Kanelbullar - Swedish Cinnamon Buns

School's out for the kids, and they will have lots of time to "fika" - take coffee/lemonade breaks - for the coming six weeks. That means they need something sweet to eat with the lemonade.

I decided to make Kanelbullar, a variety of cinnamon buns I have only seen in Sweden, with the kids. All Swedish cakes I have baked since moving to the UK have been well received (a chocolate cake I made got sold at a Christmas fair before the sale officially started). I guess it is the novel taste that makes them interesting, hardly my competence :-)

You can buy them frozen at Ikea Food, but please don't. The Ikea ones don't resemble the homemade at all. To make sure that as many people as possible can enjoy them, I am sharing the recipe here (making 30-40 buns - normally lasting an afternoon).

The end result in a "Berså" bowl from Gustavsberg. It can't be more Swedish than that...

First of all - have a helper available. My 8-year old daughter helped me and was brilliant at mixing ingredients and eating the buns.

Ingredients:

Dough: 
Butter - 150 g
Milk - 1 pint/5dl
Salt - 1/2 teaspoon
Cardamom - 1 tablespoon pods (crush them to powder in a mortar)
Caster sugar - 1dl
Egg - 1
Yeast - 50g fresh or 3 satchels of Dried Yeast
White flour - 12-13dl or 800-900g

Filling:
Butter - 150g (room temperature)
Sugar  - 2dl
Cinnamon - 2 tablespoons

Finish:
Egg - 1
White granulated sugar (large granules)

How to do it:
Melt the butter in a pan (don't overheat it).

Add the milk, salt, cardamom, sugar and egg to the butter in the pan and mix.

Heat the fluid to 37° C if you're using fresh yeast, warmer if you're using dried yeast (my indicator for is to test with the index finger - if it feels neither hot nor cold, you have the correct temperature for fresh yeast. For dried yeast I just heat it a bit longer, until it feels warm but not unpleasantly hot.) Stir while warming so that you can feel the temperature properly.

Put the yeast in a big bowl (if you use fresh yeast remember to crumble it first) and pour the fluid over it. Stir to completely dissolve the yeast in the fluid.

Pour about 10dl of the flour in the bowl - not all at once - and blend it with an electric mixer. When the flour has mixed completely with the fluid and you have a nice even (quite wet) dough, add in flour until it gets a bit more firm. Ideally the dough is a bit wet, but not runny.

Sprinkle a bit of flour on the dough, cover it with a tea-towel, and set the timer to 45 minutes and wait for the dough to work to about double its size.

The dough after rising to double its size (it took exactly 45 minutes)

While the dough is working - prepare the filling. Put the room temperature butter in a bowl, add in the sugar and cinnamon and mix to an even texture and colour (no white bits from the butter). I use a spoon for that, but I am sure it is more efficient to use a mixer.

The brown goo is the filling after being stirred. It tastes much better than it looks.

When the timer has gone off, push the dough back into the bowl and divide it into two equal size portions.

One half of the dough on floured baking table 

Sprinkle your baking table lightly with flour, and roll the dough portions into rectangles about the size of a baking tray with a rolling pin. The thinner and larger you roll it, the more swirls you get (and you might need more filling for a really thin dough).

One half of the dough rolled to a good size.

Spread the filling on the dough.

The gooey filling spread out.

Roll the rectangles up from the long side.

The dough rolled up half way

Cut each roll into 15-20 equal width pieces and place the pieces with the cut facing up on baking trays with baking paper (or aluminium foil) on.

I use to cut the dough roll up in four equal size sections before cutting them to size. Then cut them into about 1/2 inch pieces. 

Place them, cut facing up on a baking tray and let rise again under a tea-towel.

Place a tea-towel over the baking trays with the buns on. Set the timer to 40 minutes and wait for the buns to rise a second time.

Whisk the egg for the finish.

When the timer goes off this time brush the buns with the whisked egg. Lightly sprinkle the granulated sugar over the buns after you've brushed them.

Brush the buns with eggs. Then sprinkle granulated sugar on them.

Shove the tray in the middle of the oven. My oven is an old-fashioned one, so I can only have one tray in it at a time, but if you've got a convection oven you might be able to do better.

Set the timer to 7 minutes - check that they look light brown (if they start getting black you're too late) before taking them out.

Get them off the tray and wait a few minutes - then enjoy! (My kids like to drink a glass of warm milk with them).

The end result (hopefully) :-)

Fish signs

After having spent a lot of time finding new places to visit during weekends and Bank Holidays, we found Brittens Pond today. Brittens Pond is a small angling pond, run by Guildford Angling Society. Perfect for Leon, as he has been missing the ease of access we had to fishing spots around where we lived in Sweden. And quite good for me as well - I am thinking I can drop him off there with his fishing kit on my way to the golf course and pick him up on my way back.

What really made the family's day was this incomprehensible sign plastered to every other tree around the pond:

What does it mean? No jogging with happy fish? No heating caught fish? No poking sticks at dead fish? I also like the fact that there is an extra space for a sponsor - I wonder who would like to cough up to make the sign slightly more meaningful to the uninitiated...

Bad golfers wanted!

I have moved to the worlds golf paradise, with about nine golf courses within 10-15 minutes from my house. And quite a lot of the people I meet play golf. The only thing is that not one I meet plays to my lousy standards.

I started playing last year and got through my test just before the season ended. Sad to say, I haven't had any chance to play at all this year because of the move and all that came with it, and I can feel my hard-earned skill fading.

So I went to the least impressive golf course around here, the Rokers Golf Club, that also have a driving range, with my daughter to see if the clubs would obey me.

They did to some extent - I managed to not kill or injure anyone, and I got most balls to somewhere onto or near the driving range. It was a bit humiliating to have to shout Fore! when the ball went over a fence and onto the green of one of the real holes...

What I need now is someone about as bad as myself to play with, so if you are close by and fancy a terrible round (my handicap is 36+) - don't hesitate to contact me on the blog!

Tube strike and hirebikes

Yesterday, I got back to work from my holiday. I quickly noticed one thing - the hirebike scheme had really taken on, and there were no bikes at the docking stations around Waterloo when I arrived. I walked for ten minutes between the different docking stations from Waterloo to Blackfriars bridge, just to find them all empty until I managed to get a bike from someone that just left his.

I didn't think at the time that empty docking stations at Waterloo would mean full docking stations everywhere else. But it did. When I got to where I was going in Holborn, the first four docking stations I tried were full, and it wasn't until I got into deepest Bloomsbury that I could find a place to get rid of the bike.

I guess the bike redistribution hasn't really followed the usage patterns, and I really hope that someone is looking at the statistics for people trying to return their bikes. The amount of confused biking novices in London competing for the last vacant docking point is sure to affect the accident rate in London.

Today the tube has not been working due to a strike. Oddly enough - at the same time as a major strike is happening in France. I am sure they are not connected, but it certainly makes working in London for a company with French headquarters a bit of a challenge...

I have never seen so many people walking the streets of London as today. The massive train of lemmings leaving Waterloo for the City on foot was outright impressive. But it also meant even fiercer competition over the hirebikes, and I had to walk even farther than yesterday to get one. Returning it proved to be almost impossible, and I had to race two others for the last spot at the only docking station not ridiculously far from where I wanted to go. I won.

Tomorrow, I'm going to go to work at least an hour earlier than I use to, to avoid the struggle and the awkward feeling when walking away from the docking station in front of the two that didn't get to return their bikes...

Body language

My daughter knows approximately 20 words in English, and is due to start school in year three on Monday. She just finished the first year at her previous - Swedish - school, and struggled a bit there, and I am a bit worried about her skipping a year and learning a new language at the same time. But on the other hand, everybody are telling me she'll be fine, so I'm sure she will.

One area where she isn't struggling is gymnastics. We took her to a trial at the local gym club yesterday, and she somehow got through the class doing all the exercises. And getting told to go for a more advanced group without understanding more than one word of what the coach said. The magic word was "Stretch", and was used quite a bit. I asked her afterwards how she'd done it, and she said "Easy, I just looked at what the others tried to do, and did it right". Some confidence...

So today she tried the advanced group in the same club and again went through the class doing everything right. Apart from one thing, where I could see the coach trying to correct her. When I asked her afterwards what is was, she said that she cartwheeled different from how the coach wanted her to do it. "How did you know that? Did you understand what the coach said?", I asked her. "No, the words didn't mean anything, but she showed me what I did differently", she answered.

It is quite impressive how unimportant words are sometimes, and how much you can achieve without knowing any. But I still hope that she catches up soon. English, science and history are going to be hell otherwise...

Heavy plant crossing

Yesterday, when driving on the A24 towards the south coast, we saw a sign warning for a "Heavy Plant Crossing". We couldn't understand what it means, and after just getting lots of search results referring to an Indie Blues band on Google, I really need someone to help out.

Does it mean that massive trees are occasionally crossing the road?

Like the Amazon Walking Palm trees? Guess they don't really exist in the UK though...

Or does it mean that a factory of some sort crosses the road?

I really like this video - the guy is obviously liking driving big machinery!

Or is it actually an ad for an Indie Blues band gig ahead?

Please comment with your answer. I wouldn't want to crash into either...

English for foreign kids

Today we went to Ina's and Leon's new school to visit and get the school uniform details we couldn't get elsewhere - ties, cardigan, sweaters, PE shorts and t-shirts with the school colours and logo on them. I asked a lot of questions around their routine in handling children without any knowledge of English, and they were quite relaxed about it. Until I started asking lots of detailed questions on lunch routines, which was the proper tie knot and other things they take for granted everyone knows. I think they got a bit worried after that.

My image of UK schools was that they were really old (and old-fashioned) and that the curriculum was more about talking about ancient battles and polo than teaching things of actual value - an image that got underpinned by David Cameron as he worried about the London school his children should be going to after he moved to 10 Downing Street.

But the school seemed really nice, and was refurbished a few years ago - and completely changed that image. They are a bit slower in teaching subjects like maths and foreign languages than at the school the children came from in Sweden. Even though both Ina and Leon are skipping a year, they are ahead of the school's plan for the year they are going to be in. And they started school at the age of six - here they start when the children are four years old. But having said that - they focus on a considerably broader curriculum with for example music and art/crafts rather than just focusing on the core subjects like maths, literacy and science. And the atmosphere seems quite a lot more adjusted to the children's actual needs here.

When I looked for literature for my children to learn English from, I found my old English textbook from fourth grade - probably a reason for my image of the English school system...

Vulcan howls and Tornado roars!

Today was a big day! It was Wings and Wheels at Dunsfold - the airfield that doubles as TopGear's test track.

I went with Ina and Oliver, leaving Leon and Mel at home to do more Ork painting.

It turned out to be quite exciting for the children - and definitely an eye-opener for me. The number of fighter-jets, WWII aircraft showing off as well as some strange exhibits - balloon bursting and flower bombing amateur pilots and a clown aircraft trying desperately to land on a trailer stuck to a Bentley - were definitely worth the trip.

The wheels part of Wings and Wheels didn't really make that much difference.

When we turned up, a propeller plane did the weirdest maneuvers, and almost caused heart attacks amongst the audience as it looked like it might fall out of the sky any second. And following this, a massive display of different pilots tormenting their planes into doing impossible things. And got away with it! The kids were exhausted just by looking at it.

The similar shows I have visited in Sweden (a long time ago, I must confess) was nothing like this. They normally sported a Viggen and a Draken, and later a JAS-39 Gripen and not much more.

So the violent 20th century British history has definitely paid off in terms of what to put on an air-show. And the size of the population interested in cars and planes are much bigger here, allowing for bigger events.

The two loudest acts were the Vulcan - apparently the only one still active - and the Tornado. The Vulcan put up quite a show, and it was amazing what agility an old bomber like that could sport in the impossible winds at Dunsfold today. And when its four jet engines made their signature sound, called the Vulcan howl, a large audience cheered and applauded. It is astonishing that the British people has raised 8 million pounds to get this Vulcan in shape to use for active duty.

The Tornado - a much more modern aircraft - made a sound that was loud enough to set the car alarms of the on-display cars off as it roared above the runway, showing its grunt power and maneuverability. Ina thought she could feel the heat from the after-burners, as it accelerated straight up from the crowd.

Lunch next to some large military lorry.

An interesting display was the old and completely shot-up German fighter with a sign saying "Built in Germany, landed by the British". Especially as the Tornado is a display of the later European peace-keeping efforts, where the German as well as the British Air Forces both used the aircraft.

And the 747, landed quite a way from the rest of the planes, is just big.

Guess how much I love you

Today was a day of roaming Guildford. And Guildford is a really nice town. It has got all the shops you need, and then some. And it has got all the coffee-shops, restaurants, theaters, sports facilities and cricket fields you can possibly want. And the towns setting is really pleasant, with the river Wey running through it, creating a nice lung in the middle of town.

We went shopping and lunching, dropping Leon off at his hideout commanding his Orks to glory against Nekron monoliths.

And when having done all that, Ina and Oliver decided that they wanted to see "Guess how much I love you" at the Yvonne Arnaud theatre by the river. A really good play for the kids getting to learn new words and get to move about during the play. Both of them actually understood most of what was said, and we decided that children's theatre plays must be the optimal way to learn more English.

Funnily enough, we met another Swedish family at the theatre. The sat just in front of us, and seemed a pleasant family. Oliver said: "Look, dad, another Swedish family!" and then "Now I can't say anything rude, can I?"... And the children of the other family said "Lets go where the other Swedes are going" when we left the theatre.

The "Guess how much I love you" is on tour through-out the UK at the moment.

It is interesting that the UK seems to attract so many Swedes. It is more the rule than the exception that I hear Swedish spoken at Sainsbury's. And we managed to meet a Swedish couple the first night the family went out to eat at Zizzi's - the Guildford branch of a chain of Italian restaurants.

I guess that quite a lot of the Swedes in Guildford have something to do with the UK Ericsson HQ being here. And the UK perception of Swedes is quite positive. All I have heard is that we are good, efficient when working, and impossible to drink under the table.

Some of our violent Viking history hasn't gone unnoticed though. When I told the people I work with that I had hit someone with a dart, they dryly stated that it was probably in my nature, and that I should get my accent to sound more like Carl-Henric Svanberg's or Svennis', thus warning people that I am Swedish...

Short trip to Shere

Today we decided to go to Shere. Noone really wanted to go, but kids locked in for too long is not good for anything.

Shere is a beautiful little village a ten minute drive from Guildford with picturesque houses. The Tillingbourne stream with lots of ducks goes straight through and it has got a ford we didn't cross by car. We walked over a footbridge instead.

There are two pubs in the village centre - one called the White Horse and the other called William Bray. We decided to get afternoon tea at the White Horse, originally a 15th century farm, but an inn since the 17th century. The Doom Bar was as it should be and the sandwiches were really nice. The children saw the crisps they got with the sandwiches as a bonus. All in all exactly as a traditional English pub should be :-)

The William Bray looks a bit more up-market and is certainly a place I would like to visit next time.

The village also houses a few shops. Among them a trekking and outdoors shop, a grocers, a florist, a greengrocer's and an interior design shop. The village also had its own bric-a-brac shop, the Shere Shop, where you can buy anything from bottle openers with real scorpions in the handle to night gowns. It clearly got the longest visit of the day. We missed out on the Lucky Duck - the local tea room, and will have to come back for that as well...

For many, Shere is a place to start the hike through the Downs or the Surrey Hills. For us it was a nice place to visit, just to get out a bit. We are sure to visit again.

Now I know which newspaper to read!

Thanks Linda for sharing this! I was struggling to find the newspaper to read, but as everything they write in the Daily Mail is true, I'll get that!

Short trips between boxes

I am on holiday now, which means unpacking boxes and finding places to store stuff not really necessary here. The "when/if we want to go back some day, we might need it" stuff. The when/if is depending on who is saying it.

In between unpacking boxes, we have found some time to get out and about a bit. I have driven past a few spots when on the road and now felt like I would like to know what they are.

The first spot is Newlands Corner, which is a five minute drive from our house. It is a good starting point for excursions into the Surrey Downs with a few forest areas and nice walks. The view from the parking lot over the Downs is absolutely stunning!

It has a Visitors Centre where you can find maps over the Downs and a bit of information about the history of the place as well as a small exhibition of flint arrowheads and other relics. Next door to the Visitors Centre is a snack kiosk that serves burgers and chips and other refreshments. Extremely convenient and an excellent place to have as a goal (and handy for a bribe when the walk felt long in their short legs) for the hour-long walk with the two smallest children. I took them on when Mel was shopping in Guildford with the oldest son.

Somewhere in this image there is a squirrel. I think.

Another spot quite close to Newlands Corner is the Silent Pool. The name is certainly enough to get the imagination started. And the legend about the Pool is no less intriguing. It is said that a maiden - the woodcutters daughter - was bathing in the pool when a nobleman, some say it was Prince John, came riding by. When she didn't oblige his effort of luring her to the bank, he drove her out where she couldn't reach the bottom any more with his horse and she drowned. She is now said to be haunting the small lake.

The at the moment not so Silent pool is just behind O.

Sadly, the place itself isn't very attractive - the first impression is a terrible smell, and after a short walk you get to the first of the two small lakes called Sherbourne Pond. It is an overgrown pond. A little while later you get to the Silent Pool, which is a little bigger, and extremely calm. It is quite understandable that people visiting at night should get the creeps.

Close by is an organic vineyard - the Albury Vineyard. I have promised myself that I shall try their wines as soon as they go on the market. More locally grown wine is impossible to get, and the wording on their web site and on the signs near the Silent Pool is promising.

These vines should be producing nice sparkly wine in a few years...

As the last sightseeing spot before heading home, we went past Shere, which is a really cosy and in my mind exact image of rural England. I must spend some more time there - especially as both pubs visible from the street going through the village looks very nice.

CCTV = Cat TV?

To follow up on my last blog post, I noticed a new facebook-group who is created to target a woman (now called Kitty Litter) who binned a cat in Coventry. Read the story here

The reason the owners got to know that someone actually threw their cat in their litter bin was that they had the premises covered by CCTV. After they had found the cat in the bin they went through the material and got the evidence they needed to notify the RSPCA. But also the material they needed to make the cruel woman Public Enemy no 1 by publishing the footage on facebook and spreading it via traditional media.

So behave if you visit this country! Otherwise you might get to see yourself in less flattering image sequences spread like wildfire through the media landscape...

Oh - and my squirrel doesn't want to be captured on film. He hasn't visited once since I hooked up my computer. He is probably aware that I will publish his footage on facebook when he is caught...

Smile, you're on camera!

The UK must be the country in the world with the greatest surveillance camera coverage. Everywhere you go, you are sure to be filmed.

I haven't yet decided if I like it or not. It is a bit weird to think that every step I take is recorded, and that my car got into some vehicle database the second I drove on to the ferry in Calais and is now tracked every time I drive on the main roads or in London.

Who is watching all the film recorded by the cameras? It must be the most boring job you can have. And as the total number of surveillance cameras in the UK is estimated to be 4.2 million with over 500 000 in private premises in London alone, I guess they need quite a few people to go through all the recordings if they need to.

That someone is watching was obvious when I once heard a voice from the PA system at one of the London airports saying "Please respect that this is a non-smoking airport" when a gentleman lit a cigarette. When he didn't obey, probably thinking that it was a recorded message and not directed at him, the voice got more determined "Please extinguish your cigarette." The man looked up, clearly confused. "Yes, you in the white coat". That was it. The man threw his cigarette away and looked extremely guilty...

Well, I am in the process of learning how to live like the locals, so I have decided to create my own CCTV solution at home. The practical use for it is to monitor the squirrel that finds its way into the house at night.

There is quite a lot of software that turns a computer with webcam into a surveillance system, so I downloaded and set one up and placed the computer strategically, setting it to record on movement. I hope I'll be able to share some images of the squirrel on the blog soon. So my little furry friend: Smile, you're on camera!

Waaagh!

Suddenly, I got a completely new vocabulary!

We considered several ways for our oldest son to learn his new language and getting to know people his own age before going to school in September. By almost stumbling into a Games Workshop he found the ultimate way to learn. He has been learning to play Warhammer 40 000, in a hobby oriented shop, and has learnt quite a lot of English in the process.

Almost immediately he chose to play with and extend his Orc Ork army, getting to shout Waagh! every now and again. He has been painting detailed models and has learned more about the different Orc Ork clans and their colours, specific weaponry and armors than I thought possible. 

I worry a bit about the language he is now using. He knows about a million words essential to the game, but quite difficult to use in normal conversation. How do you explain that you want someone to pass the milk with words for deploying armies in a scenic battle-field?

As I have followed him to the Workshop, I have gained quite a vocabulary as well. I now know what an Orc Ork Stompa, a Big Shoota and a Killa Kan is.

The big fellow above is an Orc Ork Stompa. It is assembled from over 250 pieces of plastic and meticulously painted by hand before wreaking havoc at any battle-field. And the eldest sons biggest wish for a birthday present...

Hirebiking in London

I found that the new Cyclehire scheme in London fits me perfectly. I haven't got any quick public transport from Waterloo to work near Barbican, and walking is a bit too far.

A bike ride is only about ten minutes, and the system is near perfect - I've got a docking station just across the road from work, and there are a few docking stations near Waterloo station.

The first time I tried it was last Friday. Everything went well - until I tried to brake by backpedalling, which didn't really do anything at all, rendering me some quite nasty looks from the taxi drivers that had to send their passengers flying to avoid running me over.

Today, when I tried to use one again, the docking station was blinking red when I tried to get a bike from it. I got a worried that someone had banned me from using them for being a menace to motorists. I sneaked away before anyone could see the red light and checked my account. I found that I hadn't understood the charging model - you actually have to pay for a full day's use, even if the ride is less than the free half hour, if you only pay for a one day or seven day pass.

Well, I'm going to try it again tomorrow, so a piece of friendly advice is not to drive through London if you had planned to do so.

Sign forests

One thing that is notably different from Sweden is the amount of signs in this country. There are signs for everything. And it has apparently always been like that. Peter Ackroyd wrote in his book "London - the biography" that the signs in 18th century London were so plentiful and so large that they touched those on the opposite side of the street and blocked out the sky, as well as falling down on and injuring or killing innocent passers-by on the street below.

The signs aren't quite as dangerous anymore, but still abundant, and there seem to be no occasion to insignificant to honor with a sign.

When the family went to Dad's Day Out - an event sporting supercars driving at insane speed, high-flying motorbikes and all sorts of real dangers at Dunsfold (where the TopGear race track is) - we got quite confused by a large sign saying "Warning Trip Hazard".








We looked everywhere for some dangerous drop, and couldn't believe that the trip hazard warned about was the edge of the asphalt and a power cord...










I quite often find myself looking for burst water mains or leaking roofs because of yellow signs saying "Caution - Wet Floor" with a man violently slipping backwards on them. I have seldom found anything I could slip on when passing one of those signs.

I encountered one of the most interesting displays of signs at the local tip. In one corner of the premises, someone had placed some stairs not really going anywhere. And at the top of the stairs - two signs telling the visitor about the danger of falling from height, and that you shouldn't climb on hand. Climb on hand?

The signs here are almost always food for thought. I'm still pondering what the following two signs from the same tip mean.

What does lost time accident mean? And of what is it that I have recycled 71%? 

All in all, I really appreciate the signs. I do understand that they are there to help people find what they are looking for, or to prevent them from hurting themselves. In Sweden, in the country's quest for efficiency, only the bare minimum of directional signs and almost no warning signs at all are displayed. I guess the message to visitors to Sweden is "Fail once and never again".

Mythbusting train chat with stranger

Today a myth was busted. The British are not at all reserved and don't necessarily discuss the weather when they address strangers. All according to a Mediterranean that told me so just before I got off my train home.

I just now (several hours later) realised that he meant that I was the Brit, and that he referred to a conversation I had with an American sitting opposite me on the train. It just didn't occur to me that anyone could mistake me for being British. I don't really look like anyone else here, and I wore a suit on a Friday, which is about as grave an error as throwing darts at people in the pub (which I - I'm sorry to confess - have also done).

So here is how I changed the gentleman's prejudice against the British.

I had a few moments before the train from Sutton were to carry me towards Clandon and the car waiting to take me to dinner. I helped a guy who had just arrived on a flight from the US find out how many stops until Epsom where he was heading. And after that we kept on talking about Europe and the US and he told me that he was from Guildford in Connecticut. All in all a friendly chat that lasted the ten minutes until he got of the train. It turned out that he was a young photographer. From what I can see on his site - he seems quite promising.

And weirdly enough, this short conversation turned out to be a mislead life-changing experience for an eavesdropper in the carriage...

Selling the Swedish house and getting school uniforms

At the same time as I tried to get a bank account and get everything ready for the family to move in to the house in Guildford, the house-selling process in Sweden continued. The first family to sign the contract backed out, and new viewings were planned. This time the real estate agent clearly stated the risks with buying an old house, and a couple signed up. This fell through as well, and we began to despair.

The garden of the Swedish house. It is a lovely house, and I'm sure the new owners will enjoy it!

Luckily, a couple from Malmö fell in love with the house and bought it, just as we were thinking about alternatives to selling.

Finally, the family was together in Guildford, and we could start our new life!

Now, the process of actually signing up for schools for the children started. You can't sign up until living in the catchment area, and as the move took longer than we had expected, school admission got to be the highest priority.

All went well, and Mel could buy school uniforms for the children - which they really loved! I guess it lasts until they actually have to use them...

First time in school uniforms. The oldest didn't want to pose. 

English hospitality

One thing that is quite different from Scandinavia is the genuine hospitality and friendliness towards strangers shown by the English folk to newcomers like me. I hadn't even begun working at the London office before getting invited to the local pub for a few pints of Engine Oil. Which is a strong and dark kind of beer you don't require a lot of to get drunk...

And I got positively surprised when my colleague asked me to come over to his local pub, when he understood that I otherwise would sit alone in my house without furniture and without anyone to talk to. Skype is a lot, but not a real substitute for meeting people...

The local pub I got invited to. It is normally quite crowded.

So a nice afternoon, where I got to meet with lots of new and interesting people, all very open to new aquaintancies. I even got invited to play on the pub's Cricket team. Which I didn't do, to ensure everyones safety...

And the colleagues, most residents of Guildford, our neighbors and other people I meet are happy to let me get to know them and where to go and what to do. This country is a good place to meet nice people in and they really make me feel welcome!