We’ve all been there, I’m sure. You work your pan off to get everything done in time. You count down the days until you can break out of the madhouse of pre-Christmas London. Then you’re brought down by the dreaded lurgy.
I was all for cancelling our travel plans and spending Christmas under the duvet. But the Swedish Engineer was having none of it: she’d been promised Christmas in her homeland and it was a promise I was going to keep, even if I had to be med-evaced there.
I don’t really remember arriving in Stockholm. Too much Lemsip, Jameson’s and nasal spray can cloud the memory. But our fellow passengers, all pictures of Swedish health when we boarded at Heathrow, were now engaged in a mass cough-and-splutter at the carousel. I slunk off, trying not to look guilty.
I feared I might be turned away from our hotel as a health risk. Instead, we were admitted to heaven. The Stockholm Grand is the grande dame of Swedish hotels — an elegant pile in the heart of town overlooking the Palace, the Old Parliament and the waterfront.
“I saw no reason to ever leave the room”
This, dear reader, is the place to be if you’re under the weather. Efficient room service from the same friendly young eastern Europeans who’ve transformed London hospitality. Warmth and silence from the double-glazing that is de rigueur in even the humblest Swedish establishment, made even cosier by the leaden sky and chill wind outside.
I saw no reason ever to leave the room. The Swedish Engineer had other ideas. On the second night she invited some university friends for drinks and supper. This being Stockholm, they were all female: the menfolk were left at home to look after the children.
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