Nora

Nora, my six year old surrogate daughter - her choice - wants me to call this blog entry 'Nora'. So I did. That's us on a night time flower hunt over a small island in Sweden trying to find seven different flowers to put under our pillows (because we are at sea-captain Papa Pelle's place, we had to do this properly with torches strapped to our heads). We are then supposed to dream of our future husbands, as I mentioned last year. However, I have now been told that not only did I get the wrong day (again!) but you are also supposed to jump over seven fences, and various other far too physically exerting things. After meeting the lovely Mads in Copenhagen for a decadent beer yesterday then making the trek over to Sweden, I think I'll leave my fate to serendipity rather than attempt outdoor athletics. Nora may have dreamt of her future husband but if so I think it may be a small cat named Starboard. I have already been in trouble for feeding Nora Nutella for breakfast, so I guess I'm not the best person to guide her in nutritional OR romantic choices.

Anyway the preparations for Midsommar Madness have been somewhat stalled by the rain so we are all cooped up inside like a mini Glastonbury festival. It's just so good to be 'home'. Christian offered me 5 quid to drink a bottle of gin before 12 then retired to bed himself, so I might go and set Nora onto something productive and send her off in Christian's direction. Ludvig only just woke up and Hansi hasn't even appeared yet. More when the midsommar party is over and the incriminating photos have arrived...