Sweden in the autumn with friends

I have been following the flurry of email exchanges among the friends about an autumn holiday in Sweden. The arrangement is to stay with the girlfriend who has a summer home which she now lives in year round. The itinerary basically consists of lake fishing, or else berry- and mushroom-picking in the woods, and spending time, lots of time, together.

I have been silent. Images run through my mind. None too appealing.

I never saw fishing as an enjoyable relaxing activity. I'd rather just curl up with a good book for quiet time.In which case, I don't need to go to a summer home in Sweden to do.

I think of cavorting through the woods with these people. Naked like the locals if the mood so moves them, but that is not likely. I think of severe urticaria eruptions on skin that came in contact with nettles, oak vines and poison ivy. I think of the man wearing a waist-pouch full of antihistamine pills and injectables around his otherwise naked body. I think of spending the remainder of the holidays scratching at itches so bad that you just want to rip your skin off.

I think of cooking and eating our haul of wild mushrooms. I think of mushroom poisoning; I shudder at the thought of suffocating to death with my mind still crystal clear to the very end.

I think of long stretches of time spent cooped up with the lot of them. After the first night of excited catching up, I imagine I am ready to part company. Except there would be nowhere to retreat to. I am certain the summer home is many hours' car ride to anywhere. So I will spend the rest of my time counting the days to going home.

I think I will have to see the wonderful people under other circumstances. In other places. Where I can escape company when I feel the need.

So I will remain silent about this great holiday adventure. Until somebody comes up with a prettier picture of holidaying together.