The formal part of the day began with pre-event drinks at a downtown Malmö apartment. I was asked why I was wearing a kilt at a Swedish party, and I explained that in the absence of a formal protocol for an Australian living in France attending the party of a New Zealander living in Sweden that a kilt was perfectly appropriate. The greater challenge was having a malamute around a black tie affair, with all his little white “gifts”.
Upon our arrival at the university research centre where the dinner was being held, I found that I was not alone in the kilt department. Several guests were resplendent in family tartan, but none moreso than Hugh himself who was wound up in the patriarchal picnic blanket and fully accessorised.
|Munson didn’t attend the actual party but had a comfortable viewing point in the garden adjacent where many of the guests retired for breaks throughout the evening. |
It was all a very well put together affair: Hugh had something to say for each and everyone of his guests through the various courses of our banquet and some of his closest friends throughout his decades in Sweden rendered their very idiosyncratic appreciations of their times together.
|The final segment of the evening was held at a building down the road “Locus Medicus Malmoensis”. I’m led to believe that is the Latin name for an affliction that can only be cured by an admixture of alcohol and folk dancing. The Swedish name is undoubtedly a tongue twister of a very high order.|