Beds, bedding, mattresses

Exciting stuff indeed.

Well, I reached the grand old age of 25 without getting to buy my own bed, but now I have my chance. Being me though, I could not possibly take that chance in the relative safety and simplicity of an English bed. Oh no.

I had to move to Sweden, sleep on a rather uncomfortable day bed for 3 months first.

Without a clue of what I was letting myself in for I went to Ikea. I took along moral support in the form of Peter and Ulla. I'm not entirely sure what they thought when it became clear I was completely out of my depth, but I'm fairly sure it was more along the moron than the funny line.

So, who knew you could buy a mattress bottom, a mattress and a mattress topper to make up a Swedish bed? I was a little amused by the thought of a Princess and the Pea scenario, but apparently it wasn't funny enough to share.

I had my heart set on a lightweight metal frame, a slatted base and a mattress. Simple.

No.

Far better is a mattress with the mattress bottom built in, with legs to screw in the bottom. Excellent! Cheaper and faster. But then you have to find a skirt for it. And then a mattress topper, because the mattress-with-the-base-built-in might not be comfortable.

I have no idea how I've slept all these years...

Subconscious sense of humour

Yes, I apparently have one.

Despite trying to learn Swedish (and avoid all other tempting languages to prevent confusion) I found myself reading , Mauss the other day... and not bothering with the English translations for the phrases which were deliberately left untranslated. Now, I'm not saying they were particularly complicated pieces of French, but when you suddenly turn into that horrid person who reads French philosophy in French it mostly fucks with your head.

Doing it in Sweden just takes it to a whole new level.

To then continue on to Wittgenstein and understand the German as well, well you can understand my bewilderment.

Considering I have not developed a penchant for thick lenses (contacts, ta very much), starched blouses and ballooned trousers I can only come to one sickening, awful conclusion.

My subconscious brain has a somewhat sick sense of humour.

Yes that's right, Broca's area, ignore the wishes of the conscious mind to speak Swedish fluently and instead decide in your infinite wisdom to activate indiscriminately the various language memories stored away. Excellent.

Which brings me, not at all neatly, onto my thoughts on being a native English speaker abroad. English is the common language amongst all people here, as despite a huge wealth of language ability the majority of people are about to speak English to a very high standard.

As an English speaker this does have numerous benefits. People switch to my language automatically when I struggle in Swedish. It's easier for me than for a native French speaker for example, who must switch to another second language when struggling with Swedish, rather than his own native tongue.

The downside though, aside from people assuming that you are indeed the gospel on all things English, is that people become reluctant to talk. They seem to be worried that I might judge them or their ability in English. As a result, often I feel like an unwanted guest to a conversation, that perhaps my native tongue acts as a shackle for the ideas and thoughts of others present.

Months later...

Alright, not months. But time enough that I feel that slight pang of guilt for neglecting my avid readers. Ha!

Well, I decided to spend my birthday in Portugal. I was a little hurt at first that Liz didn't want to come and see my new home - perhaps afraid that it was too pretty, the men too attractive or the sun too warm? - but gradually it dawned on me that whilst I have become accustomed to wandering in a fluffy dressing gown down four flights of stairs to take a shower, guests would not be. Add to that, 18 sq. foot is not an area conducive to peace and fun for two people.

Luckily, I have signed for another apartment and am due to move in on the 1st July. That's only a week away, but I have many decisions to make in the meantime. The first, obviously, is which of the offers for help I should accept. When moving here 4 months ago I would not have thought that I would have friends, let alone a colleague offering potential help with a trailer, a brand new flatmate (Swedish as well, so my language skills should, fingers crossed, improve) also offering help, a couple of "adoptive parents" and their whole family welcoming me with open arms. For a country where the people are described as stand-offish and cold, I feel this is rather an insult to those I have met. Either that or I have been uncharacteristically lucky.

The second decision, since I have no furniture of my own, is what to buy from the Mecca of cheap möbler, Ikea. For instance, in a room 2.3m x 4m, is a double bed too big? Is a tall chest of drawers, which I can double up as a dressing table, a good idea? After this, should I buy a double mattress (if I choose a double bed) or two single mattresses (which would be easier to transport)?

Today I am listening to Swedish radio on the suggestion of my supervisor. I rarely understand the words, and those that I do understand are spoken so quickly that to grasp an idea of the context is impossible - thus currently I do not get much out of it. I'm hoping though that the sounds and intonation will imprint upon my memory and that as my vocabulary grows I will naturally understand more. I had a half day when Swedish was the only language available to me and those around me - a deliberate attempt to get me used to speaking it. I found myself gagged metaphorically by my own inabilities, and my brain tired far too easily. I imagine it's like a muscle though, which through regular training can grow and gain stamina. To really confuse things, colleagues at lunch were keen to ask how to express certain ideas in English correctly and to switch between the two languages because physically uncomfortable!