A place I call home

I’ve lived in London for more than four years and it’s obvious that I’ve settled down here in one way or another. Although I know Clapham from Kennington, Chelsea from Shoreditch, home is somewhere else.

Home is where my mother lives. And my grandpa, my uncle and my cousins. Home equals family.

So it was with great pleasure I went home over the Easter weekend to spend time with those dear relatives and friends I so rarely see these days. As usual when I’m visiting my old stomping grounds, most hours revolve around food. There are dinner invites, coffee sessions and lazy morning breakfasts. After my last Christmas visit, my flatmate Gloria said with a grin “you’ve gained a bit of weight”. This is a statement every girl loves hearing, but alas it was true. Luckily, Easter food is slightly lighter than the stodgy Christmas fare, so I wasn’t in the risk zone. Just to make a point of it I bought a pair of jeans I barely could fit into, and congratulated myself on my skinny endeavours. Need I say I struggle ever so much to wear them now?

Body matters aside. I spent a lovely weekend and as usual didn’t want to leave my mother at the airport. Maybe a tear was shed on the bumpy plane ride to Stockholm (the propeller planes from K-town look like they are anything but safe), but I won’t admit to it.

This is my weekend. First up was a spring dinner in the countryside. Nothing beats seeing some fir trees.

Good Friday fun. Forgive me for being pagan.

A buffet consisting of lamb, salmon, roasted vegetables and that curious bread to the left. No one knew what it was, or the traditions behind it. But according to those who tasted it, it was egg and bread brought together in harmony. Or something like that…

A close-up of the mysterious egg bread.

On Easter Sunday it was time for serious fika at my uncle’s house. A good old Swedish sponge cake, and an even better sticky chocolate cake. With uncle’s excellent coffee of course.

My pretty cousin, who’s just turned 18 and can finally go out in Sweden, got ready to go out that night. I sat contemplating how nice it was that I didn’t have go out that night. I had another cake slice.

Spring was in the air and people were all over barbecues, shorts, and getting a sun tan. I had my time in the sun too, which made my chest sport a not-so flattering lobster shade. Since my Snow White looks deal with this quite badly, I’m already peeling. But hey, the sun in London is out too. Time for a top up.

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