I spotted a load of these, newly stuck, stickers at and around the bus stop today. When I looked up the words, they pointed me to a Facebook group which, of course, I refuse to look at. A little further investigation led me to a football team, Djurgårdens IF (DIF). Mot means against. I don’t know what Rubb means though.
Ignoring the sudden proliferation of, apparently, football related graffiti, I caught the bus into Tyresö.
Mirinda says I like to blame other people and things for my own stupidity. Possibly that’s true but sometimes, while I try and try, it all gets a bit difficult. Not because I can’t find anyone or anything to blame, mind but because there’s just too many.
Take today for instance. I was at Tyresö Centrum doing the shopping. Having been to Ica, I was headed for the lifts in order to go to the upper level and my favourite shop. The lift, however, was roped off with a sign taped to the glass door.
Of course, you’d think I’d be able to use the stairs except that’s a bit difficult with a shopping trolley and the centre people have recently placed bollards in front of the escalators to stop people in wheelchairs going rogue. So they were out as well.
I figured the only way was head outside and walk around to the upper entrance. Which I did. And it’s not easy.
Still, I persevered and set off on the mammoth trek across the bus terminal, round the traffic and up and down dale. While I was grumbling and groaning and realising I’d have to do the same on my return, I was making good progress. I could see the back entrance (I realised at this point that I’d have been better off coming from the opposite direction as it was closer) and was heading for it when I slipped.
I slipped on grit. Which was there because of the snow we’ve had. Big piles of rounded little marble like stones. And I slipped on the grit because my old runners have no grip. I’m wearing my old runners because my extra toe is still sore and the old runners are the only things that don’t hurt. My big toe is sore because I was wearing my boots all through the snow and they don’t have a lot of give in them.
And so I fell onto my left knee, ripping my jeans and causing quite a bit of pain in my leg. Obviously, having heard Adele’s presentation on pain, I knew this was my brain alerting me to the danger. Like I didn’t know. Stupid brain.
Anyway, I hauled myself back up and made it to the centre without further mishap.
I was in two minds whether to go to Espresso House given it’s right next to the non-working lift but felt like I deserved it. So, fortunately, I did.
While I was sitting there, feeling a bit sorry for myself, I realised there was a series of arrows pointing towards the library then veering off to the left. These arrows started at the lift door and with a sign.
I translated the sign and suddenly knew who to blame. Me. It was my fault entirely. The reason I fell over and grazed my knee was because I can’t read Swedish. There, in black and white were the words: “This lift is not working. Use the goods lift over there, stupid!”
My translation may contain some inaccuracies.
The rest of the day was, thankfully, accident free.
I had purchased some dog clippers and managed to uglify the girls. I have a new appreciation for Kate’s skills, I must say. Mirinda said I was never to trim the girls ever again. The poor things look mange-ridden, homeless, pathetic, and unloved.
Fortunately, the day was improved by a visit to Norrby’s where we sat outside for the first time. Along with everyone else. It was quite full. Except inside where it was completely empty.
As well as a lovely lunch (räkmacka for me, cheese pie for Mirinda) we indulged in a couple of invented buns. One was salted caramel, the other was strawberry jam. Both very naughty and yet so delicious.
And, of course, a post would not be a post these days without the latest offering from the germ ridden and uncaring litter brigade. Or kullbrigad in Swedish.