Things that I would like today:

1. My paper on Hybridity to write itself.
2. The guy to pick up the 'phone and call.
3. The interview to conduct itself.
4. The guy to realise I'm English and therefore extremely unlikely to call him, even if I was madly in love (I'm not).
5. Ricardo to make perfect sense.

As you can tell all of these require other things to happen for me. Why am I so lazy? Well right now I feel like I've been flattened by a hormonal, tired wreck of a truck. Next week I start my second bout of Swedish lessons, except (whoopee!) the level I signed up for has been cancelled so I've been bumped to the more advanced level.

Urgh. Bed, wherefore art though so far away and behind so many deadlines in my future?

LSD

LSD is the drug suspected to be responsible for the delight of Alice in Wonderland. Today though I'm trying to read it in Swedish - Alice i Underlandet. It's actually even more trippy.

The reason for my sudden increase in desire to understand Swedish is a lecture today in which my colleague and lecturer announced that he would be delivering the course in Swedish. Thankfully the other students failed to turn up, so I have two more days to become fluent. I'm not entirely sure how Alice i Underlandet will help me discuss Research Methods, but something has to sink in surely? In addition my supervisor is delivering a course beginning on Thursday which discusses the philosophy of innovation - in Swedish.

This week I feel unnaturally tired and quite lazy. Only the thought of saving for flights home at Christmas - and shopping in Stockholm beforehand - is preventing me from leaving my Goddamned bike at home and catching the bus. Yes, today I was knocked off. If you're driving around a roundabout what do you not expect the car at the next incoming road to do? Stop halfway into the roundabout perhaps? Well, some lovely Swedish lady just stopped her bike straight in my line of cycling and then excused herself by saying she wasn't sure what I was doing. I guess the indication, gaze and general straight line in her direction wasn't clear enough.

Later this week I should be on my way to Southampton for a conference. It's on wave power so the details of the presentations are likely to go over my head but it's a good chance to get a stronger connection with the research team I'm researching and also a better understanding of the technology area.

At the end of next month I'll be in Finland and fingers crossed I'll have an interesting paper of my own to present there. I'm quite excited as I've never been to Finland, although I did live with a Fin for just over a month when I arrived here.

Last week I attended the NFF conference at Stockholm Business School. It was a wonderful mix of established researchers and PhD students presenting their latest thoughts on a variety of management subjects. Along with the presentations, which gave me a few ideas about how to pursue my own project, the social events made me feel a tad guilty. I guess it's time to start earning your place when you find yourself on the guest end of a gala dinner in Stockholm City Hall, surrounded by gold mosaic and tasting fantastic food.

Incase you were interested we were served with a sour cheesecake and caviar, sirloin steak and the best potato gratin I have ever eaten (sorry Ulla, yours is delicious too) and finished with a strawberry centred peach mousse with handmade marshmellow and vanilla ice cream. Add in a glass each of Champagne, white wine, red wine, dessert wine, coffee and copious amounts of beer in a bar in town later and I'm very, very happy that someone had more faith in me than I did.

I think tonight an early night and an early start tomorrow to begin making my time here count...

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.

A good day today

It's a pleasant change.

Elena from my Swedish class suggested since there is no language class tomorrow that a few of us go out for dinner instead, which is good. There was a little panic when it looked like I'd need to shell out 200Kr just to get a guest pass for the student nations (maybe I'll explain that one day), but a few emails back and forth and the concencus is that if I take my PhD contract to a nation tomorrow evening I can become a full member right there and then.

In a better mood, I got on with some reading, found a few courses to look at in more detail, then cycled home. Unfortunately my bike has decided it likes 2nd gear a little too much, and has been stuck in it for the journey home.

When I got home I popped on a new exercise DVD (which is the lamest thing a girl can do and make public) and watched in horror as I failed pretty much every coordination activity on there. Oops. Anyway, 40 minutes (ish) of farting around pretending to dance in Brazil was amusing and deserving of far more than a wholewheat pasta and tomato dinner (no cheese) with a natural yoghurt and jam desert. Followed by this lovely glass of wine.

So the funny little Brazilian man on the DVD (so gay he's almost bent back round straight again) sounds a little like Borat. Hearing him promise me I'll have the body of a Brazilian beach babe in that voice is somewhat amusing, as I doubt he'd know a beach babe if he tripped over one.

My legs feel a little sore, but that's possibly a good thing since my thighs and arse are my (biggest) problem areas.

Next on the list tonight: Swedish grammar.

It's funny how when I'm more cheerful I get on a small self improvement drive. It only lasts for a few minutes, but that's a few minutes of improving myself, right?

Been a while- again!

I hear back from the application at the end of June. As I've probably said a million times, fingers crossed but breath not held.

Suzanne's was an adventure, but not really for telling to the world. Suffice to say despite the setbacks I had a lovely time and made several personal leaps forward.

Clinging onto the rail as I made my second, calm and relaxed journey via the underground in Rome, I realised that five years ago I'd have laughed until I cried if you'd have predicted where I'd be. Abroad, alone, willingly and happily travelling on public transport. You see five years ago I was scared to leave my own flat, even to go to the laundry room in the same block. Little by little I've gained the confidence I lost through the extended incident and I've doubled it and doubled it until I've had the confidence of a normal person.

Even more exciting perhaps, was the conversation I had with a florist the day before I left. I had a few minutes to kill before Suzanne finished work and, despite her objections, was attempting to get a small token with which to thank her and her parents. I went into a florist shop, looked around and upon being asked if I was alright, described to the shopkeeper how I was on holiday and staying with a friend and her parents, and wished to buy some flowers. We had a brief discussion in which we established I might actually prefer a plant, then moved onto the fact that she already had Orchids in her window.

Strangely, I hadn't even reistered that I knew the words for all of that, nevermind how to string them into a (grammatically incorrect) but understandable sentence or three.

I left empty handed because I simply couldn't afford anything, but I left feeling a weird sense of acomplishment.

Sure, I didn't know the language. I didn't know the culture. I didn't even know the way home, as the route was covered on the tourist map by an advert. I did, however, manage. Very well, considering. I even exceeded my own expectations, the worst critic ever is the best to amaze.

Now I'm back, skin dried from the treatment I started again, and onto the job hunt once more.

I will get up tomorrow, row for a bit, try a little Yoga and get down to the serious job of finding a career.

Oh, and plotting my birthday.

As hard as it was, I came back. Admittedly the desire to just turn around on the drive to Gothenburg, before security at the airport, as we walked to the plane, as we shopped Amsterdam airport, as we passed security at Amsterdam and even as we walked out of Manchester airport arrivals was really strong.

But I returned. (mini cheer)

Super grateful to Liz for accompanying me on what started as a normal out and back trip.

This is me. The day before we left I got a call to go to Copenhagen for an interview so instead we drove South from Gothenburg, ferry to Denmark, hotel for the evening and interview number 1, went out for a drink and ended up getting wasted with some Danish car salesmen (well, Liz did. Ever the practical she saw the need for my soberness at the interview the following morning and dutifully drank my beers). Had interviews 2 and 3 then mad pack at the hotel followed by a huge drive North, ferry then up to the house where...

We found we'd been burgled. Yay. This is the village in which we have left our front door wide open and gone out for the day and had nothing happen, a village where you leave your bike unchained at the bus stop and it's still there when you come back. And we got burgled. The police were very helpful, if not a little funny about the house being freezing.

Anyway, cue much wine, West Wing and stressing, followed by some DIY to fix the lock and window (all without power tools too). Add in some Christmas shopping (floral Wreath through customs anyone?) and we were stuffed with coffee, waffles and vaniljbrod. Yummy.

I'm stressing now again over the PhD interviews in Denmark. I e-mailed to thank the profs/researchers for seeing me, but now I have had three ideas for a PhD which might be useful to them. Perhaps I should e-mail the researcher who seemed really approachable and fun.

The best part of the whole week (apart from the travelling, Rob Lowe accidentally sleeping with a hooker and the wine being decent) was Liz walking into a petrol station on the way back and ordering- in perfect Swedish- two lattes and paying for them, before thanking the attendant and saying goodbye. Did I not teach her well? Admittedly she's still very confused by Scandinavian languages, but there is hope yet.. perhaps more for her than me.

Oh, and I graduate on the 18th December, wearing a purple and gold hood, and I start work on Monday.

Grammar and Keyboards

Okay, I'll admit I have had my follicularly challenged moments (blond, for those of you ignoring the PC terms) but in my defence I've never needed to get å, ä and ö on my keyboard. Anyway, at the tender age of 23 and through a little subtle investigative work I've done it.

Yay for me.

Onto the second point.

Stephen Fry can read a guide book to a language once and speak it fluently. I'm a firm believer in formulae. If something works, stick to it. Physics sorted it. Chemistry confused it. Biology used it and Maths proved it. Even language uses it.

If I know how the building blocks go together then I can put them together myself rather than learn set phrases which sound great but leave me stumped when I get a reply. I sat down and approached Swedish grammar like a formula and I think it's working. I'm learning vocab almost by accident and I vaguely understand why the Swedes have -en and -ett nouns and why these change to similar endings when pluralised... actually I really have no clue why that happens. The grammar book says it just does, and we have to just know it.

I'm going to Sweden this week to sort the house out for the winter, drink gallons of crap coffee and maybe do some DIY and hiking. Mostly though, I will get to shower in clean water and wear no make-up because nobody gives a damn.

If I don't come back I've either:

1. Found the only hot Swede in the rural areas (they all appear to be in Göteborg or Stockholm!)
   
2. Run away to join the circus
3. Died by messing up on driving solo abroad for the first time in a left-hand drive car

Puss och kram. x

A gazilion and one

I feel like I've applied for a gazillion jobs. Seriously. You would not think that having reception, admin, call centre, retail and an advanced degree would make it so hard to find a job. My fingers are crossed in the hope that my loan payments will not fall into arrears, but my breath is not held.

In other news, I keep bumping into Scandinavians. First there were the Swedes on the train chattering away in a Southern accent, then the Norwegians in town (Liz, Cat etc should remember this) after the beer festival (great event, amazing atmosphere, fantastic ales) who requested a photo because we were English. Is it a sign, or just the football?

I'm understanding more Swedish now, forming my own sentences now I have a better idea of the grammar. I'm not great at recalling words but when I see or hear them I understand. Sadly my French isn't improving, mostly because I haven't been studying.

Have still heard nothing from any of my recent applications. I've signed away my legal rights to a maximum working week for a temping agency instead. It is reversable and- well if I end up working then it's more cash in the bank, no matter how far I go over the hours, unlikely though that seems.

Today I'm taking advantage of the fact that I always work better with no distractions and a focus. Here to focus my mind in an hour or so is the Blond, who needs me to teach her Project Management (thank God I aced that module. Twice.), and Photoshop (I didn't ace that one).

My language lessons have taken a new and far more interesting turn in the form of Jarnets Anglar with subtitles which is a brilliant indie film in Swedish.

I understood about half of it in Swedish once I had seperated out the sounds based on the subs. It also features the delectable Alexander Skarsgård.

Setting plans

The contact my tutor has turned out to be a woman I was put in touch with 18 months ago for a career chat. She agreed to meet and never returned my call. Hmmm. Have contacted my tutor to ask whether I should approach it as a totally new contact, or bring up the fact we have already been introduced via e-mail. Sadly, she may recognise me from my background.

Urgh.

In other news, my plan for today is to ring all the agencies I'm registered with to chase on temp jobs, run through the environment job sites for new openings, turbolist at least 5 items for eBay and do 30 minutes of French.

After that, some cleaning and then perhaps a delve into the wool chest to see if I can find something cheap to teach myslf knitting with. What? Well I'm skint and threw out all my holey jumpers last spring, so why not turn those balls into jumpers that fit my stupidly long upper body?

But first: washing out on the line. It might even start to dry...

The Bucket List

Or, the Suicide List.

Okay, slightly dramatic (flair for the flamboyant here), but honest. If you ever wanted to end it all, screw fate in the eye and wave goodbye to a future what would you miss out on? What would you hate to miss the chance to do?

I started my list and it's helping me to define what I want out of my career and my life.

In no particular order:

1. Learn to dance, wow an audience. I don't care if it's a dingy little salsa bar or a wedding ballroom- I want to learn to dance. I can't really not, not when my grandfather fell in love with the dancing feet of my grandmother before he even saw her face.
2. Speak at least two languages fluently. I've got English pretty much covered, but I so admire those who can communicate in more than their mother tongue.
3. Make a difference. My great-uncle saved the Peregrine Falcon from extinction with his identification of DDT back in the day and I want to live up to that.
4. Have a hot, sordid and definitely intense love. I'm 23 and the past has either been a bit 'meh' or I held back too much. I want to lose myself, my heart, my mind- and be caught by the man who caused it.
5. Learn to ride a motorbike. My mother has banned me from doing so. Perhaps it is for this reason that I feel so drawn to the leather, the power and the speed.
6. Rally driving, full throttle through the forest. Enough said.

The list is not exhaustive, but there appears to be a theme- excitement and development.

Formalities

In a bank, everything is formal. Everyone is polite, customer service orientated- even to each other- in theory. In a call centre in a bank, it's every dog for himself. So much so that when I was in need of the help of one of our complaints team to provide information regarding the arrears status of one of the customers (we rarely, if ever, communicated with any team outside of our own) I sent him a very polite e-mail which started "Dear Mr xxx" and ended "Regards, etc."

The e-mail was as a result of instructions from a senior colleague so to avoid any problems I copied her into it. Within five minutes she (and the rest of the department) were laughing at my formal, polite, restrained language.

As far as I'm concerned though, this kind of communication is one to be observed until the people communicating are at a sufficient level of understanding that they can drop the proper English and reply "Ta!" instead. To that end, all of my job applications, university applications and queries have been addressed in this way.

I really hope that's normal...


In other news, Manchester today acknowledged my application, so I now have a direct contact with the school. In sending my references one of my lecturers accidentally gave me an alternative project title to the one I'd completed. I don't particularly fancy standing in an interview and being asked "So, tell us about your relaxation light unit" and correcting the mistake there and then with "Actually, it was a peak heat moderator, and took substantially more work to design" because it demonstrates that my lecturer couldn't remember my project.

I spoke to said forgetful lecturer today; he seemed unconcerned and took persuading to send a new letter. If I had done that there would be hell to pay. As it is though, I can't afford to annoy him just yet- I haven't received the correct reference.