I adore this sign for a more-than-slightly-shonky local garage, which seems to me such a pure and beautiful expression of not entirely intentional truth in marketing.

Furious Car! That’s exactly it; that’s exactly how I would label what I imagine to be the inchoate bundle of passions and identifications that animate the small but very noticable Malmö subculture which, for want of a better name, I tend to think of “those pricks who mistake the sound of a poorly fitted exhaust manifold for an expression of the manly power of their third-hand BMW”.

(Or, more succinctly, “car c*nts”.)

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Not entirely sure how it’s Friday again already, but there’s no escaping it. Autumn is coming on fast, as it always does: the days are shortening and the evenings are cooling, but it looks like we Malmöbor are getting one last weekend of temperatures in the mid-20s.

(Which is very welcome, because I’m in London for most of next week—where, if the forecast is to be believed, going outdoors will be an activity best reserved for ducks and experienced submariners.)

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Right then: I’m off to the opening of a new exhibition at Malmö Konsthall this evening, so I’d better get my arse in gear, because there’s work to be done before I can go larking about.