The savages were restless tonight. Mirinda asked me what was happening and I said it sounded like a lynch mob psyching themselves up to head out with fire brands and pitchforks. I’d heard their woops and howls earlier, while I was eating dinner. Then the strange music started. It’s the complete opposite to the commune where we’re staying, which is virtually silent.
Not that it was silent all day. No, the kids of the commune spent a lot of the day running along the corridors. This, I think, was mainly because of the rain, which was on and off all day. Mostly on. Which was good given Mirinda was in bed all day.
She picked up Freya the other day and put her back out. I told her she should have picked up Emma instead. This meant a lot of lying down to ease the pain. So, given her sudden immobility, all the things we were due to do today had to be re-arranged.
Though not the packing of the truck in Farnham which took on a very frustrating turn when they couldn’t lift the dining table. When I suggested a way to do it, I was told it was only the driver because the other mover had gone home. I also had difficulty reaching Dave to find out what had gone on.
One good thing to come out of the truck packing was the news that it will now arrive on Wednesday rather than Monday, the day of exchange. That’s much better.
That wasn’t my only frustration, though. I have to sort out the various services for the house, but each time I started, I’d be stopped by a lack of information. Still, I’m learning a lot about ‘How to get things done, in Sweden.’
Something else I learned today is how much Trosa weaves a magical spell over people.
I took the girls for a walk down to the small beach, not far from the commune.
As we left the beach and started through the small car park, we chatted to a chap who had been visiting his boat at the nearby marina. He told me he had spent his childhood around the area, running in the woods, swimming in the Baltic, and said it was brilliant. His mother still lives in the house he grew up in, just along from the golf course.
When I explained what we were doing there, I finished by explaining how the first time we’d visited Trosa we’d…and he finished my sentence, “Fell in love with it? Yeah, it happens a lot!“
But, in the meanwhilst, the STFU Studio kept up their noise long into the night. I should explain the name. There’s a map in the apartment which highlights a lot of circular walks around the area and, next to the Studio next door it has, written ‘STFU Studio’ which, I think, says it all really.
