Hiyas, I know I haven't been exactly busy with updates here, but now I have to write one..

Just so you know, the world cup without England feels like no world cup at all.

Do you remember England-Germany? England-Greece? Such great games, such excitement and joy!

Now, it feels like it just won't be the same, yea, yea, I know we Swedes did make it yesterday, but I can't quite feel the same joy as I would have felt if I knew England were going to the World Cup too. And please, no comments about "it's just a game" or something like that.

It's not. It's sometimes a drama which takes your breath away, or a comedy which makes you laugh like a maniac, there are tears ("tears?" you might say. "Yes" I would respond, "I can easily drag out a couple of memories when I cried of joy, when Arsenal won the double, or England kicked Greece etc..."

But it's never "just a game". Never.

And oh, hrm.... Do I dare to make some shameless promotion of my new blog? Hmm...Yes I do...  In case you miss me here, come on over and say hi at http://shirouz.blogspot.com/

That's all for now, cheers....

Yes, I bet the title caught your attention....  Well, as we all know (most of us anyway) it doesn't take any particular skills to be one...

 For awhile ago, a book came out here in Sweden, the title if it were translated would be something like "The fine art of being kind."  The author said, being kind is becoming more and more rare.. And it is... At least over here.

The other day, I was on my way out through a door, I saw an older couple coming towards me, so I stopped and held the door. The look they exchanged with eachother was suspicious. Would I mug them? Slap the door in their face? When they came closer,  they didn't even dare to look at me, so I said, with a smile, "Are you on your way in?"  I could hear them sigh of relief,  they said "no, but thanks!"

I was thoughtful after they passed, when I was in my younger years, in my punk-years, mostly older people would come up and talk, saying they thought it looked "refreshing" and "fun". As you might guess, I did not aim to look refreshing or fun. It was a complete failure when I tried to look dangerous and wild... Now, climbing slowly but steady on the middle-age-stair, I was obviously looking more wild and dangerous then ever......

Then I thought again, and realized it had nothing to do with me. It's a symptom of the time we live in. We don't dare to trust strangers to be kind. We somehow expect others to be rude. We're getting to used to it.

Cheers...

Recently we've been looking at houses. I find it a bit ironic since I swore somewhere in my youth to never own anything that I couldn't get rid off in a second.  Now when I look around in the flat I know I would have a hard time to get rid off certain cd's, books, and my guitars I wouldn't throw away without a tear in my eye. Hm, let me correct that, I would cry so the Niagara Falls would look peaceful compared to me...

Sorry, I'm drifting away from the subject. As usual.  So, when we're looking at all these old houses, (no, new houses aren't interesting, just old.) I realized this might be the first time I actually make a direct choice on where I should live. Most of the places I've lived in so far I just seemed to have stumbled over. For example, I got a job in this town, and a friend of a friend were moving out from her flat, would I like it? Yes, why not?  I have my forest right outside here, lots of pinetrees on the other side,  and there is a place you can go, a meadow, where you can lie on your back in the grass and look at the stars and the moon without hearing a sound of the city.

My neighbours are accustomed to my manners, which means that when they sit in the stairwell and hear a door open they cough or clear their throats because they know that if it is me coming they will scare the hell out of me, since I seem to always be somewhere else in my thoughts and the idea of another human being in the stairwell always comes as a surprise to me. (And no, I don't know where I am in my thoughts, I am just not there. And yes, a lot of the neighbours sit in the stairwell, we have a neighbour-cat, which we call Rambo, since he use every force he got in order to force himself into anyone's flat when his real human being isn't home. His real name is Bosse, and we love him to bits, so that's why we hang out in the stairwell, talking to Bosse and eachother. Hrm, well, my cats aren't particularly fond of him...)

Hrm, yeah, I know, sorry, the topic, the topic... Geezes... Well, what I am thinking of, is how come you ended up where you are? Was it a choice you made, or did you just end up there, like me?  And if, where would you like to be?

Now, when I have to choose, I find I haven't got a clue what I want...

I know what I don't want. Not a place with horses around the corner since I have a slight fear of horses after a huge grey bit me in my tummy when I was twelve, I was a chubby and short kid dressed in white so he probably mistook me for a huge lump of sugar. That is understandable, however after that my relation with horses never became the same.

 My oldest cat, Diezel, has a not-so-funny peculiarity. Some nights, he takes the clock radio (the buttons) between his teeth, lift it about 10 cm , and drop it on the nightstand. This will be repeated untill we sit up like lit candles in the bed, staring in disbelief at the cat. When he got our full attention, he leaves the room, probably because he want to be alone laughing his tail off behind the sofa.
This has given the word "wake-up-call" a whole new dimension to me, as well as I now hate the sound of the clock radio bumping up and down more then I loath the signal. I am not sure it could be called a progress, but I also learnt there are more ways then one to use a clock radio.

This nights sleep was abrupted at three occasions when Diezel thought it was crucial for us to sit up and look stupid. Fourth time I woke up by the sound of loud purring, in my foggy mind I wondered where he got the amplifiers from. I looked (yes, in disbelief) at him, and I'll be damned if the cat wasn't smiling!

Right now, I don't know what to do, but what I do know, is I need my sleep...

And my clock radio...

(and yes, it is the criminal wake-up-caller on the photo, now ten years, but still going strong.)