It is well known around these parts that I have an unholy love of all things good and cake.

Especially Swedish cake.

Sweet jesus, what I would give to be sitting in Storken right now snacking on daimtårta and äppletosca and pilfering refills of earl grey tea whilst 'studying'.

Instead I am actually studying, but my brain has stopped working because I am in a haze of caffeine-induced fuggery, every single muscle in my back has spasmed, and I am concerned that if I take anymore painkillers I'll either get a stomach ulcer or have a heart attack.

I even thought I was having a heart attack today but it turned out to be guilt because I was in bed at 5.30pm pseudo-napping when I should have been working on my lit review.

I look like crazy too, all google-eyed and dazed. A bit like the other week when I cried during the last episode of Battlestar and *may* have blown a blood-vessel in my eye. Ahem. But anyway, mmmmn Storken. Good times.
Those tea cups really were ridiculously large. Ohhh ridiiiiiiiiculous, that one's for Johan D *sobs*

Must. Get. Back. On. Track. My brain really hurts.

There is no Storken here. There is no Swedish cake either. Unless, of course, you go to the Swedish cafe! Randomly, and absolutely swedishly, it's only open on Wednesday nights between 6.00pm and 9.30pm, because there's nothing like absolutely arbitrary opening hours to make a Swede feel at home!

I was in food heaven... kanelbullar, a piece of daimtårta AND a köttbullarsmacka. Or something sort of approximating what that word is attempting to describe. With beetroot. YUM

It was full of Swedes who were thin and blond and stylish. Completely uncomfortable-making, just like Sweden!! (In the best possible way...) I'm SO glad I went with a real Swede!

And look, there are little Dala hest on the curtains! Horses! On the curtains! AND they're blue and yellow!!!