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On a totally unrelated note, doesn't the dude look like he's naked? The first time I saw the illustration I couldn't help thinking, "how is a naked dude in ski boots supposed to sell me alcohol?" But I think I can kind of spy the cuffs of a skin-coloured thermal underlayer. Not that a dude in a skin-coloured underlayer and ski boots (and a weirdly shaped arm) makes me want to buy whatever alcohol that is...

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What amuses me most about the use of "entré" in Swedish is that someone at some point must have seen the French "entrée" and thought, "hey, useful word that means entrance but look at that extra vowel, pff…" and just decided that "entré" was good enough for Sweden. And to a French speaker it just looks so weird because you can't help think that it doesn't make sense because it's just the male adjective "entered", not even a verbal form, not a noun, just an adjective and you need either être/avoir before to make it even a fragment.



I also like to pretend that this means that there are gangs of cyclists on the cycling/pedestrian paths… they butchered "entrée" first, so I totally can. Smiley face.




Totally useless but fun fact, in Finland å is called "Swedish a".
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Sometimes I get weirdly attached to bits of clothing. Like these mittens and the hat that goes along with them. I think I've had them for over six or seven years now and while I've gotten other gloves and hats, even amazing cool Elmo mittens and a monkey pattern hat, these remain my favourites. I used to take gloves instead of mittens when I took my camera with me for walks but I've given that up, I feel much more comfortable in these mittens, even if I have to take them off to take photos. I guess they're the cold weather clothing equivalent of comfort food.
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Forget one space and some idiot is going to take a photo of the sign and post it on their blog! The nerve of some people…





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The other day I remembered that it's a while since I last used any of the Holga-for-Olympus-M43 lenses. This means that for the next couple of weeks the fisheye lens will be used and abused. And who can complain when using plastic gives you this…



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I've moved on from Icelandic mystery novels to Norwegian ones. Is that progress?




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It wouldn't be a trip to Stockholm without a photo of Gustav!





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When I grow up I want to own a port crane that's disguised as a giraffe. I mean, look at it! Don't you want one too? So that's been added on my "when I grow up" list right after "ride like Marianne Vos"… who won herself another world championship like the badass she is. Ultimate girlcrush and cyclistcrush, right there along with Evie Stevens and Giorgia Bronzini and, urgh, girls let me love you and attempt to emulate your achievements at my amateurish level where managing even one kilometre at 30km/h is considered like a win.

And there really isn't a story behind the sandwich besides the fact that I ate it and, actually, the cafe where I ate it is the first cafe I had ever been in while on Swedish soil back in... 2010? I think that was my first time in Sweden.


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They have many bridges in Stockholm and one can go under those bridges in a boat. I believe this is the first time I've been on a boat that went through a lock, or at least this is the first I've been aware of going through a lock. Twice actually! I also had to the chance to see one of those bridges that open, although it did not open for our boat. It opened for a bunch of trimarans that, I imagine, were being towed into Mälaren… except that they all but one could have cleared the bridge without it being open! There is always one, isn't there? Trying to make up for something!







+2 - other water related fun times )
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Let's do what we always do and blame everything on old age. This time around I'm blaming the loss of my ability to sleep well on ships, especially top bunks, on my old age (of 27). That and the immense joy I felt when I realised that going into Sweden offers us an extra hour of sleep!






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Okie dok. Hope that prepared everyone for a morose mood entry tagged "gali reads stuff"? Because I have to vent a bit about Icelandic mystery novels… I haven't read many of them, actually just three, but are there any people in Iceland who live in marital or single hood bliss? Or do they all have bitter fights with exes and/or moan about the trials and tribulations of single life all the time? Maybe it's just Yrsa Sigurðardóttir and Arnaldur Indriðason's styles. Who knows!

Maybe I should go pick up some French mystery novels, there is a good shelf of them at the Töölö library… maybe all mystery novels revolve around those types of characters.

(Also, the names! I would gladly lose an afternoon or two just reading an Icelandic phonebook. I'm well used to Finnish names by now, but the Icelandic ones! Wow!)

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