This morning, Denise and Tracey left Oslo for Stockholm. They had several adventures including Tracey trying to bowl over a tiny Swede on a train and both of them narrowly avoiding being eaten by a hotel elevator.
For the first time I’ve ever heard of, they are in a basement hotel room. According to Denise they do have a window but it looks into another room.
But enough Scandinavian scandals. Here in wet and miserable England, I swept yet another barrow full of leaves off the terrace and dumped them in the leaf trap
Mum and I walked into Farnham. It only took an hour longer than usual. But then, she did need to buy a pair of slippers.
We also had quite a job finding some truly dull sausages. Most of the Waitrose bangers were far too full of flavour. Also mum doesn’t like pork in her sausages.
You wouldn’t think her father was a butcher would you.
Anyway, she passed on the venison and settled for the smallest chipolatas in the universe.
The reason for the sausages was to prove to mum that I can cook plain as well as peripatetic. I teamed the snags with mash, peas, carrot and Brussel sprouts. All topped with my own, was never anything like powder, chez Gaz gravy.
Anyway, it was all acceptable except for the sprouts which were, apparently, too hard…And she thought my gravy had mushrooms in it…which was odd.
After lunch, on our walk, Emma had an FSI, which earned her an unwelcomed bath. At first I thought she’d just covered get face in mud until I tried to kiss her. I backed off very quickly.