Swenglish

On the Road - On My Way to My First Swenglish Host

2012-02-27T17:38:00.000Z

On my way to my first Swenglish host - an English woman in her late forties. To be continued!

In Limbo at Hotel Pelirocco

2012-02-27T11:40:00.000Z

I've only got a couple of hours left of "freedom" before I move in with my first "Swenglish study object" in Brighton.

I was supposed to start the project yesterday, on my actual birthday, but a friend bought me a night in the Hotel Pelirocco so I decided to to stay in the Sputnik room and have cocktails with a few friends in the bar as a proper send off.

In a minute I'll check out, pick up my backpack and catch the bus to the Preston Park area where I'll be staying this week. I'm equally nervous and excited!

3 days to go until the big 30 and the launch of Swenglish

2012-02-23T16:11:00.000Z

This is the week of goodbyes for me. Saturday I did my last day at Hove Library where I've worked part time for the last couple of years to support my writing.

In the picture is one of my dearest (ex) workmates Barney and I will miss him a lot. However he's one of my "Swenglish victims" and in June I'll spend a week shadowing him as he goes about his every day life, including coming to work with him. (Hopefully I'll have a bit of distance by then!)

Most of the English people I'm going to stay with live in the Brighton area, but I'll treat the project as if I'd left town to go travelling; I won't meet up with my friends, attend any writing group meetings or engage in any of my regular activities. I'll be totally in the hands of the people I'm shadowing and staying with.

I'm also saying goodbye to my housemates and the room I rent in Hove. At the moment I'm going through my clothes, putting them in "keeping", "not keeping" and "maybe keeping" piles. I'm very sad to part with my black buckle bondage trousers, but they are worn so thin you can see through the fabric in places, so it's time for them to go! After all I've had them since I was 21, back in 2003 ...

Only three days to go ... Brighton & Hove TV LTD will follow me as I move in with the first person.

2 Non Blondes - Evidence that all Swedes are Not Blonde

2012-02-17T09:53:00.001Z

The best thing about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is that this film gave the world a new image of Swedish women.

Every week, at some point, I get asked "Where are you from?" And when I say "Sweden" people do look surprised and say "But you're not blonde!"

I try to come up with imaginative answers like "Actually I'm the only Swede in the whole universe who is not blonde, you have met a very unique person".

However since The Girl with the Dragon tattoo came out people tell me that I remind them of the main character, Lisbeth Salander (from the Swedish, original version of the film). I take it as a compliment even though we're not that similar, really.

I was damned when I found out that the actor Noomi Rapace's dad was Spanish, hence her darkish looks. But as far as I know my own parents and grandparents and their grandparents are all Swedish born and bread. I admit that my hair is not naturally as dark as in the photo, but I'm definitely not blonde. Mousy brown is closer to the truth.

I read somewhere recently, perhaps in a Lonely Planet guide, that about a third of all Swedish girls are blonde. But then it depends on what you mean by blonde; there are a lot of people with ash blonde or light brown hair. (I wonder though, if Swedish men get the same hassle, being asked why they aren't blonde. I wouldn't think so.)

Funnily enough, before moving to England, I thought that all English people had ginger hair. Perhaps this notion was based on the pictures in my English text book at school. Now I'd say that most English people have different shades of brown hair, but I could be wrong. In this day and age of hair colour explosion it's hard to tell.

Swedes Can Feel Cold Too

2012-02-07T09:58:00.000Z

'But how will you get here?' the musician in Hanover asked on the phone. I had no idea what she was talking about, then realising she was referring to the snow that had fallen over the weekend. Down in Hove where I live there the ground was bare.
'I can handle it,' I said. 'I'm used to it, from Sweden.'
'Oh, I'd forgotten you were Swedish.' the musician said, which made me happy. That she thought of me as a poet and writer instead of a Swede. After all we were meeting up to collaborate on a poetry/music piece, not to eat meatballs and drink vodka.

I frequently forget that one of my best friends is South African, and it took me a year to realise another friend was half Filipino ... I'm aware that people have a need for labelling each other and I frequently get referred to as "The Swedish Girl". Most of the time I don't mind, but I don't like it when people assume certain things because you're of a certain nationality. It feels like I don't have the right to be cold because I'm Swedish which doesn't make any sense to me. Yes, I'm used to snow and a winter that last for up to six months, but I still get cold, and I've suffered more from the cold in England because the houses here aren't as well built as in Sweden with insulation and triple glazing.

I made it to Hanover without any problem and laughed at people scraping the last bit of snow off their cars to make snowballs. But I almost got as excited as an Englishman seeing the snow on the hills in the distance ...

Where My Life in England Started

2012-02-01T22:06:00.000Z

I was nineteen years old and had just graduated from school in Sweden. All I wanted was to leave my boring hometown (Nässjö) and have an adventure. Signing up for a 3 month English course might not sound like a classical adventure, but it changed my life forever. From the moment I got off the coach at Pool Valley, I knew I wanted to stay in Brighton.

Yesterday I went back to Loxdale Centre in Portslade where I did the previously mentioned English course back in 2001. For the fifth (!) time I was invited to do a talk, titled "Life after Loxdale" where I told the students about my experiences of living and working and writing in England. I also introduced them to performance poetry through my stage persona Lou Ice. Even though most of the students were Swedish, I did the talk in English which is quite nerv-racking as I feel more "judged" than if the audience had been English. (Most Englishmen seem impressed that people can speak English at all as they're not very interested in learning languages themselves, but this is one of the stereotypes I want to explore through my Swenglish project)

I have really fond memories of Loxdale and still remember my time there vividly. Some bizarre things stick out in my mind, like my teacher's voice when she read us an extract of Dorian Gray from our textbook. I thought she had the most perfect English accent and could happily have listened to her reading all day. (In the window you can spot Gill and Sue who were two of my teachers.)

So, ten years later I'm still in Brighton & Hove, but the question is: do I stay or do I go? To quote from The Journal of a Recovering Taiwanoholic: "After 10 years you either stay or go. Become a lifer or get a life."

"30-year OId Crisis"

2012-01-29T17:35:00.001Z

In my previous post I mentioned that there's no word for "please" in Swedish. In English there's no word for "30-year Old Crisis" but such a word does exist in Swedish. Even though I escaped my own country, I've been unable to escape this cultural concept. But out of my crisis Swenglish was born, so it's all good.

Yesterday I went to my workmate's 30th, and it was a relief that no-one behaved like 30 which gives me hope for my upcoming birthday.

Because of being born in the 80s the party was 80s themed. I dressed up as ... guess who ...?

Axl Rose!

Please take care, thank you.

2012-01-23T17:50:00.005Z

I had to laugh seeing this sign in the Prince of George pub in Brighton ...

English is definitely a more polite language than Swedish.
We don't even have a word for "please" ...
so in Sweden this sign would simply say "Mind the Step"
or more likely ... there wouldn't be a sign at all!

Greasy Spoon Art

2012-01-14T16:01:00.013Z

When a friend from Sweden visited me in Brighton a while ago he insisted on going to Starbucks (as the very few Starbucks places in Sweden are super expensive). He even bought coffee to bring home, but I wouldn't count it as a cultural experience. Instead I should have taken him to my local greasy spoon, Scotties, in Portland Road where I had breakfast (with an English person) on Thursday.

I do hope these places never disappear. It's great to be able to order eggs on toast or beans on toast with a cup of tea for only £2.50, and I love the way nothing is matching crockery wise. It feels like being in somebody's kitchen eating from a random plate with flowers on and I bet there aren't two mugs that look the same.

The best about my breakfast experience though was the so-called art work on the walls. Or rather the labels stuck to the art works.

Who wouldn't want to buy the "Very old Scottish Picture" for £9 (reduced from £12)? Or what about another one simply titled "Sailing boat" for £6 (except that it was actually a rowing boat)? Then I spotted the board saying "Special January Offer - all pictures £4.50".

Just like the English pubs, the greasy spoon caffs seem to attract a certain clientele of men who go there as much to socialise as to drink or eat. Already at the door I had an old geezer stopping me just to tell me how good the food was, and that he came to Scotties every day. I haven't seen anything like it in Sweden, where you are taught to keep to yourself. (Also the people I know in Sweden who go out for breakfast usually do it as a special treat, having a "hotel breakfast".) As I sometimes worry about growing old, the greasy spoons cafes give me a hope of community, but there seem to be even less women here than in the pubs ...

Thinking in Newhaven

2012-01-09T22:13:00.004Z

Today I took the train to Newhaven Harbour to think. There was nothing going on at this train station, but I felt quite excited seeing the UK border control, as if I was leaving the country. I boarded the next train in the other direction and got off in Newhaven Town, and walked up to the fort, but it was closed for the season. At least I got a good view from up there ...

After the walk, I went to a pub in the marina area with the aim to write and reflect about Swenglish, preparing myself before the big adventure begins. Instead I ended up playing pool with a bunch of friendly builders ...

This would never happen in Sweden. Or would it? In my hometown there isn't even a pub, just a hotel bar with very expensive drinks. That's one thing I really like about England: if you're lonely go to any local pub and there are people willing to chat to you. However, if you're girl there's a risk of being chatted up, instead of being chatted to ... And I do wonder if it will ever come a day when there will be as many women as men in the pubs ...

I did do some good thinking (and note-making) on the train. What I learnt from this day, and what is relevant to my Swenglish project, is that it's best to be spontaneous and go into things with an open mind, instead of trying to control the outcome.