Sweden I

Having viewed more than one mystery drama in which the catalysts for gruesome murders were rare and beautiful orchids, it was with slight trepidation that I walked into our Dear Swedish Hosts' spare bedroom, where I was to stay with the children: On a window ledge above my bed sat no less than ten different orchid plants, some in flower, some with silver roots creeping across the sill.

I needn't have worried, as our DSHs were the most warm and welcoming hosts we could have wished for. I enjoyed several outings with our hostess, who took me to see history-laden Laholm, and a nearby beach (beautiful, of course, but very windy and cold).

She was also extremely willing to explain to me the finer details of Swedish cuisine, the result of which is that I returned to Switzerland with a few new recipes to try, plus some supplies such as oft-missed salt-flakes, brown sugar and a jar of pine berries which can be incorporated into a delicious cream sauce.

The Hausfrau was pleased to be asked if she would like to cook some meals, and firstly presented an Aussie-style lamb roast to her hosts, which I believe was well-received. We even managed to find ingredients for the mint sauce, though that possibly didn't appeal to all palates. I continue to find it amazing just how many different kinds of foods there are in the world, and how integral food is to people's happiness. Case in point: the smile on the DD's and DS's faces when they saw a lamb roast appear on the table. Or the smile on the Hausfrau's face when she tasted pickled herring and fresh, baked salmon.

As the first week progressed the Aussie Hausfrau slipped deeper under the spell of a head-cold, resulting in her grip on reality becoming more and more tenuous. Was she really in the northern hemisphere, in Sweden? Was her son really speaking Swiss-German to Dear Little Swedish Pal? Was DLSP really speaking Swedish with a Swiss accent back to him? Did neither of them notice or mind the fact that the Hausfrau was speaking English to them? Apparently not. It was really rather funny; and more so when we passed through Germany and we all tried our hand at Hoch Deutsch. You can imagine that at times there was more hysterical laughter than sense being made.

So, for the Hausfrau, laughter, photographs and drawing (and a certain amount of opera singing as we rocketed along the Autobahn) became the lingua franca, as the kids and I managed to fit in lots of drawing, and clocked up over 1,000 photographs over the two weeks... and that's not including the deleted ones. (Stand by: must get them from DSP's laptop.)

And, speaking of deleted ones, I awoke with a start in the middle of the night when an orchid flower landed on my forehead. Now, I ask you, how many people have lived to tell a tale such as this? Not many in the detective stories, I can tell you that.

Needless to say, DD and DS found it hilarious that I had flowers in my bed.

But to the Hausfrau that wasn't nearly as hilarious as her son, who went to sleep nearly every night carrying a small hammer with bejewelled handle (from here on known as 'The Disco Hammer') and wearing fluffy red ear-muffs.