‘The women adored British men. I couldn’t wait, but it wasn’t to be’

Horatio Clare had his bags packed and was ready to jet off to the Swedish capital, but one important thing was missing…

Ihave never been to Stockholm but I have come very close. I yearn to see the archipelago of its islands, its bridges, its bright and slanting northern light. Great maritime cities like Hamburg, Marseille, Venice and New York fill me with thrill and desire.

Anywhere a civilisation meets the sea, in a splendour of ships and quays, alleys, dive bars and many races, is where I long to be.

In my early 20s, just starting out as a journalist (filled with ambition and confidence by my post on the Mid Devon Gazette), with a little money and a little time off I arranged to go to Stockholm. I would meet tall, blonde, confident Swedes who would not see a shaggy slob with

‘I called the British consul and requested he arrange for me to be let in. He laughed’

dreams above his station, but someone intriguing – a traveller, a writer, perhaps.

My mother had told me of a beautiful friend of hers, a Swede, who said Swedish women found British men fascinating. I couldn’t wait! And I had a friend in Stockholm, from school, who was both tall and fair, and looking forward to putting me up, she said.

Just in time for the flight, I got to Gatwick, where I realised my passport was still in Mid Devon. Dauntless, I called the British Consul in Stockholm and requested he arrange for me to be let in. He laughed, long and cruelly. I spent the evening working on my melancholy love of airport bars.

And I have yet to see Stockholm. Oh, one day, one day…