Annika Gavli is a fifty year old Swede who brought her cup to my little table at Cecil's favourite bookshop/cafe in Calangute. I got her animated when I mentioned the border with Finland: they want our jobs and are not tidy, ad infin ----, shades of Goans and East Indians, I reminesced. Do you not share a common Ugarit language, I asked. "No, we are Sanskrit" was a high pitch retort. Welcome back to town, I said, and not a day too soon, because Stockholm will bask under a mile of gel as the ice age progresses over the next ten centuries. " We know," she sighed.