Beware of marrying someone who stands a chance of being awarded the Nobel Prize for Physics! That is, if you don’t feel like having the King of Sweden as your dinner partner at the Nobel dinner. Reverse my advice if you do. (And by the time Crown Princess Victoria is Queen, you will be dining with Prince Daniel. What they would do about a female laureate, I don’t know. The King now, I suppose, and presumably Daniel later.)
I need to mention that you can’t ever expect to win a Nobel Prize. Nor can you apply for it, and there is no queueing system. Countless books mention the happy outcome of a Nobel Prize as something the really outstanding will eventually receive. Most clever people – even in books – are never quite that outstanding.
Just thought I’d dash any hopes. Hence my suggestion of marriage. Choose well.
There is so much happening in Sweden on Nobel Day (10th December) every year. Prize ceremonies. Dinners. Everything televised. Followed later by interviews and round table chats with the winners, who always turn out to be not only intelligent, but witty and fascinating company.
My pesky GP Cousin (after all these years, still four years my senior) seems to share my fondness for the round table chat. When we were last together in December some years ago, it’s what we sat down to watch on television, in the middle of his dinner party. That’s when he worried that the Grandmother might find this far too complicated to follow. That’s when I told him she’s a Physics graduate so no need to worry.
But, anyway. Here in exile we miss most of the fun. And then I was chatting to Swiss Lady on the phone the other day. She explained how she’d managed to get most of her Christmas baking done in the peace and quiet when GP Cousin was in Stockholm. I agreed it’s always good to ‘get rid of’ the boys every now and then.
As an afterthought she mentioned what he’d been doing. My ancient cousin had worked as a wine waiter at the Nobel dinner.
And he thinks I’m crazy for doing my bookwitching…