Been to Nice, twice. Part Sealed Air sales meetings, part fun with the lads. Promenade des Anglais never fails to perk you up after a Finnish winter of shit and despair. I always buy Hediard tea in Nice, makes any Karis breakfast into Paris brunch. Sat next to Keke (there is only one) on the flight home, but was so intimidated by his god-like aura that I did not dare speak to him, never mind cutting off a lock of his hair. All I could think of was, “why is he flying economy like me…”
What else? We took Scarlett to Junibacken in Stockholm. A lovely place for a child. In fact, we all had a great time inside the head of Astrid Lindgren. Are her characters not truly mindblowing? Frankly, I realized I’d been taking all these stories for granted, when in fact a huge – h-u-g-e – part of my childhood comes from her imagination alone. Ah, bow before the glorious unlimited power of fiction, still and always smoking plain old reality, exposing it for what it really is; a bit blurry and largely undefined.