I’m in Stockholm today to celebrate the summer solstice. It’s a magical part of the year, best illustrated by the newspaper column (below) giving times for sunrise and sunset in various parts of Sweden. In Kiruna there’s just a dash – the sun doesn’t rise or set in this part of the year. (The same is true in winter, the poor things).
Normally, the Swedes disguise their pagan festivals with a Christian veneer (like Santa Lucia) but today’s all-out dance-round-the-fertility-pole without apology. It’s like a cross between the Waltons, Woodstock and the Wicker Man. Events like these drive home the limitations of taxing alcohol: it’s far from unusual, in the evening, to find a bottle of pure bootleg alcohol on the table for revellers to mix with coke as if it were vodka. A rare example, in Sweden, of what not to follow.
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