Where else would he go?
Nov. 29th, 2006 07:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinytoasterYesterday evening my train home pulled into Neasden station at about five past seven. Now, Neasden station is the closest tube stop to our local Ikea, and for those stupid unfortunate enough to not be able to drive in, there are some helpful signs at the station to direct you there. It's kind of a trek - I've never done it - but my impression is very much that you have to go under the spooky bridge, across the potholed industrial wasteland and along Mugger's Alley. Nevertheless, occasionally you see some hardy, frightened soul getting on the train with a big blue bag stuffed full of unneccessary plastic objects.
So, the doors swung open and this young dude, maybe about twenty seven or twenty eight, not unattractive in an 'I'd-do-him-but-I'd-be-thinking-of-John-Barrowman' kind of way but with one of those shocks of pure white blond that look almost everso slightly ridiculous on an adult. Obviously, and irreversibly a Swede. He was clutching one of the big blue bags, and I snuck a look inside as he fumbled for his London Lite...
His bag was most certainly not full of 50p can openers and bendy rubber ice trays. He'd only been to the food market. The bag was full of lingonberry jam, great hulking slices of gravadlax, jars of strange dill stuff, bags of frozen meatballs, beers and various bags of Swedish candies.
And at first I thought; that is actually kind of weird. And then I thought; but you know, where else would a Swede in London go? The Aussies have various shops selling mainly Vegimite and Tim-Tams, the Americans have any number of places where they can source some pancake mix, South African expats need never want for biltong, the Poles have shops selling pierogi on their doorsteps. But have you ever seen a Swedish grocery in London? Not nowhere but in Ikea, you haven't.
Also, Jordan's Frusli bars? Not a patch on the Kelloggs Fruit n' Fibre ones. I shall have to have an extra mug of tea to wash the clingy oatiness from my mouth.
So, the doors swung open and this young dude, maybe about twenty seven or twenty eight, not unattractive in an 'I'd-do-him-but-I'd-be-thinking-of-John-Barrowman' kind of way but with one of those shocks of pure white blond that look almost everso slightly ridiculous on an adult. Obviously, and irreversibly a Swede. He was clutching one of the big blue bags, and I snuck a look inside as he fumbled for his London Lite...
His bag was most certainly not full of 50p can openers and bendy rubber ice trays. He'd only been to the food market. The bag was full of lingonberry jam, great hulking slices of gravadlax, jars of strange dill stuff, bags of frozen meatballs, beers and various bags of Swedish candies.
And at first I thought; that is actually kind of weird. And then I thought; but you know, where else would a Swede in London go? The Aussies have various shops selling mainly Vegimite and Tim-Tams, the Americans have any number of places where they can source some pancake mix, South African expats need never want for biltong, the Poles have shops selling pierogi on their doorsteps. But have you ever seen a Swedish grocery in London? Not nowhere but in Ikea, you haven't.
Also, Jordan's Frusli bars? Not a patch on the Kelloggs Fruit n' Fibre ones. I shall have to have an extra mug of tea to wash the clingy oatiness from my mouth.