Hello, beloved ones!
I'm not on honeymoon anymore. I came back to the Realm of the Swedes on Sunday, with a bag full of ethanol-filled bottles. Well, at least two bottles of gin, one bottle of Vodka and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Don't come to me and say that Scandinavians have a liquor problem. We just like to binge drink a lot.
Anyway. On the plane back home there was suddenly huge flashes of lightning, and a deep voice among the thunder in the hell ridden sky that shouted to me: "I will strike upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who buy cheap alcohol in Spain and bring it across the borders of Europe!" I briefly wondered why Samuel was so angry with me, but I shrugged it off. What could he do about it, I thought.
He gave me fever, coughing and a cataclysm of snot. I'm not kidding when I tell you that I have blown half of my brain out of my nose, and coughed up vital parts of my intestines.
My point with this being that I don't feel fit to watch any film more mentally challenging than Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), and no movie more sophisticated than Dodgeball (2004). And even if I would try to make you suffer by reviewing the last one, the quality of my writing would not exceed that of Dan Brown's. You deserve better.
To quote Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich: Hold tight.