AC/DC Tour Reaches Stockholm..

Drat! A cooked breakfast is up and running but I can’t get to it.

With twenty trucks to move, there’s a very well-organised system but it requires a bit of patience. I’m in limbo, waiting to park sensibly. I’m hungry. ‘Well, eat your own cereal,’ I hear you cry. Ah,I’d thought of that.

But, on reaching down for the pint of milk kept on the step inside the door, I find it’s frozen solid. So is the tantalising carton of refreshing apple juice.

Namibian, grinning in tracksuit bottoms, is indicating the depth of snow on his back doors by pushing in his forefinger to the hilt. Little Dick, marshalling his thoughts, has had five cups of tea by now. And he’s finally tidied his cab…after three days of talking about it.

To distinguish ourselves from the general public, we have what is called a laminate – self-explanatory because it is laminated.

The size of a playing card and worth the equivalent of gold dust, the laminate enables us to walk past security into the AC/DC gig…or at least into Catering before the show, and then out again before things get loud. Word from the upper echelons today is that we can have an extra laminate for a wife or girlfriend, but not both.

It’s generally polite in a foreign country to ask if somebody speaks English before bombarding them with stupid questions, but here it’s almost an insult.

Scandinavians look at you condescendingly, narrowing the eyes, and saying: ‘of course I do.’ I blush; golly, she’s beautiful. Well, of course I ask a woman for directions.

Suitably chastised, I find the bookshop I’m looking for. And an internet café, where – Hooray! – the keyboard is in English again. You wouldn’t believe how annoying it is when the rest of the Europeans produce keyboards with full stop, y, w, a, z, @ etc. all in the wrong place. I can touch-type, don’t you know.

Now, how fortuitous that I have an ex-girlfriend, Anna, offering shelter and marvellous conversation in central Stockholm. But how unlucky that she’s taken the inadvisable option of getting married.

Earl Grey tea is in stock here, which fortifies her husband Karl and me in the task of erecting a new sofa that is enormous – so big that it fills the whole evening.

It arrived in umpteen cardboard boxes with instructions that, as men, we ignore, resulting in a lot of unscrewing nuts that we’d just screwed. I fall asleep in a room where golf clubs wear socks…