AFTER giving you a little glimpse into life on tour in Denmark, I now endeavour to give you a flavour of neighbouring Sweden; a very specific flavour, in fact.
Anyone who has read my daily diary would agree that I have consistently logged my time in Scandinavia in a mature, intelligent, informative manner. I am here as a representative of the town’s newspaper, bringing you up-to-date stories from its major football club.
It is a duty I take very seriously. And that is why when I walked into a Swedish newsagents yesterday, I was absolutely cock-a-hoop when I discovered I could buy a bar of Plopp.
Okay, the celebratory jig might have been a bit much. But this chocolate bar made a long and uncomfortable walk around Malmo completely worth it.
I had an hour spare, so thought I’d head out into the centre and buy my obligatory fridge magnet.
Problem was, no bank I could find would accept my card – and all I had was Danish Krone.
On top of that, I’d consumed a pretty big cup of coffee on the train over and needed to spend a penny in more ways than one.
I’d have had an easier time trying to infiltrate the Pentagon. Every place I visited had combination locks on the loo.
I raced back to the station to find you had to pay 10 krone – 80 pence – to use their facilities, and they did not give change.
My only escape would be to find a bank in the 20 minutes until my train to Burlöv turned up, get change from a note somewhere, then let nature take its course.
I made it, of course, breaking my note in the newsagent's by purchasing my bar of Plopp.
I’d like to tell you that, despite its rather unfortunate name, the product itself was a tasty one. It most certainly wasn’t, but like Ronseal I suppose the warning was right there on the wrapper.