Rick´s News

As a new follower of Twitter since January of this year I have become almost addicted to its political profile. The constant flow of information, disinformation, points of view, lies, facts, cartoons, jokes, political fun-making, cruel innuendo, sharp analysis, political codswallop etc etc. Twitter has just about everything and more often than not is completely up to date on many issues often giving me the feeling of being at the head of the information queue. My first week or so I lapped it all up only eventually beginning to realise the wisdom of exercising a certain degree of caution. Although outright lying is quite in fashion these days, all dressed up in its new suit of alternative facts, it is often easily recognised as such. There is though a large grey zone between the obvious porky and what might be considered as an undeniable fact. The things to watch out for are the untruths concealed by facts, like quicksands concealed by swirling mists on the moors. Sophisticated deception can be, just telling the truth. I think our society accepts and understand this and nowadays most people listen for the off-key note when a trumpet is blown on behalf of someone or something. Choosing toothpaste is easy and the cause of less anxiety than for instance buying a used car, a process which is more likely to be given a great deal more thought. Hopefully voting will merit even greater thought.

Regarding Brexit the one thing people seem to agree upon is that it will be a game changer. To what extent remains to be seen. Theresa May says categorically that she is the right person to lead the negotiations with Brussels. Strong and Stable is our leader, death or victory is her cause. Put that to music, bagpipes for the moment, and off we march. The swirling mist here is the strong and stable leader prepared for death or victory. There will be no ”bad deal” only a ”good deal” because we are prepared for death, sorry I mean ”no deal.” Theresa May talks of a strong hand based on good election results being the answer to helping her ”getting Brexit right.”  She even hints on the possibilities of not getting it right, more it seems to attract the extra votes than anything else. Helping our leader in her quest for ”getting it right” making Britain fairer, stronger and more prosperous should be our patriotic duty. Who can argue with that? Nice and cosy, all wrapped up. Would someone put the kettle on.

This is all very well but what actually do we know or think we know? ”Soft Brexit” will be some sort of special agreement with the EU. It will involve giving and taking on both sides. The resulting balance of give and take will be defined by Theresa May as either a good or a bad deal. Now, as a previous remainer, she is of course completely aware that any partial deal will never be as good as full membership except for the kind of partial membership that involves only the benefits and none of the obligations. That is club membership with no fees or rules to abide by. The likelihood of this coming across is understandably nil. Somewhere along the line compromises have to be made. A strong and stable leader will of course see to it that compromises are not one sided but actually a gain for all.  I once said in an earlier Tweet that good leadership leads out of minefields or if you will out of marshes and not into them. No mention here that the reason Britain is up the proverbial creek in a barbed wire canoe is just this lack of strength, stability and leadership. The referendum was a cheap political gamble that didn’t pay off and the question asked in the referendum is on a par with ”would you like something to eat?”  A ”no” answer leaving no one in doubt as to what is required, with a ”yes” answer begging a second question.

At this stage the country was in dire need of not only strong and stable but also sensible leadership. At this stage Theresa May abdicated not only as a contender to the title of being strong and stable but also as being a competent leader of the UK. That second question never came, only ”Brexit means Brexit” or, ”you eat what you get.” What are we getting? There is a long list of what we will NOT be getting, either partially (Soft Brexit) or completely (Hard Brexit) What in fact are we getting that we didn’t have before? Nothing that warrants the risk of the UK splitting up and England becoming poorer and less influential in a Europe that would gladly see the opposite.

There is a slight breeze and if the mist disperses we may avoid falling into that quicksand and we may even find our way out of the marshes.

I spoke to a an old friend of mine on the telephone the other day and she obviously felt that in some way she had to explain what was happening in the country I grew up in. I do not recall her exact words but somewhere along the line the reasoning was that English/British people were different. I am not too sure which category she was referring to but noted a possible lapse of logic should she have been referring to the latter. For arguments sake I shall assume she meant English. ”We are different from the rest!” she said almost apologetically. Hmm, not exactly rocket science but there is of course an undertone. OK English people are different. To begin with they speak correct English without any annoying foreign accents not to mention deplorable colonial spelling. The English are also different because, in contrast to many other Europeans, the man on the street only speaks one language, English. The few that have retained a smattering of French from their schooldays  easily make a Frenchman´s toes curl on opening their ”bouches.” There are probably a thousand and one differences between an Englishman and any other nationality on the planet. Rocket science? Hardly. The fact is this applies much else to any one nationality and in my experience there is an awareness of being different from ”the rest” wherever you go. Looking at it from another angle you might ask yourself, what does an Englishman have in common with other nationalities. Well, as I already pointed out the sense of being different is a common national character anywhere in the world and in my experience, and this might come as a surprise to the average inhabitant of Blighty, just like the English most people feel somewhat different to ”foreigners”.  Now if being different is the natural state of things amongst the peoples of the globe so why point it out? Welcome to the undertone. Different is politely vague with no finer point to it and goes down well as a euphemism in circles where words like ”better” or ”superior” would be considered impolite and owned by no one. Different, despite its vagueness requires little explanation and easily answers the question ”why?”  ”Why are English people different from Swedish people?” ”Because English people make better tea.” No harm in that and generally speaking quite true, in my opinion. Why do you think the English way of life is superior to the Swedish way of life?  Only a moron would answer, ”because we´re English and we make better tea.”

I read an interesting yet rather disquieting article the other day written by a number of research scientists arguing that ageing should be classified as an illness. The idea being that this would release more resources in the fight against one of the major causes of illness which, perhaps not surprisingly for most of us, is old age. Ok, I can understand the financial argument as well as the natural link between age and illness. Defining ageing as an illness however raises a number of questions. I am 70 years old and in those years have had my share of infections and aches and pains, though thankfully nothing serious. A health expert once told me, ”you are as healthy as you feel” meaning that health is as much a matter of the mind as of the body which is something worth remembering with regard to age and illness. Now these guys come and tell me, no you´re ill no matter how you feel or what other ailments you may or may not have. The mind boggles. When was I afflicted with this illness? Was it when I succumbed to nature by looking in the mirror and accepting that I am old or was it on my 65th birthday or the day after my last day at work? To me this is akin to telling a perfectly healthy 25 year old that he is dying which of course is true but not imminent. No with all due respect, in my book ageing is not an illness, I hope you get your funds though so that you can treat me when I get ill.

Many Twitter followers were treated to a film clip where a television commentator, a professor of politics I am to understand, was interrupted by his small children entering the room during a broadcast. These children do what children do and their dad did what any dad would do. I dare say not many parents have experienced this situation live on television but certainly in other venues and just as embarrassing. No wonder the clip went viral with many of us both laughing at and I am sure, after the broadcast, with the the man and his children, recognizing him as one of us. He is saved by a woman who extracts the children from the room, bravely attempting to remain unseen by the camera. The programme was being broadcasted from Singapore and I assumed that the kids had done a runner from nanny. During the day there were a number of tweets and retweets about this incident. Especially one caught my eye suggesting that thinking the woman was a nanny had a racial twist to it. Why imagine that? Could not the professor, a white male, be married to her;  it appears he is. True enough, I stand corrected, or do I?  Hours later, after running this through my head and looking for evidence to strengthen my assumption that she was the nanny, the following occurred to me. What if I had assumed that the woman is the man´s wife?  Wouldn´t that have had an anti feminist twist to it by assuming it is the mother who takes care of the kids whilst the father is at work?

As it is put so nicely in Sweden. Whichever way you turn, your posterior is still at the back which is a rough translation of, tails I win, heads you lose. Just for the record, I´m not bothered if she is his wife or the nanny, it just reminded me of the joys of parenthood.

During the last month or so I have been receiving telephone calls from people who claim to be working for Microsoft. The English they speak is heavily accented and often only just reaches the mark of being understood. On the bright side they are extremely polite and more to the point, very concerned about my digital welfare. I have been informed that my Windows computer is behaving erratically on the Internet and that their computer department has detected serious defects in it. Not wanting to waste these peoples time out of consideration for their albeit misplaced concern, I quickly inform them that my computer is a Mac.  ”Not to worry sir, we have a Mac department that can help you.”

I think a lot of people at this stage would begin to challenge the wisdom of placing their computer welfare into the hands of ”computer experts” who cannot distinguish between a Mac and a Windows computer. Undoubtedly there are people who would continue the conversation for a while longer but I am sure that most of us would, somewhere along the line, arrive at the conclusion that they were being lied to and that there was something fishy going on and then put the phone down before being ripped off.

To me there is a parallel with Brexit here. You can fool all of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time but not all all of the people all of the time.

Preventing them from putting the phone down is frightening.

Have you ever said ”what if” and wondered how different things would be? My most decisive ”what if” goes back a lifetime, fits into 30 seconds and can be summed up, ”what if I had opted for the cotton mills and chimney stacks?”

One day the London managing director of HRW, the publishing company I was working for, called me into his office. I had been informed earlier that the advertising division I had been a part of was to be closed down so I was feeling rather apprehensive. He began, with what I was convinced was to going to be a thank you and goodbye, by saying that although my department was being closed down the company did not want to lose me.  ”We have two area sales representative vacancies and if you are interested we would like to offer you one of them.”  I had only been with the company for a few months but knew this job entailed a lot of travelling to university cities, visiting bookshops as well as lecturers teaching subjects the company specialized in. He continued, ”the North West of England is one area and the other is Scandinavia.” Having lived most of my life in London or the Home Counties, the North West of England brought on images of cotton mills and chimney stacks. I gave it some thought though, about 30 seconds, and said, ”I´ll take Scandinavia,” coyly adding, ”It will give me the opportunity of learning  a new language.”

The Swedish word ”skatter” is the plural of ”skatt”  which has two meanings. Tax and  treasure. I never thought of this connection before reading a rather amusing article by Susanna Popova in today´s Svenska Dagbladet. She claims that taxes are something Swedes never joke about to which I wholeheartedly agree. Just to be clear on one point though, in my opinion Swedes do have a great sense of humour and never hesitate to see the funny side of most things. Swedish taxes just aren´t funny.

There are three predominant types of habitation in Sweden if you exclude summer camping in tents, mobile homes, caravans and time spent in little red and white summer cottages. They are renting a flat , owning your own house or being owner of a ”bostadsrätt” which literally translated means ”dwelling-right” Usually it means a block of flats where as a tenant you own a percentage of the whole and have a contract defining your own flat. It´s quite handy as everybody gets to share maintenance costs etc. by way of a monthly fee. The contract is bought and sold on an open market like any other dwelling. Things often work reasonably well, little different I would say, to owning your own flat at the same time paying homage to ”the Social Democrat that lives in every Swede.”  Wise words from a late friend of mine.

On its persistent treasure hunt to fill the nations coffers, the Swedish Tax Agency has now sniffed out the possibility of taxing dwelling-right owners if they have purchased extra space by e.g. buying a neighbouring flat and knocking down a wall or even if they have only bought a few extra square metres of parking space. The claim being that in theory the property was sold and bought again despite the owners not having moved an inch. We´re not talking pennies here but capital gains tax on the price difference the flat was purchased for and its new market value including the extra square metres.  For a house owner this would be like having to pay capital gains tax on one´s entire property just for buying the neighbour´s shed and the ground it stood on. Sweden´s Minister of Finance hasn’t been falling over herself to investigate possible legislation to avert what could have dire economic consequences for many people. She advises people to take the Tax Agency to court.

Enough to make a cat laugh but not a Swede.

When I first cameI to Stockholm I was often asked what I thought of Sweden . My answer would vary slightly depending on who was asking and any need of mine at the time to be provocative. This worked in both directions. A rosier picture when describing Sweden to my friends in England and somewhat more critical in the same situation in Sweden. My job which had me flitting around Scandinavia meant that my exposure to this Swedish culture shock was more in instalments, much like slowly walking into a freezing cold lake rather than jumping in. Well not too happy at first, I finally adjusted to the water. To be honest Sweden wasn’t the problem, as most people here seemed quite happy, the problem was me. I had been very fairly and politely treated by the Swedish Consulate in London, language was no problem until later when I started learning Swedish and everybody insisted on speaking English. The bank let me open 2 accounts, one private and one business, without a personal identity number. There was even a terrific pub on Grevgatan. Then what was my problem? Let me try and explain. First of all it was not only a terrific pub it was also the only terrific pub in the whole of Stockholm. Not that all the other pubs were sub-standard, they just didn’t exist. If you are young and live in Stockholm, close your eyes  and  just imagine for a minute: no pubs, very few restaurants, no coffee shops, no seating anywhere on a pavement outside, no pizzerias, no kebab stalls, no McDonalds or Burger King or any other hamburger joint for that matter. If you wanted a cold beer in a restaurant it  would have to be consumed with a sandwich or other food, local regulations. Well, I survived and somewhere along the line somebody realized the error of their ways and Stockholm today is one cool city. In another meaning you understand.

I don´t care if you call me a Grumpy Old Man which really only means you find my reasoning or complaining irritating, not necessarily untrue. 20 years younger and the epithet would have been ”Messerschmidt” the Swedish equivalent of ”Besserwisser” which means, well you know.  There are politer ways of pointing out a person of experience and using one of these derogatory terms rather implies that the person at the receiving end of all this wisdom is probably not too happy with a condescending attitude rather than anything else. Yes, the cap fits and I´m wearing it!

I have lived in Sweden since 1971 which is probably longer than most Swedes. When I first came here from the UK one of the things that impressed me was the free movement of Scandinavian or more correctly Nordic nationals within the Nordic Countries. I suppose some rudimentary form of identification would have been required in some instances but I observed that fellow passengers mostly just waved their boarding cards exuding Scandinavian, or more correctly Nordic, self assurance..

My passport had expired and I had sent in an application for a new one, together with the necessary documentation and my old passport, to the British Embassy in Stockholm. No sooner said and done when my boss came to me and said he wanted me to fly to Oslo for a meeting and return the same day. Making excuses, however valid, are not recipes for successful careers so I nodded in compliance. My day return was from Örebro airport to Oslo Fornebu. The journey there went without a hitch. At Fornebu I waved my boarding card and exclaimed ”från Örebro” as if I didn’t´t have a care in the world.  If there was any doubt in the immigration (border control is the term nowadays I have noticed) officers´s mind it might have been, ”I wonder which part of Sweden he comes from, strange dialect?”  Well, I´d made it to the meeting which was the important thing.  Örebro airport was a lot busier on my return with 2 aeroplanes on the tarmac. There was no waving any boarding pass this time and my attempts at a casual ”från Oslo” were met by a question in English. Without thinking I also reverted to English immediately realising my mistake. ”Where is your passport?” ”I don´t have it with me;” I replied. ”In that case I am afraid you can´t come to Sweden” ”But I live here,” I said almost in desperation. Without hesitation he let me through. I will of course never know exactly why. What I do know is that his decision was based on trust, a currency somewhat devalued these days.

”Lagom”  The most Swedish of words. Understand this and you will understand Sweden.

Quite a statement, right?  ”Lagom” is translated into English thus: moderate, good enough, adequate and maybe one or two more. (An unkind translation would be mediocre or average but that would be missing the dartboard altogether.)  Linguistically speaking none of these translations do it justice. Much like eating chocolate with the paper on.

”Lagom” is a euphemism for doing it right. ”Lagom” represents the art of doing whatever is necessary, using the correct tool at the right time with the right amount of force or application by the person best suited to do the job and thereby get the desired results. More than adequate and no room for mediocrity, yet all hidden in a little word that offends no-one.