Susan Morrison: Sven, will we go on a date night?

Susan Morrison.
Susan Morrison.
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Those Nordic folks always worry me. They are so sensible. Everyone says we really should be more like them, especially 
Lesley Riddoch and she is very clever, as well as looking like some sort of benevolent Valkyrie, which makes me think she is, in fact, an 
undercover Swede.

When they spot something wrong they tend to give themselves a darned good talking to and then the whole country will get a bit of ticking off.

But Aha! – another Nordic triumph – what’s this? Well, the Norwegians are getting worried about their divorce rate.

Now this came as a shock to me, since I just assumed that the entire nation, being incredibly sensible, lovely and, well, Nordic, would be marrying other sensible, lovely and well, Nordic, people.

What then would be the point of running off with Sven if he was just like Bjorn? Why would you wife swap a beautiful, intelligent, caring Agnetha for a stunning, lithe, super-clever Hjordis?

I mean, have you seen these people? Being short, fat and Scottish grey in complexion, I make it a habit to stand as far away from them as I can when I spot them politely queuing during the tourist season. In depths of a towering Norwegian’s shadow I bear an uncanny resemblance to Gollum.

The divorce rate is climbing, so says the government, something must be done. Couples, announced the minister concerned, should go on date nights.

For those of you who have missed this particular phenomenon, date night is when you say to your beloved: “Tonight, my darling, we slump not in front of the telly, with the toddler crawling over us, smearing jam into the sofa we have not yet paid for, whilst the school-age child badgers us to complete homework that would defeat scientists looking for some Big Bang matter in a glass jar in Switzerland, and the dog drools into your tea.

“Nope, you and me, babe, we’re going to get the glad rags on, slap on the old war paint, dig out the heels and hit the dance floor.

“Once we’ve ironed the glad rags, located the war paint, dug out the heels, finished the homework and booked a babysitter, that is.”