The Frozen North «

The Frozen North

Tuesday 19th January 2016

Prince Dmitri was lodged at the Grand, doing some ghastly work for one of the Blue Chips. ‘Don’t ever be an Alpha Male,’ he said. We couldn’t stay at the Grand because of its association, for the Prince, with the ghastly work. Almost I didn’t go: so far, so north, so cold, so expensive. At the moment I’m plunged into money woe because of the Inland Revenue are very conspicuously not having a January sale and 31st January is pay-up-day. Stockholm is minus 15, Prince Dmitri warned. In the end, like a fool, I went. Why, there might never be another chance and I’ve always wanted to see it. So I took Club on air miles – and ascended to the level of the Multis. Prince Dmitri was derisive: ‘Is it because of who you are?’ ‘Why, yes,’ I said. He doesn’t even get Club from the Blue Chip outfit. Cod and mushy peas were offered in Club but no cheese and biscuits. At some point a notion entered my mind, but I was distracted by the view below of snow with patches of enchanted illumination – little towns and villages, I suppose, full of snow. What a world! The Frozen North. So the actual arrival in minus 15. Nobody much about; a glimpse of palaces, Swedish baroque, immediately identifiable, I’m not sure why, ocre hues, low-lying, an air of mystery and fairy-tale. The hotel was down an alley, Gustavian (oh yes! Gustavian) but really Ikea. Not the best but never mind. I had to beg them to get the window shut that wouldn’t shut. The radiators were luke-warm. The Diplomat was our other possible hotel,where Dmitri had stayed before, years ago. There was a danger we’d spend the 3 days hanging around outside it, yearning. The Prince and I ventured out in minus 15. It was dry and still and the pavements are passable because of diligent sweeping and the ice so hard and gritted it wasn’t slippery. After 20 minutes even a Harrods glove can’t stop the fingers from burning though. We had reindeer in a freezing cellar then retired. Stockholm was beginning to take shape. Gustavian, you see. It had been looming all day. The decor of the late 18th century from Sweden. Ikea did a range in the 1980s. Val was too late and could only get the brown chairs which he was always going to strip down and turn the true Gustavian pale, pale grey. Gustavian, Gustavian….. I’d come to the sacred land of Gustavian….