International...

I'm currently in Stockholm Arlanda airport. Again. It didn't strike me in any way as I passed through on Thursday, but now, feeling a bit hungry, and very tired, my vibe-ometer is starting to sway towards "Whoa, Bummer".

It got off to a bad start - a tiresome warren of corridors and stairs led to the passport control, which in turn led to more stairs. The door marked "Transfers" was locked, and you needed to call a security guard on an intercom to let you in. In better spirits this might have seemed quaint, rather than parochial.

Then I tried to purchase some food, thinking how nice it would be to while an hour in the corner of a cafe, reading whilst sipping a hot chocolate. As I queued it struck me that I've never actually happily sat in a cafe reading a book. I tend to gulp the coffee then feel obliged to leave, or, get absorbed in the book and let the coffee go cold. Damn advertisers and their manufactured cosy sentiments! Well to cut an increasingly lengthening story short, I got to the till, to find that they won't accept euros. In an international airport. Insular Bastards. So they... they took my coffee and cookie away... I... It's to early to talk about it.

So I sit here, wallowing in my bad vibe. I'm not going to post yet about my fantastic weekend - to do that justice I'd have to be in a good mood. I really need to get hydrated though, I'll see if they'll exchange my crazy currency for a coke at the bar or something.