Landlady: A frosty reception

I have never been a big fan of Scandinavia. I have to admit that my opinion has been largely shaped by a long-ago trip to Copenhagen, where I had a few run-ins with uptight people and was horrified that a pint of beer, that cost £5 even 12 years ago, mainly consisted of froth.

My recent reception in another Scandinavian country didn’t go too well either. I was there only overnight to visit The Cuban Boyfriend in a rather clandestine manner. I rarely take much luggage with me on a two-week trip, so this time only had my handbag and some bagels and a pork pie in a carrier bag. Perhaps my pork-pie aroused suspicion – it caused problems at Gatwick as it apparently looked like a pot of cream on the X-ray.

I politely followed her, clutching my pork pie for dear life

As I went through customs, I was stopped by an un-uniformed lady, who politely asked if she could search my bag. I politely followed her, clutching my pork pie for dear life. My politeness ran out when she started asking me what I thought were too many searching questions. As she rifled through my bags, she asked why I was only visiting for one night. I in turn asked if this was illegal, thus not really answering. The true answer was, of course a little rude. She then flicked through my embarrassingly full passport and asked why I travelled so much. ‘Because I can’, was my non-committal reply. Unfortunately, because it was so hot in the airport – most freezing countries have a tendency to overheat buildings to way beyond British, or at least my limitations – I had stated to sweat, making me look even more suspicious.

Regarding me even more quizzically, she then asked where and with whom I was staying in the city. I could hardly reply that I was staying secretly with a married Cuban in the flat of another Cuban who was currently stuck in Cuba and selling his iPhone 6 in order to buy a return ticket (the truth). I said I would ‘probably’ stay in a hotel on my own. By the end of it all, she must have thought I was an international arms dealer without any evidence.

She’s probably still dining out on the story of the sweaty British nutter with the Pork Pie, which incidentally, she didn’t even look at….