Nationalism and noses

The 6^th of June was the day that saw Sweden break out in allergies.

I don’t think it has very much to do with the National Day – even if we still haven’t figured out what to do with it. I mean, it’s not like this is the day Sweden won its freedom from oppression by means of, say, a revolution. Back in the day Sweden was the big superpower that, it anything, oppressed others. By the time we had world wars in more recent history, Sweden had retreated into a corner, tried to be neutral and consolidated the status of has-been with the national anthem, which states our determination to remember the days of past glory rather than seek new ones. Nationalism in Sweden can neither take it’s impulse from being a superpower nor from being gloriously rid of a superpower. We’re just quite well off, basically, and that fails to serve as an impulse for carnivals or Guinness-infused mayhem.

I had something of an epiphany to the effect a couple of weeks ago. Having visited my father’s grave, and reflected on the loveliness of the little country cemetery as well as the fact that our dead are better off than the living in many countries, my mum and I went to Helsingborg for lunch. Walking on the coast, among the beautiful new houses and the trendy cafés and seeing the boats, the dogs and the beautiful people sauntering around, looking happy, healthy and content in the glorious sunshine of a Sunday in May, I realised just how well off we are. I always know this, of course, but that afternoon really served to hammer the point in. Can’t remember complaining much about anything since.

Except allergies. I believe in the theory that allergies are something we have brought upon ourselves and my runny nose, then, becomes just another galling reminder of my “being well off complex”. Grass, apparently, is my trigger and today the grass must be in full bloom because my nose (along with eyes and ears) is not happy at all. Nor are those of other people. Seeing as the National Day is a bank holiday, there is only one open pharmacy in my home town. And it, according to the lovely girl I spoke to, ran out of allergy medicine early in the morning. Annoying. But hardly a catastrophe in global terms.

So, I’m sure many other Swedes with hay fever spent the National Day sneezing and rubbing their sore eyes while being nationalistic in the only way we are really good at: happily supporting our national football team. They even managed to win.