Clearing a blockage

Today, while Mirinda and Fi had fun in Stockholm, I was having a bit of the opposite. Poor Emma was having even less fun. Halfway through our walk around Trosa Mountain, she was suddenly struck with constipation.

There’d been no indication that anything was wrong until she went into the familiar pooing pose and didn’t come out of it, as nothing had been evacuated. Her face was a mask of confusion as she maintained the pose, trying to push things out. To no avail.

Eventually, and it did take a while, I helped her by trying to extricate a big lump of something from her rear end, using a poo bag. Occasionally, Emma would try and scrape it free by dragging her butt across the gravel path. It was not pleasant. For either of us.

Once we’d managed to squat and stagger home, I put Emma in the bath and proceeded to pressure wash her free of whatever was causing the blockage.

Freya, of course, ignored the entire ordeal. Until we got to the bathroom. She sat in the doorway, looking plaintively at us, dreading the fact that she might be next.

While it was only a small part of my day, it was definitely the nastiest.

Mind you, moving four great concrete slabs from behind the stuga to near the letterbox wasn’t that much fun either. They weigh far more than they have a right to. I needed four to act as the base of a little house for the wheelie bin. Slipping and sliding on leaves didn’t help. Still, eventually I’d completed the change of location.

A far more pleasurable task was the first stage of my fruit mince preparation.

Mirinda returned home with a few things I couldn’t find in the ICA. She located them in the market in Stockholm. It didn’t take long before I’d mixed the fruit, nuts and suet and laid it to rest up ahead of tomorrow’s light roasting.

In the meanwhilst, Mirinda had a good class at uni and Fi spent an enjoyable day with Jason.

And Freya wondered where all the snow had come from.

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Do you have holes?

Last year it was my sister Denise and this year, Fi helped with the ritual loading of the tree with the thousands of Christmas decorations carefully stored away in the Buster Room. Like last year, I made shortbread to bribe our guest into helping. I did it while they took the dogs for a walk. Of course, the first batch was suitably rough looking, but they tasted perfect.

Taking the dogs for a walk wasn’t Fi’s only outing today. Following the setting of the sun, she decided it would be a good idea to walk into Trosa and test her nighttime navigation skills. She wanted to buy an extra something at one of the many shops she visited yesterday.

And she made it. She said the woods were a bit scary, and she was concerned about the wolves leaping out at her but, basically, she made it unscathed. She did, of course, buy stuff, including Christmas bauble earrings for herself and Mirinda. Obviously, I was devastated.

Where’s mine?” I wailed. “There’ll be no shortbread for you!

Do you have holes?” She replied. “I didn’t know you had holes.

Mirinda appeased me by giving me one of hers.

While I made dinner, there was a lot of noise and laughter coming from the living room as decoration after decoration was extracted and added. There was a break while we ate but, basically, the work took ages to complete. However, the end result justified the work.

Tubby 25 was finally dressed and ready to face the world…or at the very least, my camera.

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Roaming the streets

Mirinda and Fi roamed the streets of Trosa twice today. Once in order to visit as many local shops as possible and once to see the Christmas lights, not just on the streets but also peeking out from people’s houses. Fortunately, we had the dogs with us for the shop tour which meant I could avoid the shops. I also avoided the street wandering, given I needed to write and record my December Letter from Sweden.

Letter from Sweden 4 December 2024

Actually, this was the second letter I’d composed for this month. The first was a rambling and mostly mundane chat about Christmas markets. I think the version I rewrote today was far superior.

It gets harder each month to come up with new topics. I do wonder how Alistair Cook managed to create over 900 Letters from America. He finally stopped when he was 95. Then he died. That could be a warning not to stop, I suppose.

Anyway, that was late in the day. In the morning, and being a Sunday, saw us taking brunch at Tre Små Rum. The three of us had the wonderfully creamy scrambled eggs. They really are fantastic. Mirinda and Fi may have also had a cinnamon bun each, the special ones with the icing. Apparently these a pretty fantastic as well.

Then, as I said, they decided to visit all the shops.

Fi was surprised that I hadn’t been in most of them. I don’t know why she was surprised. I’ve never seen the point of aimlessly wandering around shops. It’s certainly not my idea of Sunday fun.

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Tripping on the white eggs

Today, we had a fourth on our walk into Trosa. The girls were thrilled to have someone a little less wobbly to hold their lead. And it made a change for me, having a human to talk to rather than yabbering at the dogs. Okay, the weather could have been a bit nicer but, even so, Fi made an excellent walking companion.

There were quite a few people out and about in town, and we exchanged multiple greetings. Even Visthuset was doing a roaring trade, rather than just the one old man and his dogs.

In continuing Trosa works, the river path near the centre of town is nearing completion, the new decking at the front of La Aduana looks completed and the wooden walkway down near the harbour has been started.

On our walk, Fi noticed a few Swedish pennants fluttering on flagpoles and asked me about the “anorexic flags.” I thought that would make an excellent title for today’s post. Later, while I was making us a frittata and having seen how bright the eggs are here, she said she was “tripping on the white eggs,” which definitely won title of the day.

As well as the frittata, I also made my turkey stuffing, ahead of Christmas Day. I took this photo before I put my hands in and squelched it all together. Such a satisfying ritual.

Then it went straight into the freezer. Hopefully, it’s fruit mince next.

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Jason has a doppelgänger

We were sitting having lunch in Tre Små Rum. This came about because I threatened to make a frittata for lunch. As we know, my frittatas are generally avoided. I was originally making soup for lunch, but it suddenly occurred to me that we were down to have fish soup at Lagnö Bo tonight. While it wouldn’t bother me, having soup two meals in a row, Mirinda wasn’t that keen.

I had a marvellous räksallad because I’ve not had one for ages. Fi and Jason had soup…

While we sat and ate, a group of 8 – 12-year-olds entered and sat near us, all looking at their phones. They then went and bought some sugary treats. I think the smallest member of the group, a girl of around 8, was a major Trosa Influencer and the rest were her hangers on.

Anyway, as I said, we were sitting having lunch in Tre Små Rum when Jason declared that he had a doppelgänger. I was sceptical, so he sent me a photo of this mysterious, unrelated twin who lives in the same building as him.

The fellow does, indeed, bear an uncanny resemblance to Jason.

Of course, Jason’s (left) hair is actually very black, but this is the best photo on my phone so you’ll have to imagine it.

Jason wasn’t with us for dinner at Lagnö as he had some sort of piss-up in Stockholm so it was Mirinda, Fi and me. When we arrived, the place was unusually empty: no-one in the kitchen, let alone the dining room. We were frantically looking through our WhatsApp posts, checking to see if the times had been changed.

Then the three cooks entered from the Winter Garden and explained that everyone was celebrating the completion of the works with a little ceremony. We were invited to join and were inundated with questions about the article in the paper. It seems our local celebrity is assured. Well, until the next edition of the paper thrusts us back into obscurity.

As it turned out, we didn’t have soup at Lagnö Bo tonight because Bjorn bought the wrong fish. We had the fish, just not in a soup. The smoked mackerel was delicious, but it would have been weird in a soup.

As usual we had a lovely time with the residents. And Mirinda impressed with her Swedish. She was very happy that they all understood her. I was justifiably impressed because she’s my wife.

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I can’t find my rabbit!

I had an unexpected busy morning today. My plans went a bit awry following the discovery yesterday that the Coop didn’t have any pistachios. That might seem a bit mundane. However, Mirinda had ordered lamb and pistachio rissoles for dinner which is a bit lacking without them.

Of course, that meant an unscheduled trip to the ICA. As the snow fell.

That sounds more dramatic than it actually was. The snowfall was very small and was hardly an inconvenience. Actually, I rather like walking while snow is falling.

It was just before the cemetery, on the way home, that I received a desperate message. Mirinda had misplaced her lovely and warm, rabbit fur hat. It was a desperate call to arms. She wanted me to head over to the station and see if it was in the car. She was in Stockholm for uni.

After arriving home and placating the girls, I turned around and headed back out into the wintry world. I caught a bus to Vagnhärad, found the hat, messaged Mirinda of my success then caught the same bus back.

As we approached Trosa, the radio in the bus started playing White Christmas which sent the driver into a hearty rendition of his own. He really was a very happy bus driver. He was so happy, and so full of the Christmas spirit, that he dropped me and the only other passenger on the bus, outside the ICA rather than the timber yard.

Disaster averted, I walked into the house for a second round of excited puppies. I then set to work in the kitchen. And the stuga. It had to be ready for Fi, who arrived today.

Finally, we all sat down to dinner – Mirinda, Fi, Jason and I – and spent most of the night drinking various alcoholic delights in front of a beautifully blazing fire.

It was a far cry from my earlier mercy dash.

And I mustn’t forget to mention the fact that, following yesterday’s piece in the paper, I was recognised on the way home. A neighbour said he now knew all about me. He didn’t mention the ice floors and common monkeys.

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Ice floors and common monkeys

Google Translate has definitely been our close friend here in Sweden. From our early days when I had to translate just about everything, to these days when I have some knowledge of the language. And it’s pretty clever, generally being accurate but, sometimes, it struggles. Like today.

A little while ago, Ann-Helen came round and interviewed us for the local paper. She said she was submitting a short article. Each time the paper was delivered, I would scour it for the article. There was a photo of us with the girls, so I especially looked for that. My searching proved fruitless. Until today.

It’s a full page spread with a massive photograph. My first thought was that it was lucky we’re not in a Witness Protection Programme. I also thought that it looked like we were giants next to our British phone box.

Anyway, the article is lovely and, now, anyone who reads the local paper will know who we are. Though I hope they’ll get more sense out of the text than Google Translate did. Apparently, one of the things we miss about living in England is the “ice floors and common monkeys” in the pubs.

As I said to Mirinda, I was never keen on the ice floors, particularly when returning from the bar with a pint, but I do rather miss the common monkeys.

Thank you, Ann-Helen.

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Feet first

Irena Haiduk is a Serbian performance artist. She rejects biographies which, I guess, places her in the here and now with no past. I guess it’s all part of moving forwards. Anyway, regardless of that, she was born in Belgrade in 1982. I came across her today while reading about Katalin Ladik who I discovered at the Moderna Museet last week.

Haiduk wrote one of the pieces in a book I bought about Ladik’s work. As well as discussing her work, she also delves into a bit of her biography…but let’s forget that and move on…

I was interested to know more about Haiduk and, on searching for information about her, I discovered the Borosana shoe.

Back in the days when Yugoslavia was a place, the communists decided that, rather than allow women less time to stand on their feet in the factories, they would invent a shoe that kept them upright for longer. Apparently, the Borosana shoe lets you stand up for nine hours, making you far more productive than people who sit down for a living.

These days, the shoes are a fashion item. This is either acceptance of paid slavery or lack of knowledge. I think it’s very odd.

Of course, Haiduk doesn’t approve of the shoes. In a piece she created a number of years ago, she had groups of women wandering around the town wearing the shoes. They were also wearing a utilitarian dress and balancing a book on their heads.

Here is what Artforum wrote about it:

A GROUP OF SIRENS glided silently around Kassel during the run of Documenta 14 last year. These were women balancing books on their heads in the style of the classic finishing-school posture exercise, cast by Irena Haiduk to form an “Army of Beautiful Women” for the performance Spinal Discipline, 2017, a component of the artist’s enigmatic contribution to the quinquennial exhibition. During the summer, this perambulatory team of female-inclined people wore a light, cap-sleeved garment called the ABW Pattern #3 Dress in a variety of shades. During the autumn months, when I visited, they wore the long-sleeved, somberly black ABW Pattern #2 Dress, what the artist calls a “dress designed for strolling.” At all times, they wore black lace-up heels with open toes called the Borosana shoe. Trained by the artist to evoke the semidivine status of the Siren, the women stared ahead, appearing to move with undefined yet synchronized purpose, thus assuming an unnerving gravitas. I witnessed one rubbernecker swerve on a bike. A handful of men and boys swaggered, approached, and ultimately faltered for the right catcall with which to disarm them.

McLean-Ferris, Laura, 2018, available onine at: https://www.artforum.com/features/openings-irena-haiduk-237557/

Photo from Artforum: https://www.artforum.com/features/openings-irena-haiduk-237557/

I have to say that I don’t think the shoe looks very comfortable. The frock does, but not the shoes. I’ll ignore the books.

Then, in a surprise move, Serbia’s representative in the 2022 Eurovision Song Contest wore a pair and made them a must-have fashion item.

People are weird. Imagine wanting to buy and wear something that subjugated women, making them stand for longer to help them eke out more productivity, in order to keep the men in power…in power.

Still, that’s called civilisation I guess.

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Marshall of the ten wounds

James Neville Marshall VC, MC & Bar, Chevalier de l’order de Leopold, Croix de guerre (1887-1918) was, it seems, born to be a soldier.

He was also a bit of a lad outside his military service. His pre-war antics included working as a clerk in a veterinary clinic, then branching out in his own establishment as a vet. Except he couldn’t say he was a vet because he wasn’t trained as one. It was perfectly fine for him to work as a vet, he just couldn’t call himself one. So he didn’t.

He also threatened a farmer, was fined for driving without a licence in a car with no lights and lied about his father being a Knight of the Realm.

I heard the story of Marshall tonight, in a Western Front Association webinar given by Peter Lees. Poor Peter was having a few technical issues with his slides but a couple of quick tweaks by his daughter (I think) saw everything working as it should in next to no time.

Peter took us through Marshall’s life via, among other things, Marshall’s war diaries. He has also written a biography of the man. He is definitely quite knowledgeable.

Marshall had a few nicknames during the war. He was called the Mad Major and Marshall of the Ten Wounds. He was called the latter because he was always getting wounded. One instance was so bad that he missed 330 days of the war recuperating. But, like all of his woundings, he was back in the fighting as soon as he was able to stand.

He quickly worked his way up through the ranks. When he died, trying to repair a bridge across the Sambre–Oise Canal, near Catillon, in France, he was an acting Lieutenant-Colonel. It was this engagement that earned him the Victoria Cross. He was sending crews to fix the bridge, standing on a bank of the canal directing his men. He was shot and killed. He was 31.

His story is extraordinary, with a fair bit of swashbuckling daring-do thrown in. I’m tempted to read Peter Lee’s biography. I’m sure it would read better than the way it was read tonight.

I am getting to the point where I don’t think I’ll watch many more WFA webinars. There have been far too many dull presentations of exciting subjects.

On the other hand, and far from dull, I hung the Christmas lights around the house today. The red lights on the deck are especially delightful.

They look particularly good when the deck is wet.

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Market day

The Trosa Christmas Market was on today. Like every market I’ve been to in Trosa, it was very crowded. So much so that, as we tried to walk across the main bridge in the centre of town, Mirinda decided it was too crowded and reversed direction. The girls were very happy with this decision.

I’d suggested that we could walk along the river, or stream as Jonas calls it, and cross the bridge further down but Mirinda had a much better idea and we were soon sitting down to an amazing lunch at Mat Studio.

I discovered that there’s one thing better than having a celebration dinner at Mat Studio and that’s having an unexpected lunch at Mat Studio.

They were doing a roaring trade given it was just after midday and a lot of Christmas shoppers had decided it was the best place to rest their butts for a bit. Smart people.

The reason we were there just after midday was because my wife had slept in for a rather long time after our late night. To be fair, I slept in as well, though I did wake up three hours before her. I was going to start hanging the Christmas lights given it was the first advent Sunday, but I was concerned I’d disturb her. I also forgot where they were.

Speaking of Christmas lights…our neighbours have all started putting up their lights including the dead one next door. This was rather weird. The van has gone to be replaced by coloured lights. Do the dead like pretty lights as well? I guess so.

I did manage to place the advent lights in the windows though. So that’s something. I’ll hang the outside lights tomorrow.

Anyway, having eaten, we ventured out and approached the market from the back. It was still, obviously, crowded but at least we weren’t shoulder to shoulder with total strangers. Which was another thing. We didn’t see anyone we knew. Okay, a guy with a very impressive beard gave me a big, hearty hello as if he’d known me all my life but, as I explained to Mirinda, this is a pretty regular thing among the bearded.

And so we strolled between the stalls with Mirinda stopping and buying things as we went. Among this torrent of purchases were two jars of the most amazing local honey. The man behind the counter told me all about his honey, giving me little tastes of each one. One of them was from raspberry flowers and tasted amazing. Obviously I bought some.

Something else that tasted amazing today were Jonas’ saffron buns. I love a saffron bun, but may never have another one now I’ve had the best. Seriously delicious.

KSP and Jonas had Thomas and Kitten visit them today so we popped over to see them. We met them back on the cuddle a chick day when Thomas took the rather flattering photo of me wearing the chicken hat.

Unfortunately, we arrived shortly after they’d left, so we didn’t see them. Still, we sat around and chatted for ages, sampling Jonas’ wonderful baked goods. He’s a very good baker. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before. We were very spoiled.

He is also a dab hand with exercises, and he very generously took me through a few that could help in my fight against my lack of nerves. Who knows, one day I may be able to walk like a normal person again.

Actually, it’s my lack of proper walking, standing and balancing that causes me the most trouble in crowds. Mind you, it does help in stopping me falling over.

In the meanwhilst, Nicoline went to the market at 10, when it opened. She’s a smart woman, Nicoline.

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