It had been raining all day in Stockholm. After a visit to the magnificent Grand Palace we wandered the streets until we were soaked through. My jeans were so wet that they started to fall down. Worried that I may scare innocent bystanders, we sought the sanctuary of our hotel for a while, dried out, made a cuppa, and watched the news. But now we were hungry, and could not agree on a restaurant or even a style of cuisine. Armed with umbrellas, we ventured out once more. Tempers soon began to fray as we stopped outside every restaurant on our route, read the menu, and bickered over its suitability. Then finally, we found a haven in Café Tabac.
