On Wednesday nights, everyone else in the family has “extracurricular activities”. Eric and Adrian have a scout meeting, Ingrid goes dancing. Quite often I take this opportunity to work late.

Today I worked a few extra hours but then found myself too tired to really do anything productive. So I gave up, and instead took the metro to the Science Fiction Bookshop. I browsed the shop until a member of the staff came to tell me that they were closing.

I have a whole pile of books at home, waiting to be read, but none that I actually feel like reading right now. It’s like opening your fridge and looking around at all that is in there and still feeling that there is nothing to eat in the house.

I rarely have reason to go to Old Town, and when I do it’s almost always for the SF Bookshop. I keep being surprised by how solidly touristified it is. Many of the people I saw in the streets were walking around with selfie sticks or aimed big cameras at their girlfriends. The restaurants all have menus with prominent English translations, and a strong focus on reindeer, meatballs and other such things that can be sold to tourists as “very Swedish”.