UK 5 – Sweden 6

We were supposed to go and have tea and cake with Sue this afternoon but Mirinda had a deadline to make with an application and it was looking a bit unlikely. As the time ticked around towards 4pm, I had to cancel Sue as we beavered away. Then, at 17:04 Mirinda was ready to submit the application, a full 56 minutes before the deadline.

As she tried to submit, the computer quite emphatically said NO. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. The submit button disappeared completely. As did everything to do with the submission.

It then suddenly clicked. The deadline was in Swedish time which, as we should know, is an hour ahead of the UK. She’d actually missed the submission by four minutes.

We sat and had a G&T and managed to put a positive spin on it. I also rescheduled Sue for next Tuesday. It was not the greatest end of the day but did nicely bookend with the morning which was far from pleasant.

It wasn’t raining when I left the house but, halfway along the path, it started. By the time I walked into Starbucks, I was decidedly damp. Mind you, that was mostly due to the traffic in Castle Street which refused to let me cross the road.

I’ll never understand why people in cars aren’t more courteous to pedestrians. Do they not see us, standing wet and cold on the side of the road? Are they so cocooned in their little bubble that they think everyone is warm and dry? Are they just selfish arseholes? I don’t know.

Anyway, I soon dried off with a latte and a rather depressing chat with Jay’s gran, who is concerned that if we don’t have a hot summer, lots of kids will have more misery heaped on top of the already mountain of gloom that has pervaded the planet. Fortunately, she was distracted by a dog and I was able to get away.

As I was leaving Starbucks, Sue asked if a random umbrella was mine. I gave her my stock answer of “No, I hate umbrellas.” As I walked across to Waitrose, it did occur to me that I wondered where Sue thought I’d hold it, given I had one hand on a walking stick and the other on my trolley. Maybe she thought I had a slot in my back for it to slide into. In which case she could have offered to help attaching it.

Having shopped (and chatted with Vivienne over the self service check-outs) I headed back home through rain which had decided to come down properly rather than floating around just being annoying. Which meant, naturally, that I was soaked by the time I reached home.

Not that that mattered. You can’t live in Britain and moan about getting wet; it’s part of the experience. Just ask Julius Caesar.

By the way, I was right about the sticker being defaced on the green cabinet.

I don’t know why people are so easily offended by stickers.

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One Response to UK 5 – Sweden 6

  1. Pingback: Flesh, juice, pith and skin | The House Husband

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