25 August 2022 - Flight BA779 Stockholm Arlanda to London Heathrow

You can tell when it's time to engage with the UK after a few days out of the cuntry. Since Monday there have been no queues and nobody moaning, but today it started again. When I arrived at check-in points 19-21a I was greeted by a queue of people standing in front of empty seats where the BA staff were supposed to be sitting. So typical that there was nobody there, but like everybody else I waited in line. BA staff eventually arrived and started the process of checking in bags. I asked for a window seat and of course there was none available because (for the first time this week) it was a full flight. The hassles, the disappointments, had started, I thought as I was handed my boarding pass which displayed a middle aisle seat and let me make this clear: the plane had two aisles with three seats per row, there was no middle aisle. It's only a short flight, but I could still do with a window. Sadly not, though, as it's a full flight. I'm now a little more miffed that I was when I woke up this morning, but I set about the task of making the most of last few hours in Stockholm.

Last snack before heading to Arlanda airport

I've got to reach page 200 before I leave here!

Breakfast at the hotel was pleasant, consisting of green tea, muesli with seeds and sultanas and a few mini cookies, not forgetting an amazing cinnamon roll. I went to my room afterwards and packed things away, had a shower - having originally considered not bothering - and then I went to the front desk and asked them to look after my bags while I cavorted around the city for the last time. Actually, 'cavorting' was not what I was doing, I was just milling around looking for somewhere to chill and read my book. It was, if you like, a last wander around town. I went to a place called Brod and Salt, two foodstuffs/ingredients I wasn't that happy about when you consider that bread contains a fair amount of salt so why have bread and salt? Why double the dose of bad health? I ordered a cappuccino and a sticky blueberry pastry that I regretted the moment I took possession of it and then I set about reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral which I'll admit I'm struggling with, but I must finish it as I borrowed it from a colleague and it's her favourite book, but I'll be honest and I will tell her I struggled. Listen, the jury is out until I finish it, the whole book might redeem itself before the end, who knows? The aim was to reach page 200 before heading to the airport and I made it.

Room 341 Scandic Malmen

I considered another coffee but didn't bother. I went back to the hotel, retrieved my suitcase from the luggage room in the basement and then headed for the metro and a short trip to the airport on the Arlanda Express. It wasn't long before I found myself at Arlanda airport and, despite saying I wouldn't eat anymore until I arrived in the UK, I consumed with gusto a cheese and ham baguette and a paper mug of tea. I made the mistake of going to the gate, which in this case meant going through passport control and not being able to go back to the shops and restaurants. There was nothing but a small kiosk, but I bought a bar of Marabou milk chocolate (Sweden's equivalent of Finland's Fazer brand, I'm guessing). It's comfort food.

The thought of a middle aisle seat continued to bug me as did the weather in the UK which was supposed to be bad, ie cloud and rain, just what I don't like when I'm flying. In Stockholm the weather was sunshine and blue skies, but I figured that at some point on the flight things would change and I would be looking down at thick cloud knowing that sooner or later I'd be descending through the murk to the UK below. What an awful thought. Heathrow airport. It normally means endless circling until a runway becomes free, although the captain said something about arriving ahead of schedule so we might avoid the crap of going round and round and round in thick cloud wondering if we'll hit another plane circling in the other direction. I tend to think of the worst when I'm flying, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I heard a voice on the Tannoy system making a last call for a flight to Helsinki and I started to wish I was on that plane, which would probably be half empty and I'd definitely get a window seat. Anything for the tranquility of a country with just 5.5 million people. Frankly, I'm amazed at how empty Helsinki airport was when I flew to Stockholm (see previous post). There was nobody around and it was wonderful. Stockholm was busier and I'm expecting the usual shit show at Heathrow immigration... and then the awful and extortionate Heathrow Express to Paddington, which is far preferable to a taxi ride home listening to the rantings of a bigoted Brexiteer going on about Siddique Khan, the Mayor of London. I'm scheduled to board a BA flight which is full-to-bursting and I'll be sitting in the middle seat. Life couldn't get much worse if it tried, I thought to myself, hoping that they might cancel the flight and put me up in a hotel overnight so I can regroup, get a window seat and fly back in the morning. I always have these thoughts and I should be careful what I wish for (avid readers will recall my last trip to Pittsburgh in May, and will know exactly what I'm talking about).

Stairwell at the Scandic Malmen

Two cunts have turned up. Former colleagues who haven't seen each other for some time. One of them now has two kids and is married and living in Battersea. The other says he used to live in Balham. I know the type, fucking awful, so I moved away just in case they say something that makes me want to vomit. The plane arrived at the gate and it's now just a matter of boarding and getting home.

The flight was fine all the way, even sitting in the middle seat was fine. I didn't speak to the person on my right who spent the entire flight - all two hours and 10 minutes - on his laptop, but I briefly had a word with the lady to my left who was knitting a small octopus for a charity that had something to do with premature babies.

Foodwise, a KitKat and an awful cup of coffee: a paper mug of hot water with a coffee bag thrown in. The member of the cabin crew who served me was raving about how good it was, but to me it was like muddy water. She kept saying it gave Costa Coffee a run for its money but let me tell you this, it was nowhere near. I wanted a proper bar of chocolate but the KitKat was all they had and let's not forget the Tyrell's potato chips and the small bottle of mineral water. British Airways love to reinforce the class divide between coach and business class, they even draw a small grey curtain across to block out the plebs in economy so that the posh people in Club Europe or whatever it's called don't have to listen to us salivating over what delicacies they have to eat compared to the crap we're given. I'd love to run amok with a tin of paint but I'm sure I'd be arrested and fined and banned from flying for years, which wouldn't go down too well, and besides, is it even possible to bring a tin of Dulux on to a plane? Probably not.

The plane did arrive ahead of schedule and I had to wait an age for the baggage handlers to load the luggage from the flight on to baggage reclaim conveyor number 11. But once I had my bag I sailed through customs with my kilo of cocaine* and made my way to the Heathrow Express (£25). I took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, changed on to the Victoria Line and when I reached Victoria jumped on a train to Sanderstead. Trip over.

* Joke, alright? Not serious. I know how sensitive we all are these days.

Leaving Helsinki for Stockholm...

I thought about walking from Helsinki's central station to the hotel using my iphone's SatNav, but I didn't get very far and decided instead to go against the grain of my own thinking and jump into a taxi. We got stuck in a small jam but soon I found myself checking in to the Scandic Paasi and making my way to room 602 which was at the end of a corridor on the 6th floor and oddly in the same position (albeit in a different hotel) as the room in which I stayed the last time I was here, back in February 2020 and also in a Scandic property. In Finland all the doors open outwards (it's a fire precaution). I've probably mentioned that before too. I think it might be the same in Sweden too and, therefore, I'm guessing it's the same in Norway, who knows? Next time I find myself in Oslo I'll know for sure. The room was pleasant and after dinner I sat and watched an episode of Top Gear, the one when they go to Australia to herd cows using their cars. Mildly amusing and enjoyable to watch and I'm now looking forward to the next Grand Tour on September 16th on Prime. The following day was relatively free. Well, the morning was relatively free. I had to be on a flight to Stockholm at 1425hrs which, miraculously, would get me into the Swedish capital at exactly the same time so I amused myself by going to the gym and getting some much-needed exercise. I jumped on an exercise bike, set it for 60 minutes on a high setting (17 out of 20) and then sweated my way through what was quite a work-out. By the time I got off the bike and wiped it down I was in need of wiping myself down. The tee-shirt I had been wearing was wet through with sweat and I'm sure those in the lift moments later were looking at me in disgust as, to be fair, I must have been whiffing somewhat. But not for long. Once back in room 602 I took a shower and then packed up ready to leave the hotel. There was a metro station virtually next door and I rode the train for two stops to the central station and then took the sky train (was that it's name?) to the airport where I found everything very simple and easy. Why? Because there was nobody around. Remember that Finland only has a population of 5.5 million and they have a bigger land mass than the UK (where the population approaches 70 million). So there was nobody around and it was fantastic. I checked in my bags immediately, security was a doddle and soon I found myself in an empty airport wandering towards gate 36a to catch my short flight to Stockholm. I was amazed at the lack of people, it was fantastic and yes, before you ask, I could live in Finland. The stark contrast between Finland and the UK was all around me. There's probably no better way of illustrating the lack of people than showing you a few photographs (you can see some in the previous post, but here's some more).

I could get used to this. Helsinki airport is like a ghost town.

 

Empty, no people, lovely!

Where is everybody?

Hardly anybody around at Helsinki airport

Helsinki airport is empty, nobody around, brilliant!

This is what I like, hardly any people...

Nobody around...

Nobody around at Helsinki airport

But things changed when I reached Stockholm. The flight was pleasant and virtually empty and after touching down I made my way to baggage reclaim where I encountered people. Oh no! Not people! It was the last thing I needed, crowds of travellers, but I was one too so I couldn't really complain. There were sniffer dogs at customs and once through the other side I made my way to the railway station to take the Arlanda Express into the city and to my hotel the Scandic Malmen, which in my opinion wasn't as good as the Scandic Paasi in Helsinki. There was a big reception area and I vaguely remember not staying here but coming to the lobby on a previous visit to Stockholm when I was staying in the Nofo hotel. At the time I remember thinking that it would be a good hotel to book should I ever find myself back in the Swedish capital. Well, there I was, in the Scandic Malmen about to check in to room 702; actually, I can't remember the exact number, which is just as well as the room stank to high heaven because there was a drainage issue, and I couldn't stay there, the whiff was too much, so I bowled down to reception with a view to finding another hotel if I had to; the man on the front desk, who resembled Rutger Hauer's replicant in Blade Runner, looked for another room and initially said he didn't have one, but eventually I was given room 341 on the third floor which, compared with the room on the seventh floor, was tiny and had a very cramped bathroom. Not brilliant it has to be said and because of 'the environment' they weren't going to be cleaning my room daily, which meant I'd return later to an unmade bed, nothing more depressing than an unmade bed. The last time a hotel said it wasn't going to be cleaning my room was in Pittsburgh in May at the Hilton Garden on Forbes Avenue. I spent a week in that hotel and whenever I returned to my room there was my unmade bed competing with Tracey Emin's work of art. I suppose I could have made the bed myself, but that would have been missing the point. During my stay in the Pittsburgh Hilton Garden I ended up with a foot infection that later needed two weeks of treatment with antibiotics, and bearing in mind that the only place my feet were exposed to the outside world was in the hotel room, I'm guessing that's where I picked it up. Anyway, fortunately I picked nothing up in room 341. 

I was in Sweden for two days conducting interviews and meetings. Prior to the first one, which was on the other side of town to the Malmen, I found an amazing little bakery. I'd been up at the crack of dawn, had a quick breakfast in the hotel and then took the metro to Hotorget from where I walked the rest of the way. It was fairly easy using the iphone's SatNav and I reached the bakery at 0730hrs. My meeting was scheduled for 0900hrs so I settled in with a couple of bakery items and two cappuccinos. It was Wednesday, half way through the week, and I'd resigned myself to not getting much in the way of exercise. But I suppose the two bakery items were a bit excessive... and the two cappuccinos. After the interview I walked back across the city. I didn't do too badly until the very end of the journey when the SatNav confused me again and I think I probably walked around in circles a few times before finally finding my hotel. Half way back I stopped for lunch and sat outside in the sunshine. It was hard to believe I was in Sweden as I could easily have been in Italy or the South of France. I ordered salmon with asparagus and skin-on potatoes, plus a Carlsberg (no alcohol beer). It was pleasant and prepared me for the rest of the journey back to the Malmen. I had one more interview to do. I got back to my hotel around 1430 hrs and went straight to my second appointment which was around a 20-minute walk away. The person I was interviewing had joined me for dinner the night before and we had sat outside in the warm evening air chatting about this and that. All very pleasant. But now it was over and we'd said farewell and it was early evening and I had time to kill. I wandered up a few streets as the light faded and found an Italian restaurant where I ordered a pizza and salad with another alcohol-free beer (make that two) and then I wandered back to the hotel knowing that tomorrow I'd be flying back to the UK – what an awful thought. Back to Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak and all the shite I left behind earlier in the week. I wasn't looking forward to landing on UK soil and I wasn't looking forward to the flight either, with British Airways as opposed to Finnair. It was as if a little bit of the UK had flown over to Sweden to pick me up and return me to the shite of the cuntry. Yes, I'm back to taking the 'o' out of country, it's that bad, in fact it's much worse than it was the last time I bastardized the word. Still, back I must go, but I had a few hours to go and most of it, of course, would be spent sleeping. I switched off the lights, drew back the curtains and lay on the bed thinking bad thoughts.

In the morning I discovered there was a gym in the hotel but it was too late to start building up a sweat. Instead I decided to enjoy breakfast and managed to eat a handful of small cookies on top of my original healthy muesli-based breakfast and then there was a rather nice cinnamon pastry slice that I enjoyed immensely. But I'd also started fretting about what I was eating and how much exercise I'd be doing on my return to Shitsville. After breakfast I nipped out and found a cafe where I bought a blueberry pastry and a cappuccino. I later considered another coffee and another pastry before resigning myself to the fact that I needed to get to the airport. I went back to the Malmen where I had left my suitcase in a room in the basement and then rolled down the street towards the metro and the start of my journey home. Here's some more images...

The Arlanda Express into Stockholm city centre...

People! At Stockholm's baggage reclaim area.

Lobby of the Scandic Malmen in the early hours.

View from room 341, Scandic Malmen

Beers with my pizza meal.

Coffee and a pastry before an important interview.

I bought these in the early hours...

The British Airways flight to London Shitsville.

The hours passed by and soon it was time to board the UK flight. It was, of course, a full flight, as I might have said already, and I had the misfortune of sitting in the middle seat, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I was still annoyed about the middle seat and about going home. I was now sitting in a little slice of England which was going to take me home and dock with the mother ship. I ordered coffee and a KitKat and then just sat there occasionally looking out of the window to assess whether there was going to be any turbulence. There wasn't any, the flight was perfect. I sat next to a woman who was knitting a small octopus for a charity supporting mothers who suffer premature births. We landed safely and because I hadn't booked a return cab I jumped aboard the Heathrow Express into Paddington, took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, the Victoria Line to Victoria and then a direct train home.