-satisfied slumber. He sleeps the blissful sleep of the victor. The scoundrel. I shall have my vengeance.

Freddie Prinze Jr is poo on a stick

He really is. Was flicking through the tv channels yesterday and saw one of his long line of cinematic masterpieces ’I know what you did last summer’ was showing.

Found this quote from the great man himself on t’internet:

Acting is the only thing I’m good at. I know how to create and make people feel something

Two things. Firstly, you’re not good at it. Decidedly shit, in fact. I will concede that the second part of the quote is true. You make me feel sick. He earned US $2.5 million for Scooby Doo. Arguably one of the worst films ever. To put this in perspective - "It would cost just US $2.5 million worth of drugs to significantly reduce HIV infection of unborn babies across the world".

Makes you all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it!

Just finished this...

Not at all bad this book. An eccentric Ukranian widower who moved to the UK post-WWII plans on marrying a fellow Ukranian (Valentina) to help gain asylum for her and her genius teenage son (Stanislav). We follow the story through the eyes of the yonuger of his two daughters whom despite their differences conspire to prevent the marriage fearing their father is being exploited. The father, however, is infatuated with the heavily made-up, peroxide blonde, enormous-boobed woman who is less than half his age and is determined to go ahead with the marriage.

They wed but things do not pan out as the father had hoped and the daughters step up their efforts to rid their father of this woman. Valentina, however, is not easily budged. I'll leave it at that and say that the story is highly entertaining and the characters of the father and Valentina (especially her rambling insults such as 'dried shrivelled relic of ancient goat turd' and 'morsel of old grisel that dog chewed dog spat out') in particular are pure comedic genius. Read it and you'll find out how it ends. Simple as that!

I've now started a somewhat more serious effort of Albert Camus, The Plague. How intellectual and pretentious of me!

Sad :-(

Read THIS in Svenska Dagbladet today. Pretty depressing reading for us fathers. For those not bothered to read the whole article, here's the sad bit...

"5 700 barn mellan 8 och 15 år hade svarat på frågan vem de vände sig till om de behövde tröst. Mamma kom på första plats. Pappa på femte. Däremellan kom en kompis, någon annan och ingen. "

Hopefully a lot of dads will have read the article and realised that they need to sort themselves out. The thought of Hjalmar (17 months in 5 days) turning to someone else, or no-one at all, for comfort is horrible.

Högskoleprovet

Completely forgot to inform one and all that my undertaking ofhögskoleprovet was a relative success. Obviously the official grade will not arrive for some weeks but thanks to the marvels of modern technology I was able to ascertain that a solid 1.2 or 1.3 is my likely result. Not bad considering the national average is around 0.8 or 0.9. I'm happy with my effort but happier for my good friend Miriam who has a definite 1.9 and can thereby get in to the university programme she desires. Top stuff Mizza!

Rubbish advertising!

Came across this top-class piece of advertisement creativity after picking up Hjalle from pre-school the other day. I understand that in times of recession one perhaps doesn't have the funds to splash out on lavish advertising material but I'm sure you can do better than this. Not only is it uninspiring, it's also a little confusing and ambiguous... are they selling dance-shoes? Or are they merely depicting the shoes of someone called Dan? I would say my shoes but mine don't have heels.

Apologies for the reflection but it's a small price to pay for good weather, n'est-ce pas? Ooooh, just like Poirot!

Hitler doesn't approve...

... of unauthorised people entering work zones. That and Jewish people.

New Shoes...

... is a topic I will not be bringing up in this blog. Not now. Not ever. It's just so boring. Speaking of boring: Today I've been trying to study a bit of maths-type stuff for the högskoleprov. So exceptionally dull. Frustrating that it makes up such an important part and large part of the test.

Something I did find interesting today was a story that was read for the kids at my school. Actually, the story itself was pretty average. Old man (Algot) is lonely. Makes friends with worm (Karlknut). Fun ensues. My interest, however, was aroused primarily by one incident. Algot, a dapper type, decides his new pal needs some clothes. Can't be seen with a naked worm, can he? The tailor complains it might be difficult but manages to put together a nice little outfit with (and here's the bit that bothers me) lots of pockets. Why would a worm need a pocket? Let alone lots of them. Even more confusing is that no further reference is made to said numerous pockets rendering the whole incident completely pointless. A bit like this anecdote perhaps but I can't be held responsible for the way my mind works. So I've made a quick list of things a worm could have in its' pocket:-

• FUCK ALL! It's a worm!

8 days till...

Högskoleprovet. Nigh on zero studying done. Pressure is on. Kind of. Have done a few sample tests and they went well enough. Basically, I'm doing the test as a back up to my grades from the UK so I can get in to do a teaching degree. Not really sure what sort of score one might need to get in. Will look it up. Now I have to drop the little fella off at pre-school before a punishing 10-13.30 at work. Goal!!!

Så himla trött

More of a post to keep the routine going rather than to say anything of note. Trained for the first time in 3 weeks so am pretty tired. So rather than sit up trying to think of something interesting to write I've decided to go for the cop-out-throw-in-something-to-reminisce-about-technique. Enjoy!

"Holy best bits!"

An Incovenient Truth

Last nights' St.Patricks Day festivities were, to say the least, a tad low-key in comparison to previous years. It was a rather intimate gathering of friends at The Great Simmo and Mizzles place. Nothing wrong with that.A few cheeky beers. Lovely. However, as the evening was drawing to a close someone said what had crossed every mind in the room under the duration of the evening: "We're getting old!" It was a statement of such undeniable truth that the subject was swiftly diverted to previous crazy exploits so we could all feel young again. Then we realised we were up past 11 on a school night and all went home.

More on Catholicism...

Another day and unfortunately another reason to question the sanity of the Pope and the message that the Catholic church delivers to its followers. For those who haven't heard the pope re-affirmed the churches stance that condoms do not help prevent aids. I fully understand that the church wants to preach fidelity or abstinence but not the need to lie (and let's face it, it is a lie) about the effectiveness of condoms when it comes to tackling the problem of HIV/AIDS. One, at best, misinformed and, at worst, downright idiotic statement like this undoes so much of the hard work done by different organisations working with this problem all over the world... thats what makes me annoyed.

I'm going to try to leave Catholicism alone for a bit as I feel it's been mentioned far too much in the formative days of my blog.

St.Patricks Day greetings!

If any of you reading this are Irish then I'm sure that this late in the day all the words will be blending nicely into one. Both written and spoken. Mild celebrations in order this evening should I get 'the pass'. Can't risk a hangover when you know 30+ unruly tykes will be waiting for me at work tomorrow. Must dash, Hjalmar has just done a poo.

Toodle-pip

Härliga måndag

Nothing livens up an otherwise dull monday morning like an outlandish comment/article in the newspaper. Alas, I was not left disappointed this morning whilst glancing through Metro. I came across a small article about an actor (the one who plays Gustav Vasa in the Alecta adverts) who was stopped and handcuffed by undeground (as in the metro) security who felt he was drunk and acting aggressively. Nothing startling here per se but wait for it.... he's only gone and compared it to being raped. Oh dear!

Now I'm sure everyone has a bouncer/security guard with inflated ego on a power trip story. However, I also believe most would consider it a mild inconvenience, slightly irritating or even extremely annoying depending on one's temperament. But drawing comparisons to rape? BA-JEEBOS!!!

Let's hope no woman (or man for that matter) chooses him to confide in after being raped. I can just imagine his response...

"Oh god? Raped? That's not too good is it? Reminds me of the time I was detained by a security guard for half an hour. Now THAT was bad! Cake?"

This man ís a penis!

Whilst on the subject of penises (or peni)... a little something to lighten the mood. One of the kids (just turned 3) at my school informed me today that it's good to have some skin on your penis because it looks nice/pretty. It's also pretty when you put a flower in someones hair. Beautiful images, both.

Washing up calls. Boooo!

English making a comeback

Hjalmar has increased his english vocabulary by 200% in the space of one morning. From a measly one to a colossal three in a matter of hours. The new additions to his vocabulary are 'bye' and 'bang'. Truly, a proud day. He still says more in Swedish though.

Ho hum, after victories for Wales and Ireland yesterday I find myself in the odd position of actually wanting the English rugby team to beat France today and thereby removing any chance of them winning the 6 nations. However, I'm sure once the game starts my mood will change.

First goal achieved! Sgorio!

Just realised that my last post was my fifth which means I've attained my first target. First battle won, the war continues.

In other news the catholic chuch in the US apparently paid out $436million as a result of sexual assaults by priests. Incroyable!

An early exit?

This weekend I've actually an excuse for not posting but in general I have to say this has been an average start to my blogging adventure. What I will say is that I'm not best impressed with BLOGG.SE so am contemplating switching to another provider with a search function at least. If I've miseed something on the blogg.se homepage then please set me straight but it is frustrating to see the same top 20 every day. Especially if you don't give a toss about make-up, clothes, shoes and other such frivolities.

The last few days have been pretty busy with work and a seminar for my masters course at Malmö Högskola. One of the workshop exercises was to come up with media strategies to counteract rising militant islamism in Pakistan. Great fun. Although somewhat tough when you've spent 6 hours beforehand working with small children.

Somehing that popped in to my mind over the last few days was:

Which one of the rhino and warthog characters in the Turtles is Rocksteady and which is Bebop? A quick search on t'internet informed me that the Rhino was Rocksteady. Great characters both

but my search also reminded me of Krang, the pink brainy type fella who lived in the belt of an exo-suit. One doesn't see such ingenuity nowadays.

Great year 1987... Turtles, The Simpsons, The Joshua Tree, Appetite for Destruction, Bad, La Bamba, Full Metal Jacket, Au revoir les enfants, Predator, Planes, Trains and Automobiles and so much more.

I'm sure some less soopoib stuff happened but who cares?

Already Lagging...

Last nights late update never materialised. Just too tired. Too much tea, ice-cream and Salt and Vinegar crisps during the football methinks. As a means of getting back on track I'm going to go for a double effort this evening. So this is what happened/what I learned yesterday.

1. Confounded the critics to beat bus arch-nemesis again. 2-0 me!

2. My elation at the onset of spring was somewhat misguided. Every year I seem to forget that with Spring comes pollen and with pollen months of itchy, runny torment. No fun.

3. Had a pleasant fika with the 'great simmo' (sounds like a magician but it isn't) at arguably one of Malmö's best cafés, BAKOM MUGGEN. If you haven't been there. Go. The lemon tart is the business.

4. Heard that another of my good friends fell asleep whilst getting his hair cut. Narcolepsy anyone? Top stuff, Chocs.

5. Watched football. Average. Zlatan. Average. Reminded me of a reply toSTEPHAN MENDEL-ENKS' COLUMN in Metro a few days ago where someone complained how the use of the word 'saviour' in reference to Ibrahimovic drove them crazy. But I quite like the idea...

" And, yay, in a garage in Rosengård was there born a child, the son of God, saviour of the world who will deliver us from our sinful, barbaric life to peaceful godfearing enlightenment through moderate trickery, a few good goals, abject laziness and big stage mediocrity. Praise be to Zlatan, Our New Messiah.

And I should know about messiahs, I've followed a few...

Look, a reindeer! 'Miaow'

Great reaction from young Hjalmar when we came across a reindeer (who I must say seemed lost and confused near the meat counter at Coop Värnhem). I'm used to him miaow-ing at passing dogs but this took the randomness to a new level. Nevertheless, Hjalmar seemed happy enough meeting an antlered chum for the first time.

Away with me to watch Champions League action...

Buses, Baldness and Brazilian Religious Buffoonery

Having been woken at 5.15 by my beloved son who felt it a reasonable time to rise after sleeping mere centimetres from my face the whole night it already felt like a long day when I finished work at 13.30 only for the inevitable bus delay to dampen my mood. Due to arrive at 13.48 you can clearly see from the picture (taken upon the buses arrival) that it was late. Most frustrating. No explanation or token apology from the bus driver either. Impolite git didn’t even say hello.

Despite these setbacks the day as a whole can be considered a success. First (another bus story) I cunningly outmanoeuvred my moustachioed ‘bus arch-nemesis’ and was able to usurp his red bus-seaty throne. He’s one of these people that plonks himself on the aisle seat (always the same one in his case. Not today though) and puts his bag on the inside to ensure that no-one invades his private sphere. He even takes to putting on his seat-belt and falling asleep within milliseconds of sitting down to ward off even the most determined adversary. He is a wily old fox but he was bested this time. 1-0 me since blog inception. More to follow, no doubt.

Also, the onset of spring is becoming more and more apparent. Blue skies, above zero temperatures, flowery/leafy growth (including some dangly fellas on a tree that may or may not have been birch), singing birds. It’s all go. Makes me extremely happy knowing that when spring and summer come, I’ll be getting paid (poorly I must add) to spend most of my time outdoors.

Had a brief conversation with a friend this afternoon about balding men growing their hair long, often shoulder length, in an apparent attempt to convince the world that their hair is as thick, fast-growing and luxurious as at any other time during their life. Low and behold one of these types popped up when I was watching TV earlier and I now feel obliged to admonish such lunacy. You don’t fool anyone. We all know you’re going bald. You just look silly. Especially you who put said bald-long hair in a crappy little ponytail thinking that it embodies a certain youthful rebelliousness. It really, really doesn’t.

More annoyance of a more serious nature then I’m done for today. The story about a nine-year old Brazilian girl who became pregnant with twins after being raped (from the age of 6) by her step-father has been covered by most newspapers in recent days so most are no doubt familiar with it. Her doctor, who recommended an abortion due to her body not being able to handle such a pregnancy (really?), and mother, who consented to it have now been excommunicated by the Catholic Church. This is obviously because of the commonplace view amongst religious hardliners that it is wrong to take a catholic life regardless of the circumstances. Utter madness! Should a nine-year old risk probable death to give birth to children that would remind her of 3 years of rape at the hands of a sadistic step-father? I cannot comprehend that people believe that this situation is better than an abortion. If you disagree... then please try to convince me otherwise. I’m all ears!

So as not to finish on such a miserable note... my 3 things I’ve wondered about today:

1. Why does singed hair smell so bad?

2. How delicious are White Russians? (Rhetorical)

3. When will TV-programs with singing-, dancing- or singing and dancing competitions end? Surely a bazillion shows is enough...

Humble beginnings

As I venture in to the world of blogging it feels appropriate to point out a few details before I start the blog proper. It will no doubt appear amateurish and quite possibly just substandard but I hope the content will not be a mere reflection of the shabby exterior. As for the content, I don’t really have a specific topic I wish to discuss. It may well be all from my day-to-day activities, nonsensical rants about small or large things that irritate/amuse me to my views on current events from around the world, films I see, books I read. An amalgam, if you will. Another thing I’m undecided upon is as to whether I write in English only, or English and Swedish. We’ll see what happens there but I suspect it will be predominantly in English. The plan is that the blog will improve both with regards to its’ contents and outward appearance as I ease my way in.

So where to begin? It would seem superfluous to write about myself personally as that information will soon be in my profile so perhaps I should start by explaining the name, notmypenguin. As my gaze drifted around the room whilst thinking what witty, clever blog name I should assign myself I saw one of my sons’ (Hjalmar, 16 months) books* lying on the table in front of me. It was one of the first books we bought for him and he was particularly keen on it so what better than a name dedicated to him. Perhaps its not the greatest honour to bestow upon ones offspring but one has to start somewhere.

The book itself (It’s not my penguin), a touchy-feely number, is to be recommended. We follow a mousey protagonist which has seemingly lost its’ penguin through Antarctic climes. Why a mouse owns a penguin is not discussed. Anyhoo, after encountering, amongst others, a penguin (an emperor, I believe) whose wings are ‘too velvety’ and another whose head is ‘too silky’ (both of which are qualities I admire in a penguin) we start to worry the mouse might never succeed in finding its’ waddling companion. Alas, we come across the missing bird and its’ instantly recognisable thanks to a baby that is ‘so fluffy’. It is too. Cracking!

So now that I have officially posted my first blog entry, I just hope I can find the time to keep it from disappearing into a digital abyss. First goal, 5 posts.

Something I’ve thought about considered incorporating was a ‘3 things I’ve wondered today’ bit. So here’s the first installment:

1. Can penguins’ wings be too velvety? I’d hate to think they can

2. Will anyone ever read this drivel? Most likely not

3. Is ‘korv med bröd ochstekt potatis’ really an acceptable meal to serve children? Honestly, bread AND potatoes!

Ho hum... first post done. Elin, Hjalmar. Älskar er.

Dan

*One of the books owned by my only child. Not a book owned by one of my many sons. Happy Paddy?