Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Tuesday, November 9th, 2010:
Dental care by the seat of your pants
in Malmö and Helsingborg

What I think:

I've been to the dentist a few times over the past couple of months. Apparently there are spaces between my gums and teeth in which bacteria are starting to form, which could cause me grief a bit later on in life; the grief being that I could be toothless if I'm not ultra-careful about keeping everything spotless in my gaping cake-hole.

I've learned a few tooth/dentist-related Swedish words during my time here, which I'd like to share with you now.
In Swedish (bear with me on this):

- Tooth is tand; a direct translation.

- Dentist is tandläkare, which is a compound word, consisting of tand (tooth) and läkare (doctor). So the direct translation of tandläkare is tooth doctor. So a dentist, in Swedish, is a tooth doctor. Cute, huh?

- Gums is my favourite inside-your-mouth word. In Swedish it's tandkött. Another compound word, this one consists of tand (tooth), as you've already learned, and kött (pronounced kind of like "should", but you replace the last consonant sound ["ld"] with a "t". This means meat or flesh.). So the direct translation of tandkött is tooth meat. So gums, in Swedish, are tooth meat. Isn't that adorable? Bless.

- Tartar may taste nice on fish, but apparently it's nasty on the teeth. In Swedish, it's known as tandsten, which translates to tooth stone, which, unless you're Keith Richard [Hi Keith!], is really not as glamorous as it sounds.

- "Open wide". "Gapa" is what a Swedish dentist (or a sadistic dental hygienist, apparently) says when he (or, more commonly, she) says when they can't quite reach the tooth containing the nerve that will cause you the most agonising (US/CAN: agonizing) misery. Interestingly - and etymologically - the English word "gape" (as in "my gaping cake-hole") comes directly from the Old Norse word "gapa", meaning "to open the mouth".

There you go. You learned something new today. Unless you're Swedish, in which case: Håll käften.

So anyway, my four - no five - visits to the sadistic Swedish dental hygienist cost me around 3,000 kronor (this is, at the time of writing, about £278.50 / US$446.20 / CAN$447.65 / €322.70 / 2,063,673 Zambian Kwacha).

I guess this isn't too bad, considering all the torture you get for your money, but since other healthcare is so greatly subsidised (US/CAN: subsidized) here, one would have thought it would be substantially less. Ah well...

And now for a not-so-smooth segue. I was on my way to one of my band's [CSI: Helsingborg's] notorious Pissed Rehearsals in Helsingborg a couple of weeks ago, umm, after having brushed my teeth.

When I got off the bus and headed for the platform, I noticed that just about all of the bicycles parked near the platform had these bright pink seat covers on them.
You see, over the past year or so (possibly longer; I'm not normally terribly observant), someone came up with the clever advertising (US/CAN: advertising - ha, gotcha) idea of printing up logos and/or messages on pre-made bike seat covers and putting them over as many bicycles as they could find.

This is actually quite ingenious, as many Swedish cyclists normally use plastic carrier bags as covers to keep their seats dry when the weather really sucks (which is usually about 342 days a year) and - regardless of the message of who's selling what - would probably appreciate having this little cycling accessory given to them free of charge.

[Unless, of course, it was provided by the Sverigedemokraterna (The Sweden Democrats), in which case 5.7% would hang it on their walls, about 54.3% would burn it, a few would actually use it, and the rest wouldn't be sure whether they should sit on it or not. Oh yeah, some would sell it on e-Bay.*]

But I'm into advertising, and not politics, so I thought I'd just check out which company was splashing out on this particular benevolent gesture. When I approached the nearest seat, here's what I saw:The Skåne region's "dental health" authority is advertising on these things. What?
(By the way, Skåne is the county or province (whatever) in the southwesternmost part of Sweden.)

The large writing (roughly translated) means "Your smile looked after.". The bit in the black speech balloon means "Healthy dental care - now for everyone!". The bit at the bottom is this website ->

Now, Malmö is not a huge city; certainly not by American, Canadian, British, Australian, French, Spanish, German, Irish, Italian, (... etc... for ages...) Peruvian, Turkish, Brazilian, or even Swedish standards, but there are a lot of cyclists here; that is if you look at bikes per capita, and the number of those who actually use them regularly.

I looked over at (one of) the main cycle park area(s), and just had to go halfway across the bridge to share this with you:That's a lot of dental care encouragement, wouldn't you say?

Then glancing back at the other (main) end of the station:
And there's a bit across the bridge over the canal:Amazing.

So. I caught the train to Helsingborg, and was walking to the Charles Dickens Pub to meet guitarist CSI: Nils for our usual pre-Pissed Rehearsal piss-up, and I realised that the tooth-care-advert fairies had hit Helsingborg as well (Helsingborg is also in Skåne):I hadn't left Helsingborg's train station through the bicycle parking area, but it looked as though a deed had definitely been done there too.

A couple more bits of evidence:

So, apparently, the dental care authority of Skåne had spent loads of money advertising the fact that people in the southwest of Sweden should visit their dentists, as if this was a radically new idea.

Oh, by the way, when I was in Paris last month, I was at this place and went out for a smoke, and there was some guy selling funky-flashy glasses. I had to try them on...I didn't buy any, and the guy selling was a bit annoyed, but this guy did...
... and the funky-flashy glasses sales guy was happy again. That's him to the left of the guy wearing (two pairs! Ha-ha! of ) the funky-flashy glasses.

Oh, how we laughed, etc.

Anyway, as I was saying, I wonder how much money was spent on producing and distributing those glasses - no, seat covers - in Skåne. Most Swedes that I've met are well aware of the existence of dentists, and most actually go through the ritual torture that that awareness entails; it's pretty much a part of being Swedish.

So why spend so much money on this silly campaign? Can't they use the money for the research and development of more efficient and painful torture devices? It's all very futile, it's ridiculous, it's costly, and it's time that the Swedish government did something about it. That's what I think.

[*Based on figures I made up, for the most part.]

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Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010:
Top Toilet Tips:
Pubs in Malmö -
Part One: The Pickwick Pub

What I think:

A wise man once said: "Time flies like an arrow, and fruit flies like a banana."

With those words, and following the great success of my Top Toilet Tips for pubs in Helsingborg*, I start my first in the series of Top Toilets Tips for pubs in Malmö.

But first, I've got to show you something I saw on the platform at Malmö station yesterday:
The smoking area
Cool, huh?

OK, off we go to The Pickwick Pub...

Pickwick's is located on the corner of Malmborgsgatan and Stadt Hamburgsgatan. During the summer (which usually lasts for about eleven days here in Sweden), it's nice to sit outside with your beer, where you catch some cool northern rays and chain-smoke yourself to death.
It's the pub I go to most in Malmö, as the staff are friendly and attentive, and they're all English-speaking (there's a Swedish girl there, but her English is really good). OK, so that's not necessarily the best reason to go to a pub in Sweden, but the place does seem to attract a fair number of expats, which means that you can actually find people there drinking during the week - generally a big no-no in Swedish culture.

Apparently it's a good place to work as well; although the staff seem to be mostly in their 20's or 30's, they've all been working there since about 1948 [citation needed].

The interior is done up in a very English-pub-like way, with plenty of dark wood, knick-knacks, and upholstered seating. They've got a very good selection of ales, and some Czech and German lagers (I think they might have some Swedish shite as well, in case you have no sense of taste).
When you come in, there's seating directly in front of you, with the bar on the left. There are actually two entrance doors, but I'm referring to the main one on the corner, as the other one is closed for all but the eleven days of summer in Sweden.

Look left again, and you'll see another seating area, referred to by staff as "The Library". This is probably because there are some books there:Also to your left (before the library), there's a dart board. Next to it, there's a chalk board, on which you can either keep scores, or write important messages for the next players. Below, Jenni tells us that she's best [citation needed]. One can only wonder at what... Oh, actually, she does a pretty mean palm-reading; I know that for sure.So now it's off to the toilets. If you enter the pub and go straight through, passing the bar (and more seating) on your left, and the previously-mentioned seating on your right, you come to a doorway with a helpful sign:In the photo above, you can see the sunlight coming in from the right, through the pub's second entrance (which is currently open - Yay, Summer!).

Turning left, as instructed by the helpful sign, you've got a little corridor leading to the stairway to the toilets:Once through the double doors, and turning left, you're at the top of the stairs, over which stands a copy of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Just joking, kids; it's called a suit of armour (US/CAN: armor):Quite daunting, isn't it? Don't pee yourselves now; keep up with me here...

Finally, turning left at the bottom of the stairs, you'll find the doors to the toilets.You can probably guess that the one on the left is the Ladies', but the doors aren't always open like that, so I thought I'd point it out.

I'm guessing that the doors are left open when the pub opens because the staff had just washed the floors, and want to allow air through to allow them to dry quicker... but it could also be (partly at least) because these places smell bad, and they want to keep them aired out for as long as possible.

Now, I know that pub toilets are generally not world-reknowned award-winning areas of nose-pleasing, aromatic Gardens of Eden, but these ones can get pretty nasty, by any standard. I don't know whether it's partly because they're under ground - and that dampness could be part of the equation - but... well, at times, it's an experience.

Of course, my only experience comes only from my olfactory observations of the Gents' (US/CAN: Men's Room) , so ladies, I can't say for sure what awaits you on the other side of the wall. Just bring a small - yet stylish - nose plug, just in case.

Another gripe I have is with the hand dryer. What is it with these things? It's 2010, for crying out load (and stamping feet, screaming "It's soooo not fair!!!"). A little bit more than a gentle breeze, please?
Having said all this, there is a certain aesthetic charm here as well. The urinals (US/CAN: urinals, but pronounced differently) are good, solid, old-fashioned pieces of work. Crafted in Stoke-on-Trent (like one of the bar staff), even the name of these masterpieces of yesteryear are an eternal testimony to the pleasures of weeknight drinking in a society in which it is frowned upon: ADAMANT.

Even though I don't give it top marks, mainly due to its odourificiousness (yeah, I know it's not a word, shut up) and the pathetic hand dryer, at least the stalls (not shown in these photos, sorry) are usually relatively clean and usually have toilet paper. And the toilets actually work (although at least one is missing the little knobby thing that you pull on to flush).

Toilet stuff aside, The Pickwick Pub has a really fun (and free) Quiz Night every Wednesday evening at 8:30 p.m. (SWE: 20:30), the beer is good - and there's a wide selection of it, and the staff are absolute diamonds. Oh yeah, and they serve some tasty, and good-value, meals as well.

But really, those pathetic hand dryer things - the ones that barely work - should be banned, and it's time that the Swedish government did something about it. That's what I think.

*Top Toilet Tips for pubs in Helsingborg

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Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Saturday, January 30th, 2010:
Acting, performing, and
publishing recordings
in Helsingborg and Malmö

What I think:

All in all, January's been quite a cool month for me here in the beautiful south of Sweden. I could have done without the snow, but it is winter, so I can't really complain too much about that.

Here's a photo taken today from our rooftop terrace,
with the Turning Torso in the distance:
There's one thing that did annoy me this month though.

Did you read my post about the contempt I have for the town of Ängelholm, where my cover band (CSI: Helsingborg) played a couple of months ago? If not, it doesn't matter; suffice it to say that this town (in which one of main attractions is a UFO Memorial) is one place that I wouldn't miss if it got mistaken for Bin Laden's cave, and got blown to smithereens.

I went to a rehearsal in Helsingborg on January 10th (as we were booked to play at Telegrafen on the following Friday night). It was a good one, with lots of fun, energy, and beer. Quite a substantial amount of beer. I remember that we actually talked briefly about about our Ängelholm gig, and I vowed never to set foot there again.

Afterwards, I decided (in my wisest wisdom) to go to the Telegrafen pub for a beer, before getting the train home. I was feeling good.

Then I went to the station, got my ticket (here's how ->) and got on a train. I was just in time, as well; the train left about 30 seconds after I sat down. Cool.

Then it occurred to me that I got on the wrong train. This one was heading northwards, ending up in Gothenburg. I would have to get off at the next stop and catch a train back in the opposite direction. I looked up and saw that the first stop would be - you guessed it - Ängel-bloody-holm. Nooooo!!! Oh dear. Oh dear-oh-dear-oh-dear. And damn, even.

Just hours before, I vowed never to go there again. The Fates were being painfully unkind to me, and not even using lube whilst administering their unkindness.

In my even wiserest wisdom, I was actually contemplating going all the way to Gothenburg. I would get there before 23:00 (11:00 p.m.) and could stay with my friend VikingHumpingWitch.

I rang my girlfriend and explained the situation to her, but she'd obviously not drunk of the wisdom juice as I had, so convinced me that it would be better to get off at the next stop, and make my way home.

So there I was.
There would be a 45-minute wait for the train to Malmö, it was freezing out, and there was no pub nearby. There was an empty taxi rank and a bus stop. Great.

And the train heading back was an all-stations one, so there'd be three extra stops before even getting back to Helsingborg. Super.
But of course, I made it home and lived to tell the tale, so no real harm done. But I was pretty peeved, to say the least. Grrr, etc.

So now, on to the fun stuff.

A few months ago, a friend in Stockholm mentioned on his Facebook profile that he'd gotten a bit of work as an extra for some kind of film or TV production. I thought that was pretty cool, so I asked him how he got that gig. He said that he was signed up on a site called statist.se (statist is Swedish for "extra") which lists ads for extras (as you might have guessed).

After having a look and noticing that you have to pay to sign up, I asked him if all the "jobs" are Stockholm-based, to which he replied in the positively negative; there are a few down my way as well. So I paid the small sum of 99 Kronor (about US$13.50 / CAN$14.35 / UK £8.40 / €9.79 / 1,985 Kazakhstan Tenge) for a two month subscription, and had a look. Nothing suitable. Ah well, no great loss. Then I forgot about it.

On January 6th, completely out of the blue, I get this email from someone called Frida at a production company called Dansk Skalle, asking if I'd like audition for a small English-speaking part in a film (US/CAN: movie). Hhmm... OK. So it was arranged that I would go to their office for my audition on the 12th. It turned out that they're only about a ten-minute walk from my place, which was well handy.

I went and read the few lines, and the guys said they still had other auditions during the rest of the week, so they'd get back to me during the next week.

On the 19th, I got an email thanking me for my time, but informing me that I didn't get the part. This was followed immediately by an email apologising for the previous email, and saying that I did get the part. Sweet! Perhaps the Fates had now withdrawn their prickly implements.

Last Monday (the 25th), I went back to their office to meet Åsa, who's looking after costumes for the film. She's actually also an "Aerial Artist". If you want to see what this means, have a look at Åsa's MySpace page here ->. She looked at some shirts I'd brought, checked my size, etc. and said that she'd see if she could find something better suited to the character.

I also had a bit of a rehearsal with the directors (Martin and Emil), which was cool; I got a insight on how they wanted me to play it. We then we arranged to meet on Wednesday (the 27th) for filming. We'd do it at their office, as it was a more-than-adequate location for this particular scene.

At this point, I guess I should describe the character. Without giving too much away, he's a rather scary German pervert called Friedrich; so I get to have fun with a German accent. In this scene, I'm buying gay webcam sex off one of the main characters. (Note: If you wish to leave a comment at the end of this post, please try to keep it clean-ish, okay?)

I got there just before noon on Wednesday, had a coffee and some biscuits (US/CAN: cookies), after which Åsa got me ready. She gave me this shirt that I would normally not be caught dead in. I think it will take a few years for me to forgive her for that.

Then she smothered a bit of vaseline on my face, and a hint of dark eye shadow under my eyes - to give me that tired, sweaty, greasy German look. Ooh oui, c'est chic. Actually, it was quite subtle; nothing too over-the-top.

Here's me practicing my smoking - turns out I'm a natural:
The guys had cut some cigarettes in half, so that when I lit them, it'd look as though I'd been sitting there smoking for a while prior to being connected to my webcam bitch. That's an old movie trick (ah, the magic of Le Cinéma, eh?). Isn't that shirt just... Oh, I don't know. Some of you may even have one like it; if so, I apologise. It's just so not me. *Shudder*

So then we got down to filming my seven lines, and it went really well. We did a few takes, trying different movements and different variations on the lines that were scripted. Have a look in the view finder below - that's what I look like.
Pretty creepy, eh?

The film is called Odjuret, (which is Swedish for "The Beast"). I believe the English title will be "Savage". It's due out at some point after the summer; probably in September or October. The guys aren't sure of how widely it will be distributed, but I'll keep you posted on that.

It was great fun, and a brilliant experience. Now I just need an agent for all the job offers I'll be getting.

As I mentioned earlier, CSI: Helsingborg had a gig lined up at Telegrafen in Helsingborg on January 15th. We weren't too pleased with the date, as mid-January is not a time that we associate with "lots of people with loads of money coming out to party". Christmas and New Year's had just passed, and it was the middle of the month - exactly two weeks until most people here would get paid.

But we got on with it. We met up at the rehearsal space and loaded up, and guitarist CSI: Nils and I walked to the venue (there was limited room in the car, and Telegrafen is an easily-walkable distance).

On the way, I used some of our crime scene tape at a few choice locations. Here's a shot of an area near the guy-on-the-horse statue in front of City Hall:
And here's CSI: Nils waving the banner across from the Grand Hotel:
Unfortunately, not many of the people I'd invited on my Facebook "Event" could make it, but we ended up having a fair number of people there anyway. Bassist CSI: Per's wife had invited loads of her friends as well, which was very cool.

Here we are during our third set:
Some people even got the boogie-bug, and got up to dance.
Shake that thang!
The people I gave my camera to used it to get some video footage as well. I was surprised at how well it turned out. I mean, the performance wasn't sheer brilliance, but the quality of the sound could have been much worse. Have a look at this clip of Get Off My Cloud, and guffaw at my clumsiness:
I put some more stuff on YouTube (here->) if you're feeling particularly masochistic.

So anyway, in the end, that evening was another CSI success.

Publishing recordings
A few months back, I saw an ad for a company called Zimbalam. For a fee, they publish recordings for you, and distribute them to places like iTunes, Napster, Amazon, and other online mp3 "stores". I had a few songs hanging around, so I thought it would be fun to go for it.

I published an EP with four songs on it, and called it "Consenting Adults". This is because all the musicians I recorded with were of legal age, and they agreed to work with me without too much Rohypnol-I-mean-persuasion.

And here it is:
I wrote the first, third and fourth songs. "Wedding" was written by a good friend of mine when we were in the Montreal Goof Rock band Rude Guru, back in the late-80's. He goes by the name of Dr Trinidad. He's actually married to Professor Maggie who writes the blog, Something Up With Which I WIll Not Put. They live in Montreal.

I recorded "Anti-60's Protest Song" with a groovy German girl called Barbarella when I was living in London; we lived in the same area, and recorded a few songs together. She's a great pianist with a good ear for producing and arranging music. She now lives in (on?) Lanzarote, where she mainly does website stuff. Check out her photo blog and personal website here ->

I recorded Dr Trinidad's "Wedding" on a weekend visit in Germany. A chap called Reto did all instruments except guitar, which I did. The backing vocals were done by the girls in the house at the time.

The last two songs were recorded with Adam in Milton Keynes, England. Adam played lead guitar on both songs (those groovy solos are not mine, alas). Coincidentally, Adam's girlfriend is actually Dr Trinidad's sister. Small world, eh? Have a look at Adam & Nicole's websites - Whispering Back, and Born to Whisper - especially if you're into horses.

Sales of the EP are currently doing better in Europe than in North America, they're doing particularly well in Sweden. In fact, all sales of "Consenting Adults" have so far come from here. Yes, I am the only person to have purchased the EP, and it was by accident. I was testing out how the iTunes purchasing works, and I accidentally bought my own EP.

So, what I'm really hoping is that some of my readers in the US and/or Canada will buy it as well. If two people in the USA were to buy my EP, I could say that twice as many copies were sold over there than here, so I would be "big in America", relatively speaking. That would make my January complete.

So how 'bout it guys? Yeah, you two; you know who you are...

That about wraps it up for the fun stuff, I think.

As for what still annoys me: Ängelholm still exists. Why?

It's time that the Swedish government did something about it.

That's what I think - and Lucy Fur the cat agrees.

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Saturday, January 09, 2010

Saturday, January 9th, 2010:
Healthcare in Malmö, Sweden -
my foot!

What I think:

Happy New Year. May 2010 bring you lots of attractive things with elaborate frilly edges and modern, but artistically understated, motifs.

With the continued hub-bub about so-called "socialized" (UK: socialised) healthcare in the US, I thought I'd share my recent nightmarish experience here in Sweden.

About 15 months ago, I posted about how I broke some small bones in my right foot, in a very Rock 'n' Roll kind of way. At the time, I wasn't given any kind of treatment, and no X-rays were taken. The doctor I saw just felt my foot, established where bones were broken, and sent me on my merry way, telling me to try to walk on it as soon as possible.

I have since heard from others that more should have been done - maybe an X-ray to confirm her diagnosis, and possibly some kind of brace. At least a pair of crutches would have been nice.

In any case, time went by, and my foot eventually healed. I would get occasional discomfort, but nothing severe or long-lasting. Until about six weeks ago. I started getting pain again, and it seemed to be here to stay - and it was getting progressively worse. I've developed a bit of a limp; if I walk how I'm naturally supposed to, I'm in pain, so I often walk on the outer side of my foot. I look like a little criminal.

So, yesterday, I decided to do something about it. This is where my nightmare begins.

At about a quarter-past two, I rang a clinic here in Malmö, to see if I could arrange an appointment. I waited in the queue for five long minutes before I was answered. When I finally got through, I asked the lady on the line if she spoke English (contrary to popular belief, not everyone in Sweden speaks English). She said that she did.

This lady was annoyingly friendly on the phone. When I started explaining my problem, she interrupted me to ask me for my Personnummer (person number - Sweden's social security number). The rest of the conversation went like this:

Her: "I see you're registered in Stattena [an area of Helsingborg]."
Me: "Yes, I moved to Malmö in March."
Her: "Ah. Well you'll have to register here before we see you."
Me: "OK, so should I come in and fill in a form, and make an appointment after that?"
Her: "Well, what's your problem, exactly?"

I gave her a brief version of the story, and told her that I'm now pretty much in constant pain when I walk. Then she said, "Well, there's an appointment slot open for three o'clock."
Me: "That's in about half an hour!"
Her: "Yes. Just ask for the registration form when you get to reception."

I had been looking forward to a nice long wait of at least a few weeks to relish my delicious agony a while longer, but in one fell swoop, she completely ruined it. The nerve of that irritatingly polite woman.

About fifteen minutes minutes later, I got on my bike and cycled to the clinic (the first time I ever cycled when there was snow on the ground - it's pretty common here; looky here ->). I got there at about five-to, and checked in at reception.

I was given a very long and complicated form to fill in. It required all of the following information:
- My name (first and last),
- My address, including my post code,
- My Personnummer - all twelve digits, with a dash after the eighth digit (how complicated is that!?)
- Then I had to spend time writing down my signature (something that takes so much focus and concentration that my tongue automatically sticks out the side of my mouth), and the date (do I look like a calendar, or what?).

I just wanted someone to look at my foot; I didn't expect all this bureaucracy. Jeez.

I handed in the form, and then I had to pay for my visit. I was charged 200 Kronor (about US$28.30 / CAN$29.20 / UK £17.65 / €19.65)!! Highway robbery, or what!?

I sat in the waiting room for almost ten whole minutes before the doctor came to get me. He shook my hand and introduced himself as "Eric". Umm... Eric? That didn't sound very professional to me.

In the examination room, Eric asked me loads of boringly relevant questions in an aggravatingly affable manner. He looked at my foot, pressed around a bit, and said that if it happened 15 months ago, the bones will definitely have healed. But he was a bit surprised that an X-ray wasn't taken at the time, just to double-check that it wasn't more serious.

He said he suspected that a nerve was irritated, and that I should try using a padded insert in my boot (available from any sports store), to take the weight off the troubled area. He also prescribed a two-week course of anti-inflammatory tablets, and booked an X-ray for me, so that my problem would be properly documented, just in case I need to go down the route of orthopedic surgery later on. It was an open booking, meaning that I could go for my X-ray any time they're open, at my convenience. Well, that's something good, at least.

Eric said that I should let him know how things go after a few weeks. OK.

I went to the Apoteket nearby to get my prescription of anti-inflammatory tablets. I handed over my Swedish ID, and the cheerful woman behind the desk tapped in my Personnummer and got my prescription from the online system. Paper prescriptions are quickly becoming obsolete here in Sweden (if they still exist at all). My pills cost me a whopping 160 Kronor (about US$22.60 / CAN$23.35 / UK £14.10 / €15.70)! This was costing me a fortune.

I went to a sports store (something I would never normally do), and asked for a "pelotte", which is the little pad I was supposed to put in my boot. I'd never heard of it, but they knew exactly what it was. There goes another 100 Kronor (about US$14.15 / CAN$14.60 / UK £8.85 / €9.80).

I got home, placed my pelotte, popped my pill, and pondered my plight. Since the time I picked up the phone, I'd wasted a total of two whole hours of my life, and spent a gigantic 440 Kronor (about US$62.25 / CAN$64.20 / UK £38.85 / €43.20), just to get something done about my foot.

I think it's totally unacceptable that this type of thing is allowed to happen in any society. More should be done to warn innocent people of the dangers that Rock 'n' Roll can bring to their feet, especially in this day and age. It's time that the Swedish government did something about it. That's what I think.

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