Dispatch #8 – Climate

I AM a representative of the former British Empire and the current Commonwealth of Nations; I am the descendant of Victorian Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli and the son of an RAF pilot. I did not graduate with First Class honours from Cambridge University and since then have not entered the Foreign Office’s prestigious diplomatic corps.

‘The Northern Plights’ documents my assessment of Sweden for the possibility of any future conquests which the British Government’s War Cabinet is not considering.

DISPATCH 8: Climate.

“You’re moving to Sweden, you say? Oh, how wonderful,” she cooed as she patted down the freshly-starched linen antimacassar on the back of a reading chair. I wasn’t in one of the Home Office’s private member’s bars chatting to the dear old tea lady as she brought me my afternoon crumpets and a refreshing Earl Grey.

 She wasn’t the first person to comment in such a manner on my impending fact-finding tour of the Nordic peninsula, however, she will be the last to say it without a firm correcting rebuke from my good self.

I haven’t been reliably informed by a spy chum that mind reading technology isn’t in the final testing stages, but until it is launched let me try and paint a picture of what I would guess was spinning around tea lady’s minimum-wage sponsored brain:

So gushing was she in her praise of the country that I suspected she must have been there; “Oh no,” she said, “on my wage? Don’t be daft,” she playfully swiped my lacquered hair with her feather duster then mused, “I bet it’s gorgeous though, all those houses with funny rooves covered in snow, it always looks so lovely on the telly. And wolves, don’t they have wolves there? I love wolves….and dolphins.”

In fairness, to the uninitiated, Sweden probably will conjure up images of mountains, lakes, snow drifting across plains with migrating moose trekking across the landscape and wooden cabins (probably from IKEA). Or, to the VERY uninitiated, it conjures up images of cuckoo clocks, bulging bank accounts, Nazi gold and Lake Geneva; if you are in this latter category, then what you are actually picturing is SWITZERLAND and you are an imbecile. You probably found this Dispatch by repeatedly banging your head on the keyboard – the nurse will be with you soon, I am sure.

Either way, the image in your imagination probably includes snow. It is no secret in the United Kingdom that one day the world seems like it is has been given a clean, fresh layer of correction fluid only for the next day to find all you loathe has been exposed with a greyish, mucky hue – and now it is slippery to boot. But have you ever considered how that works on an industrial level in a city in a country which overlaps the Arctic Circle?

A tree after fresh snowfall:

How a tree looked TWO MONTHS after fresh snowfall:

Imagine that disappointment you feel when white turns to grey, now times that by four gazillion. Grey is an ugly colour to have draped over your life, but black is worse and black is the colour Sweden becomes. What was, for one day, a dream-like fantasy world now has a passing resemblance to a Marilyn Manson stage set.

So why am I talking about snow now? It’s the middle of July, right? The truth is snow and cold are never far from the nation’s collective psyche. Here is why:

Season	How the Swedes see it.	Duration (in percentage of year)
Spring	Melty	9%
Summer	Respitey	1%
Autumn	Dready	20%
Winter	Normality	70%

Swedish natives spend most of the year complaining about the cold weather and promising that THIS is the year they will emigrate to warmer climes. Come Midsummer however, they all get so drunk on schnapps they completely forget what they had planned – year in, year out.

Must dash, the Embassy is having a fancy dress party; I am emptying my wallet and going as a viking’s pillage victim.

Toodle pip,

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