In Which Bice is Immature, Despite Being Mistaken for a Dane

Not much to say about Copenhagen. It's nice enough, with weather that makes sense to me (17 at the end of summer feels about right), and it's strange how much more at ease I feel in a city on the edge of the sea instead of one plonked willy nilly inland. It is kind of cool to go and see the buildings that Jules Verne mentions in Journey to the Centre of the Earth which I started reading on the train here, even if the buildings themselves are not that great.

I don't know if it's my strapping viking looks or what, but I was stopped by tourists three times yesterday for directions. I had another pair ask me today, and when I was walking past parliament house I got harangued by a hippie in Danish asking me to vote for someone about some issue. Considering how many times in France and Germany I got approached by people who clearly knew I was a tourist this is something of a sharp contrast. To be fair, I have also done quite a few double takes over the course of the last two days when I thought I saw one or another of my siblings. Clearly Dibleys have got some sort of Danish thing going on, which would be the lamest secret ability ever, but there you have it.

Finally, I have been seeing these signs on shops all over the city, primarily women's clothing stores. I'm not entirely sure what it means, something to do with sales, but it makes me smirk every time.
Up to 70%? Is that a good amount of slutspurt? Maybe it's too much, I just don't know.