Friend to some

I have a problem when I wee. It’s embarrassing; the doctor would surely laugh me out of the surgery. I know that, as age becomes a more significant role in one’s life, the signs start to reveal themselves in unwanted ways, but I’m sure I’m unique in this particular problem; this makes it all the more difficult to accept.

You see, it’s like this: I flush the toilet before I finish weeing.

This is not an isolated case. I don’t remember when I received this urinal malfunction, but even though I am aware of its presence, I am unable to stop the process.

There is no apparant reason for my newfound habit, either. It’s not like I gain any time by flushing premeturely, since I still have to wait before I’ve finished urinating, however early I push the button. In fact, the only side-effect is negative: I have to flush a second time, which consumes more water – water that could be used by some poor Egyptian kid, who, because of my inability to control myself, has to walk 150 miles just to drink the scum that is known as the Nile.

So, I feel alienated, and do not know to whom I should turn. I feel like I shall carry this affliction for the rest of my life, which I’m beginning to hope is a short one.

Living in Sweden is fantastic. In my mind, this country has a smörgåsbord of delights, some of the more noteable being:

Trees. More than you can shake a stick at (and they’re dead easy to find). It has (probably) been stated that there are more trees per square metre than the amount of leaves on those trees. That there is only one type of tree takes nothing away from the majestic sight that one is privileged to see. Again and again. Kilometre after kilometre. To put it in perspective, the 100,000 named lakes (plus the countless other ‘bastard’ lakes) hardly ever get a mention. It must be tough being a lake here.

Super-fast internet connection. Whilst other European countries are touting 10Mbit as a luxury, Sweden seems to promote 100Mbit as a standard, for about £25/month. The only real use of such a connection is to illegaly download films and music. Still, I look forward to the day when the Government and film/record companies stop being arrogant tossers and realise they will never win this war. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll then be able to download music for less than it costs to buy the actual CD (iTunes and the like, you’re having a laugh).

TV. There are so many English and American programs/films on Swedish TV, it’s like being back in England. Plus, only the good stuff is shown here, which is the nicest form of cencorship I’ve ever come across.

And yet, as with everything else, there is a downside to Scandinavian life; one which has now been rectified, but the memory of which remains like a terminal case of piles in a wheelchair-bound person of either sex (trying to stay PC really messes up the prose, you know): decent hummus has only been available in supermarkets for the last year or so.

We discovered Maxo’s about twelve months ago and have been revelling in our discovery ever since. Jo has even been praising the pine-nut and sun-dried tomato varieties (though I think they’re a bit flamboyant). But two things about this product have caused some concern, over and above the unneccesary addition of (in themselves, wonderfully tasty) ingredients:

Firstly, throughout the year of buying Maxo’s hummus, the packaging had stated in flippant typography that it was “New!” Now, there must (surely!) be a set amount of time that a product may proclaim its newness. I simply refuse to believe that, living in a civilised society, a year of such proclamation can be legitimate.

Secondly, and even more jarring, the slogan that is now an indelible part of Maxo’s is (translated from Swedish) “It’s really nice”

This statement is absolutely (subjectively) true. It is, however, one of the worst ever slogans in the history of humankind. It does not even come close to the famous Pompeii Tourist Board catastrophe, that in AD78 sent out two hundred million flyers to neighbouring countries, headlining “Come to Italy: our culture is erupting!”

All said and done, the receptacle does have a use, outside of displaying the bland phrasing: they make excellent storage for my beads.