I was researching a soldier today and, when I found one of his service documents, I was surprised at his profession. I was expecting Boot Repairer, following in his father’s, as it were, footsteps. Or, at least something footwear related.
Perhaps he was a Tory.
A much more necessary profession, particularly in these parts but also, I have it on good authority, in the UK at the moment, is the one that operates snow ploughs. Around our neighbourhood I’ve seen the huge ones that clear the main roads, smaller ones that clear the side roads, footpath ones and personal ones. I’ve even seen a modified quad bike with plough attachment.
I managed to get a photo of a mid-sized snow plough while I waited for my bus this morning. He was speeding along, heading for somewhere that needed the services of his angled front end.
Being a Wednesday, I was off to Tyresö Centrum. And, as is usual, everything went smoothly with nothing to report that would be considered even mildly of interest. Which, of course, explains most of the things that (don’t) happen to me every day.
As I sat in the bus shelter, waiting for my return bus back home, I wondered when I’d stop writing in this blog. It’s something that occurs to me every now and then, usually when nothing happens.
When I look at my stats, I’m generally quite surprised at what post is attracting most views. Since writing it in 2016, my post about the shipbuilder Turnbull of Whitby has attracted a lot of views and comments. I figured it would have to be my top post. However, when I checked out my most popular post of all time it’s actually the one I posted of the blue door in Farnham Castle with a fake keyhole and garden image superimposed on it called ‘Through the Keyhole’ which I wrote for a homesick Mirinda when she was in Australia.
I don’t know why.
‘Naked Jenny Agutter’, a post title I deliberately created to attract traffic and which remained in the top spot for ages, was long ago usurped by three posts referring to the making of Bond film Skyfall which we saw being made at Hankley.
The main thing that the site statistics do is give me something to write about when I don’t have something to write about. Then, like the proverbial bus, a couple of things come along at once to write about.
The driver of the bus home was listening to death metal. Generally the driver has the radio on with something all pop and innocuous froth but not today. It was all growly and deep throated with distorted and painful guitar.
I’m not saying it was annoyingly loud, it was just different. Then, as if to contradict his choice of music, the driver had a go at a couple of young lads getting on the bus with a box of tomato sauce spattered chips.
Obviously the exchange was in Swedish but it was pretty obvious he was telling them they couldn’t eat on the bus. The lad with the chips said he wasn’t going to and closed the lid over them. The driver finished off by saying he was keeping an eye on them. They conveniently sat in full view of his mirror.
And, to finish with food, we went to Norrby’s and had some delicious fish soup.
And the girls were admired for their thick, warm, uncut coats.