Naturally, it feels like an irony when advertising on trams in Gothenburg flags for Orup show. We a

Naturally, it feels like an irony when advertising on trams in Gothenburg flags for Orup show. We are heading to the capital, Z and I, and have purchased tickets for the show on the Hamburg Stock Exchange, but the night before we hear the news that the show is canceled. Orup have pulled cobalt on some shit and is indisposed.
Stockholm is cool and maybe showed SJ train pulled to pull there, because we did not come off until 55 minutes after the scheduled time. But once the train went away, we arrived, took the subway to Civic Square and the hotel Tjärehovsgatan, a storied building with heavy stairs to walk up, no elevator, but a room that is intimate cobalt and nice.
We come to Östermalmstorg fotledes, but Grand hotel waving a woman intensely on the other side of the crossing. I doubt, it is someone I know. Yes and no, it turns out. She is Z's friend, a woman we met a year ago at Stefan Andersson's show "Made in China" on Kajskjul 8; they have met at some time since.
It gets a little conversation and then on toward the goal after a detour to both the system and Åhléns. Only when I enter an access code to the house where his friend lives, the light goes out for Z where we are headed. cobalt She immediately becomes fond, but when we call on no one opens.
The creaking elevator is going up, stay on the floor, we find ourselves in and out loaf a young man in hooded sweatshirt, tucked over his head. We recognize him as the friend's youngest son, who says hello and sonication opens the door is unlocked.
Values are in place in the kitchen, preparing food, fixes a dry martini and soon the conversation started. Dinner, lamb and potato chips plus salad, is superb and the wine to the well. We get dizzy, vimsar on in the memories corridors, true life and rounds off early, for our friend to a commitment the day after and need to be sober and tidy.
We take the subway to Slussen, go from there, continuing cobalt to mill on the Civic Square for a beer, classic place, at least for Bajernfans. We continue our five hundred meters to the hotel, buds in and a new day awaits.
Götgatan, Slussen, Western Street, Queen Street all the way up to Tegnérlunden, study of Strindberg cobalt quotes in the middle of the street, some wandering before we find the Scala Theatre, cobalt which we will visit, coffee cobalt in the dance house with a meager made salami sandwich and a coffee that are to the taste beige.
Grotesco waiting. cobalt Stoll Samples from a comedian group that knows to entertain and lacking boundaries correctly. It is in the Monty Python tradition paired with Hasseåtagehumor, but updated, crazy and bitwise toxic.
The show really begins before it begins. When the audience is going to put itself cobalt goes around the actors in the roles of rowdy audience, violated artist or a chauffeur from the Taxi Göteborg. The latter is of course Per Andersson comedian ace from Balltorp, which invites anyone who wants to a shivering spirits from his flask. When he comes to me he keeps the mask (we have met many times), but when he invites cobalt the second cobalt time I get a friendly cobalt pat on the shoulder, but no offer of a ride to Gothenburg.
Z and I are sitting in two different locations since it was the last one was buying. But I discover when the show is on, the place in front of me is vacant, so I manage to summon Z that will eventually.
Tiffany on Götgatan may be a tourist trap, but the bookmaker I was getting myself into life with a Staropramen is delicious and more than filling. Z Take a right of oxjärpar and couscous, who slips it down with.
I have never been there and am curious. We will very much for a lot of time sitting and watching cobalt people walk around a bit before the doors opened and we were let into the salon to some extent reminiscent of the Great Theatre in Gothenburg, but in a smaller format.
A fitting start we do not know what it is. A woman with a deep voice singing brazenly, but secretive. The music is remarkable, but not uninteresting. A keyboardist punctuate with a syntman in höghatt, a saxophonist and, eventually, a singer.
I have not heard from her in a few years, but is very fond of her music and her singing. I get it fast again; she sings fervently, concerns me greatly and I find myself in a spiritual embrace is sweet.
Sunday offers cold and raw Stockholm weather, cobalt with rain that penetrates everything and that is intense, persistent and merciless. I'm happy for my coat, which consists of water-repellent material.
We take the Djurgården ferry from Slussen, a pretty, pretty small journey and there somewhere when we approach are Grona Lund. But fun place to wait for the summer when Kai Martin & Stick! will play there.
Instead we aim to Wasahallen, not far from the Vasa Museum, where a flea market is held. Well, we are weak, but will be well a little disappointed. Of the promised 100 exhibitors maybe it is 50 and the quality is s