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I was travelling around on work, meeting with clients. I was in Newfoundland, and then I went to Iceland, and thence to Sweden. My hotel in Sweden was adorable—genuinely boho, a kind of Art Nouveau apartment building, with hanging silks and a proprietress who had a crystal ball.
It was there that I became uncomfortably aware that I was being followed. Strange men appeared in the lobby. My clothes had been rifled in my room. The proprietress of my hotel was upset and gracious about it. She seemed to know who the culprits were, and apologised and changed my room to one for which there was no way to duplicate the key and promised me security. But as I was waiting in a hired car for my mom at the airport, they appeared again. I had no choice but to drive away, leaving the driver (who may have been one of Them) waiting at the airport. There ensued a high-speed car-chase, through the highways, overpasses, and back roads of Sweden. This was inconvenient, because I can't actually drive, so in addition to being terrified and annoyed by the people chasing me, moderately lost because I was in Sweden, and confused by how to operate a car, I was worried that the police would notice my erratic driving and pull me over, and then discover that I don't have a license, don't speak Swedish, and don't know how to drive.
Eventually I ditched the car, and took a bus back to my cute hotel, where the proprietress informed me that she'd put my mother in the room adjoining mine, and the rest of the guests on the third floor.
"My guests?" I asked
"Yes, the wedding guests."
"There must be some mistake."
"You'd best talk to your mother."
So I did.
Turned out that my mother and Gladys Furnish* had worked out financing for my new company. The financing involved my getting married. To the Crown Prince of Sweden. Who, for some reason, had been looking for an editor to marry.
I concluded that Those People who had been following me around likely had something to do with the Crown Prince. If he wanted to meet me, he could have set up a meeting, rather than sending people to look in my underwear drawer at the pension.
My mom had arranged Everything. A dress, from my favourite bridal designer. It was butter-soft bias-cut silk charmeuse in a kind of champagne colour, that whispered and clung in all the right places, with Chantilly lace and tiny seed pearls. There was a floaty bias-cut silk chiffon veil thing too.
I reminded her that 1) I don't believe in weddings, 2) I don't believe in monarchy, 3) I don't believe in marriage, really, 4) even if I had wanted any of these things for myself, I wouldn't believe in arranged marriages, even with heads of states that seem to have really sensible policies, 5) and I wouldn't do it in something resembling a white dress. She informed me that she knew all this, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up, and she had known that I would be too stubborn to follow up on it, so she'd take it upon herself to arrange things for me, and he was really a very nice boy who desperately needed a nice, sensible editor, and she thought I'd be very good at the job. And people would be scandalized if I wore pink or anything at the wedding.
I had to concede that she had a point, but I still was not pleased with this plan, and was not interested in cooperating.
Well, would I at least meet him. She thought we'd get along. And she wasn't going to leave until I did, and he was going to be here soon.
So there I was, taking tea in the sitting room of my own suite, with the Crown Prince of Sweden, and explaining that I was not interested in marrying anyone who couldn't be bothered to meet me and maybe take me out dancing before sending goons to rifle my drawers and send me on high-speed car chases, and was he perhaps the reason nobody had stopped me, given that I was endangering people on account of not knowing how to drive or read the road signs? That was really irresponsible of him, if so.
He apologized, said it wouldn't happen again, but he really needed to marry me.
He wouldn't explain why.
I was not going to marry him.
We were at an impasse.
I was also unable to leave Sweden.
I was deeply irked. So I joined the Swedish Pirate Party, and started fomenting revolution.
Then came (another) global financial crisis. The Shock Doctors had arranged another global financial meltdown. They wanted, apparently, to plunge every country in the world into deep financial crisis, so that they could get rid of all the socialists and impose the free market on Sweden and every other country with any restrictions on trade. The Authoritarians moved in, and shut down everything.
So I worked with the Pirates and some anti-monarchist allies to stage a counter-counter-revolution.
This further strained my relationship with the Crown Prince, who was still (for reasons I do not understand) determined to marry me. Also, my mother was increasingly annoyed with my behaviour and my friends.
Over a nice dinner, I informed the Crown Prince that he could either join us or watch us, but I wasn't going to stand idly by and let the Shock Doctors turn Sweden into a version or Argentina with more reindeer and fjords. If I couldn't be at home overthrowing Stephen Harper and the HarperCons, I was going to work with the Pirates in Sweden, and besides they were making sure he couldn't read my e-mails.
He grumbled off, without eating his dessert. So I took it to the Pirates.
Then, there was some stuff with a sekkrit code, and running around. Finally the airport blew up, and the Crown Prince appeared, wearing a superhero costume, and told me that I could count on him.
No, I don't know how it all ends. I'm pretty sure I didn't become deposed Swedish monarchy, which is good, because I don't speak Swedish.
* (David Furnish's mom). My mom played tennis with Gladys when I was little, and Gladys organized the plane tickets for my first trip to England. I think David babysat me and my brother when we were really little and our parents vacationed together in Hilton Head. His brother Peter certainly taught me how to swing a tennis raquet. My brother was quite injured riding on the tandem bike at the Furnish household, one summer, and almost required skin grafts.
It was there that I became uncomfortably aware that I was being followed. Strange men appeared in the lobby. My clothes had been rifled in my room. The proprietress of my hotel was upset and gracious about it. She seemed to know who the culprits were, and apologised and changed my room to one for which there was no way to duplicate the key and promised me security. But as I was waiting in a hired car for my mom at the airport, they appeared again. I had no choice but to drive away, leaving the driver (who may have been one of Them) waiting at the airport. There ensued a high-speed car-chase, through the highways, overpasses, and back roads of Sweden. This was inconvenient, because I can't actually drive, so in addition to being terrified and annoyed by the people chasing me, moderately lost because I was in Sweden, and confused by how to operate a car, I was worried that the police would notice my erratic driving and pull me over, and then discover that I don't have a license, don't speak Swedish, and don't know how to drive.
Eventually I ditched the car, and took a bus back to my cute hotel, where the proprietress informed me that she'd put my mother in the room adjoining mine, and the rest of the guests on the third floor.
"My guests?" I asked
"Yes, the wedding guests."
"There must be some mistake."
"You'd best talk to your mother."
So I did.
Turned out that my mother and Gladys Furnish* had worked out financing for my new company. The financing involved my getting married. To the Crown Prince of Sweden. Who, for some reason, had been looking for an editor to marry.
I concluded that Those People who had been following me around likely had something to do with the Crown Prince. If he wanted to meet me, he could have set up a meeting, rather than sending people to look in my underwear drawer at the pension.
My mom had arranged Everything. A dress, from my favourite bridal designer. It was butter-soft bias-cut silk charmeuse in a kind of champagne colour, that whispered and clung in all the right places, with Chantilly lace and tiny seed pearls. There was a floaty bias-cut silk chiffon veil thing too.
I reminded her that 1) I don't believe in weddings, 2) I don't believe in monarchy, 3) I don't believe in marriage, really, 4) even if I had wanted any of these things for myself, I wouldn't believe in arranged marriages, even with heads of states that seem to have really sensible policies, 5) and I wouldn't do it in something resembling a white dress. She informed me that she knew all this, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up, and she had known that I would be too stubborn to follow up on it, so she'd take it upon herself to arrange things for me, and he was really a very nice boy who desperately needed a nice, sensible editor, and she thought I'd be very good at the job. And people would be scandalized if I wore pink or anything at the wedding.
I had to concede that she had a point, but I still was not pleased with this plan, and was not interested in cooperating.
Well, would I at least meet him. She thought we'd get along. And she wasn't going to leave until I did, and he was going to be here soon.
So there I was, taking tea in the sitting room of my own suite, with the Crown Prince of Sweden, and explaining that I was not interested in marrying anyone who couldn't be bothered to meet me and maybe take me out dancing before sending goons to rifle my drawers and send me on high-speed car chases, and was he perhaps the reason nobody had stopped me, given that I was endangering people on account of not knowing how to drive or read the road signs? That was really irresponsible of him, if so.
He apologized, said it wouldn't happen again, but he really needed to marry me.
He wouldn't explain why.
I was not going to marry him.
We were at an impasse.
I was also unable to leave Sweden.
I was deeply irked. So I joined the Swedish Pirate Party, and started fomenting revolution.
Then came (another) global financial crisis. The Shock Doctors had arranged another global financial meltdown. They wanted, apparently, to plunge every country in the world into deep financial crisis, so that they could get rid of all the socialists and impose the free market on Sweden and every other country with any restrictions on trade. The Authoritarians moved in, and shut down everything.
So I worked with the Pirates and some anti-monarchist allies to stage a counter-counter-revolution.
This further strained my relationship with the Crown Prince, who was still (for reasons I do not understand) determined to marry me. Also, my mother was increasingly annoyed with my behaviour and my friends.
Over a nice dinner, I informed the Crown Prince that he could either join us or watch us, but I wasn't going to stand idly by and let the Shock Doctors turn Sweden into a version or Argentina with more reindeer and fjords. If I couldn't be at home overthrowing Stephen Harper and the HarperCons, I was going to work with the Pirates in Sweden, and besides they were making sure he couldn't read my e-mails.
He grumbled off, without eating his dessert. So I took it to the Pirates.
Then, there was some stuff with a sekkrit code, and running around. Finally the airport blew up, and the Crown Prince appeared, wearing a superhero costume, and told me that I could count on him.
No, I don't know how it all ends. I'm pretty sure I didn't become deposed Swedish monarchy, which is good, because I don't speak Swedish.
* (David Furnish's mom). My mom played tennis with Gladys when I was little, and Gladys organized the plane tickets for my first trip to England. I think David babysat me and my brother when we were really little and our parents vacationed together in Hilton Head. His brother Peter certainly taught me how to swing a tennis raquet. My brother was quite injured riding on the tandem bike at the Furnish household, one summer, and almost required skin grafts.
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