Having almost gotten caught up in a faux-village wedding, complete with traditional dress, History Boy and I are now in the upstairs of a large house that seeks to transport you through Oslo in various decades of the past century. My biggest excitement has been reserved for the Ibsen-esque 'Doll's House' section, which, even without the literary connections, is clearly screaming out for a bit of dressing up. Whether my current companion would have indulged such tendencies is another matter entirely.
I poke my head into the main bedroom. There's a dressing table exactly like the one my Grandmother used to have which is odd if only for the fact I would not have thought of encountering it in Oslo.
Distracted, I hear History Boy's voice from the doorway of the next room.
"There aren't many museums where you'd get a recreation of a teenage boy's bedroom complete with a pin-up magazine".
I poke my head in the doorway. There, half tucked under the bed, is a vintage copy of Playboy. Educational, I'm sure.
We exchange a look.
"You've got to love Scandinavia".