Thanks to the magic of tunnel-vision scheduling, I flew back up to Stockholm today on a completely different project than the one I was here for on Friday. Now I know what you’re thinking…why didn’t you just stay over if you knew you needed to be back on Monday? Because two round-trip commuter flights from Malmö are significantly less expensive than three nights in a semi-decent hotel in the center of Sweden’s capital, and my company seems to share Dr. Darling’s sense of frugality.
So I’ve been doing a lot of flying lately…which I don’t really enjoy very much to begin with but which I like even less when the weather is bad. Southern Sweden had some pretty severe wind over the weekend and while the situation has improved a lot since then, take-offs and landings have been a little too bumpy for my taste.
Dr. Darling hates me flying even more than I do (if that’s possible) and that anxiety combined with the constantly rattling windows in The Penthouse-Nordic made her unusually “clingy” on Saturday and Sunday…two days we had planned to use for assorted domestic chores like doing the laundry and (finally) taking down the Christmas tree. But instead we spent most of the weekend snuggled up together on the couch watching the Hell’s Kitchen Season #2 marathon on TV3.
Unfortunately it’s not the first time we’ve wasted the better part of a weekend watching UK celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay abuse 12 would-be protegés…just the most recent. But I’ve decided that back-to-back episodes is the only way I’d ever manage to see an entire season of the show. If I had to wait a full week between episodes, I’d have too much time to think about what a complete @$$hole Chef Ramsay is on the show, as well as all the other more constructive things I could be doing instead of watching Hell’s Kitchen.
Still, I doubt that taking down the Christmas tree would be high on that list of constructive things. It’s one of my least favorite chores EVAH and as you can see by today’s date, I tend to put it off as long as possible. More on that at another time as I’m writing this at an internet kiosk at Bromma Airport and the minutes are ticking by more rapidly than I care to admit.