And yeah, that’s Richard Stallman. And yeah, this photo is copyrighted.

© Copyright Gabriel Hase, 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Between, whoever thinks I posted this photo with anti-RMS intentions: get your acts together! Richard is da man. And I’m a FSF member. And I love Emacs. BUT: The image is bizarre. That’s obvious. Now, get on with your lives. And stop emailing me, suckers.

I’m not sure you all know, but I’m a member of the Swedish gentlemen’s club “Dekadenz”. The club arranges regularly invitation-only events all over Europe. This Midsummer, it was time for Nice, and the French Riviera, to give us what we deserve: la dolce vita. Damn it, we even had royalties around… Tsar Gustaf and wife was there! A smashing hit, that’s what it was. Thanks guys!

We should be proud of that. In my world, it’s hinting that Sweden is a progressive and heterogeneous country.

In some sort of celebration of anti-patriotism and open-mindedness, I decided to put the commie-brick I’m currently reading (see column to the right) aside in favor of a biography of Oscar Wilde. Ever since stumbling upon the funny quote “work is the curse of the drinking classes”, I’ve wanted to read something about him.

OMG! Enough of this pretentious crap. Quickly, look at these superficial pictures from Valencia instead!

Since I have plenty of things to do tonight, I won’t give you a detailed account of the weekend’s many events and adventures. No, you’ll have to settle with knowing that we had fun, loads of it. But don’t just take my word for it, look how happy Rickard is down at the Perl du Lac.

On Saturday, we didn’t waste any time. We did however, get wasted. Well, at least Rickard and myself. Starting off on Le Brasseur, downing the biggest can of beer my dear sister had ever seen, we rapidly ended up on the inevitably path — quoting Hercule Poirot — to the “degeneration of the mind” that is far too familiar to many of us: namely, the sing-a-long-evening at the local Irish pub.

“But what about Friday?” — I’m sure the attentive reader wonders. Well, on Friday we… walked. And after that, we walked some more. And in the meantime, we passed by the UN building, and its many fountains, the American Mission, and its angry shouting guards, the Botanical gardens with its Peacock bird. Eventually, we reached Lac Leman, cashing in on the long detour by enjoying Geneva’s beautiful lake-side slowly revealing itself.

Oh, and before I forget about it, we went to France as well. We took the boat from Nyon to Yvoire, an old village with a cozy medieval air over it. Before taking off with the boat, we had time to stroll through Nyon. The picture to the left shows one of those futile attempts to use the camera’s self-timer function. To the right, Rickard is gazing out over the area exactly the way the Romans might have done it after founding the city.

For all savvy Tintinologists, this place is well-known for hosting big parts of the plot of the Calculus affair. Richard and I, both proud owners of the complete newly released Swedish updated translation of the whole Tintin series, decided while downing our tasty gelato (Italian icecream) to react one of the highly interesting scenes from the magazine. Namely, the one below. Hergé would have been proud, I’m sure.

On Sunday night, we finally got the chance to literately dig into Swiss food — yes, you guessed it: cheese fondue! Mandatory stuff for any visitor to Switzerland. Heléne, that includes you! Further on, I don’t like to point of the obvious, but just to avoid confusion: we’re looking stupid on these pictures. That was the idea, OK?

And last, but certainly not least. We stalked down Kofi Annan and his Swedish wife! He was eating lunch at the restaurant on Rosseau’s island. I agree it’s embarrassing and shameless, but in the heat of the moment, who can resist good ol’ celebrity spotting?

So everything was perfect? Well almost, the only downside I can think of was the Indian family pictured to the right. Although I’m sure they’re great people, they apparently used some voodoo magic on Heléne’s and Rickard’s camera wiping out all of their photos. Rickard must have ran out of karma after secretly paparazzied them.

So, I’m waiting for an invitation to the Strawberry Day. What is taking you so long?

However, quite early on during tonight’s fartlek (Yes, it’s an English word!), I managed to do something with my right ankle. It slowly became very stiff, until it got to the point where I barely could put any weight on it. A few minutes later, my whole right leg, from hip to ankle, exploded into the most furious cramps I’ve ever experienced. Naturally, I crashed together on the asphalt as a piece of meat. Naturally, I was right next to Geneva’s touristy Flower clock when it happened. Naturally, people rushed to my “help”.

Although I make a fool of myself pretty much every day, this felt like a record.

Other life-altering events lately include a session of amusingly serious pub golf, boosted by real clubs and the appropriate clothing, as well as last Saturday’s (free!) wine degustation in the area around the small village of Setigny. Seven hours of grape-goodness and four (or was it five?) splendid vineyards paved the way for an awesome Eurovision-evening at Carlos’ and Tom’s.