I woke up feeling a bit unwell this morning. It was a return of the lower abdominal pain which has laid me low in the past. I would have happily stayed in bed but it was a Sunday, and we were going to the Island Café. I figured I could stay in bed tomorrow
I’m sure a lot of people will claim it was because of yesterday’s pizza, beer and ice cream. This is simply not true. My body has no problem processing the world’s best food. No, I reckon it’s diverticulitis from the diverticulosis that the butt doctors found when I had the colonoscopy.
Obviously lower abdominal pain could be many things, mostly unpleasant, but given the meagre evidence and the symptoms, I reckon it’s the diverticulitis. If I died of an exploding stomach some time soon, I was wrong.
But let’s not dwell on my tummy troubles. The morning was lovely for Mirinda to have her weekly Skype before we headed out to Notholmen for our Sunday constitutional. Along with thousands of others.
The royal park was packed. It was like a plague of people. And dogs. People were having, standing up picnics amid the fallen leaves. Others were chasing their kids around. Yet others were training their dogs, possibly to chase their children so they didn’t have to do it any more.
Most significant is the sudden twig-nification of the trees.
For our three weeks in Stockholm, we have been surrounded with gold as the leaves turned and began to fall. Now, most of them have fallen and the trees have become naked and spectral. It is quite a difference.
An even greater surprise awaited us on the island. The café was full. On the outside, at least. Inside we had no problem getting a table. Fortunately, for us, the Swedish love the outdoors.
Our favourite waitress greeted us and explained that the management had placed an ad in the local paper, letting the people know that they were remaining open on weekends, through November and December. Like a lot of places, they tend to close once the ‘season’ is over. This year, though, they have decided to remain open.
And the locals had flocked. Obviously they are all avid readers of the local equivalent of the Farnham Herald. It’s all good news for them. And us, because it means we can continue to have our Sunday brunch on the island.
Having eaten and drunk a coffee, both of which I shouldn’t have done, we dropped the dogs off at the house before heading for Hemtex.
Hemtex is a home store which sells sheets, duvet covers, pillows, tea towels, that sort of stuff. Manchester, as it is called in the UK. Mirinda decided (and I concurred) that we needed some linen of our own. It would have been a lot of fun had I not been regularly subjected to waves of abdominal pain.
We managed to buy everything we needed and headed for the Ica for our weekly food shop. Now, I have tended to pronounce the supermarket I-C-A (like I-G-A in Queensland) but, when we spoke to Sara, she calls it Ica. So, who am I to argue? We shop at Ica.
Back at home, I fed Mirinda some cheese and saucisson while I ate nothing.
