For the last 40 years, the North Stand at football team AIK’s home ground, has had a reputation for being loud. If you want to sing, it is said, this is where you go. It sounds a bit like the East Bank at Aldershot. Unlike the East Bank, there’s a bar at the North Stand, AIK though it is only for season ticket holders.
The reason I’m writing about the North Stand at AIK is because I spotted another football sticker on a roadside cabinet this morning.
Looks like it might be very much like the East Bank.
Speaking of being loud, something rather embarrassing happened to me today. I was about to catch the bus home from Tyresö Centrum when I suddenly remembered I had to get something from Clas Ohlson. I wheeled my trolley down to the end of the centre, and it suddenly developed a squeak.
It wasn’t a subtle squeak. More an incredibly irritating, high pitched, ear shattering kind of squeak. The kind of squeak that turns heads for miles around. In fact, as I entered the shop, every head did turn. As well as buying the masking tape that I’d gone there for, I now needed to buy some oil.
In the UK or Australia, I’d go and buy some WD40. No such luck here. I searched in vain. There was nothing even remotely like WD40 anywhere. I was at the point of going and asking someone at the counter (a sure sign of male defeat) when I spotted a row of little bottles standing next to small tins of metallic colour paint.
The label on the bottle above is the victim of its own contents. However, it says ‘Symaskinolja’ and Symaskinolja was not a word I was familiar with. To be fair, that could be said for almost all Swedish words. However, it looked and felt like oil, so I grabbed my phone and used the Translate app. Symaskinolja means sewing machine oil.
Back in the days before WD40, you’d use sewing machine oil for all manner of squeaks. I guess the reason you used sewing machine oil was because pretty much most family homes had a sewing machine and, therefore, a little bottle of oil. I remember using mum’s in the past for various things. I recall it was very good for tin snips.
I grabbed one of the bottles and took it to the counter, trying to ignore the looks of pity and disgust as the wheels on my trolley screamed out in despair. I held the little bottle aloft and, with a great shaft of golden light beaming down upon my right hand, I declared that their suffering was about to end.
Actually, I sheepishly made my way to the counter and put the little bottle down saying, “That’s what this is for,” in response to the sales assistant’s look of sympathy. I was glad to see it was the same woman from last week who commented favourably about my hat.
She asked me where it was. I said the sun wasn’t out today, so I’d reverted to a cap. She said “Not a cape?” To which I replied that I’d look a bit silly in a cape. She then ventured that if I had a cape I’d be able to fly like Superman. I did concede that that would be a good reason to wear a cape.
Back outside, I made my squeaky way to the nearest free bench and applied a goodly amount of lubricant to both wheels. The problem was fixed immediately, and I silently wheeled the trolley home.
And, finally, in response to absolutely no queries at all, here’s a photo of our road after being cleared of all the grit, as written about the other day.
Such a joy to walk home on.