A father was holding the hands of his very young daughter at full length as she tottered towards us on wobbly legs, reminiscent of mine. She had only started to walk a matter of days ago. She was looking very proud of herself. He said that his other daughter had seen her sister stand up first. She screamed for her parents to come and see. It was a wonderful family moment.
This was at Cafe Notholmen, on the most beautiful day here so far. There were boats and families and even people swimming. It was all so perfect.
Once he found out we were Australian, the father quizzed us about The Wiggles. We assured him they were real and very popular down under. He had a business meeting in the week with one of them and hadn’t heard of the group.
Going to the island for linner, was a delight. We’d spent the morning walking in the woods (Mirinda) and working on my podcast (me). While Mirinda is normally gone for a few hours, I’ve usually finished with the podcast in about 20 minutes. Though it’s going to take longer now.
While I did the recording last night, I had to write my next letter this morning. Because I’ve caught up with the previously written, FATN letters, I now have to write a new one each week rather than monthly. That’s adding a bit more pressure.
The pressure wasn’t eased by the builders next door. While they didn’t have the jack hammer going today, they chainsawed a bit and were using a circular saw. Then there’s their bloody truck that, for some reason, has to be turned on for at least ten minutes every half hour. Noisy bastards.
But that was all forgotten for a few hours as we headed to the island.
There was a lot of people. It reminded me of the popular winter Sunday’s we visited except for the amount of clothes and the presence of boats on the water.
It’s hard to believe that we walked where that yacht is now anchored. And now it’s so warm that almost everyone we saw was wearing shorts and t-shirts.
One person we saw, wearing shorts and t-shirt, was a man who bore an incredible resemblance to a clean shaven, short haired, Nicktor. So much so that he shall henceforth be called Swedish Nicktor. Of course, Nicktor himself denied there was any resemblance, but we (including Dawn) beg to differ.
I managed to get a surreptitious photo. It’s a pity he’s looking down, but the likeness is undeniable.
I was sorely tempted to go and say hello but managed to check myself. He would have thought me a lunatic. Or worse. An Aldershot fan.
While sitting watching the people (and after we’d eaten) we indulged in an ice cream. I had the pleasure of trying a crème brûlée flavoured one. Obviously, being a bit of an expert, I had to try one. Mirinda insisted. I won’t bother writing it up on my ratings page because, firstly it was an ice cream and, secondly, it tasted nothing like crème brûlée.
After this minor disappointment, we went for a wander down by the dock, to admire the boats, when we discovered yet more doppelgängers. On board a yacht, two dogs suddenly appeared, excited to see the girls. While not unusual, these two dogs were the spitting image of our two.
The y0ungest, a full poodle, looked exactly like a young Emma. The older dog was like a proper sized cockerpoo but looked exactly like Freya. We talked to the owner, all amazed at the coincidence.
Mind you, looks were where the resemblance ended, really. While her two were a bit yappy and excited, desperate to leap ashore and accost the girls, our two didn’t take a blind bit of notice.
I really wanted to take a photo but always think it’s a bit suspicious wanting to take photos of other people’s dogs. Like taking photos of their kids. So I didn’t. Anyone reading this will just have to take my word for it.
And that was about it for our day. We drove home then had drinks on the terrace before watching some Vikings and El Vecino, a Spanish half hour sitcom based on a comic.
A perfect day, I’d say.
I should add that while the ice cream tasted nothing like a crème brûlée, it was still very creamy and yummy.
