A low but sharp winter sun shines over the Skåne’s plains rushing past as I sit in first class on SJ’s express train to Gothenburg, where we’ll be celebrating Christmas once again this year.
I’m nibbling on gingerbread cookies and sipping Kung Markatta’s Breakfast Tea as we’ve just left Helsingborg, where my travel companion was supposed to join me. Two seats for the price of one.

Regardless of the mode of transport, I rarely travel first class – but it turned out that a first-class ticket with SJ was cheaper than other options for this route so close to Christmas Eve.
The first-class ticket, which cost a reasonable 545 SEK, included access to SJ’s “Lounge,” where a small but delightful Christmas buffet was laid out.

In the lounge, I met a shivering family from Singapore who seemed torn about whether they should dare to try the pickled herring, rice pudding, or the slightly sweaty sliced ham. The brave daughter led the way and tried everything.
All my Christmas gifts for the family are safely packed in my backpack, and I don’t have to worry about the presents getting wrinkled. They were, after all, already wrinkled before I packed them.
I’ve managed to crack the “code” for quite a few things in life; some came naturally, while others I had to work hard for. Gift wrapping, however, is definitely not one of the things I’ve cracked the code for.
The results of my efforts to wrap beautiful Christmas presents are the diametrical opposite of origami.

But it’s what’s inside that counts, right? After all, it takes time to ponder, narrow down, and shop for gifts. Grandma Agnes, however, would not have been entirely pleased with me. She always saved the wrapping paper, and I can still hear her say, when all the Christmas gifts had been unwrapped by the families Andersson, Raboff, Starrsjö, and Felten: “It’s such a shame to throw away so much beautiful paper.”

In the basement on Örtagårdsvägen in Trollhättan, there was a cupboard filled with old wrapping paper.

I suspect Grandpa Eskil used some of her saved wrapping paper when the old boiler went out.
If we didn’t notice that the house was getting cold quickly enough, Grandpa’s hunting companion, the beagle Ingo (who by the end smelled so bad he had to sleep in the boiler room), would bark promptly to let everyone know he was freezing.

The train just passed Vejbystrand, and, as usual, it felt a bit melancholic. But Gothenburg will be all the more pleasant with just the right dose of happy reunions, indulgences, and hopefully some rest at Draken.

Wishing everyone a MERRY CHRISTMAS (now from somewhere just north of Halmstad).