The ring on the finger’s enough

Most mornings, after finishing and publishing my blog post, I’ll have a look back at various old posts from around the same time. It never ceases to amaze me how much they have changed. I started off writing in a sort of shorthand (sometimes entries mean nothing to me now) without photos and little effort in composition. It just goes to show that after 5,765 posts and 3,234,765 words, I think I’m getting the hang of it.

Hopefully, though, days like today will retain some sort of meaning in the future. It was, after all, a day filled with the sort of small town interaction that we have come to enjoy and expect in Trosa. A day when we find it impossible to retain any kind of anonymity as we moved from one function to another.

And we made a new friend; Kristina from the Quarter Professional Fleamarket. She sold us a bottle with the Swedish flag on it and a cow. Her son studied at Newcastle University in New South Wales. She and her husband loved Australia. She’d like to visit again but feels she’s too old now. We laughed at the thought.

Kristina also asserted that if sales weren’t any good in the next few hours, they were just going to pack everything back into the car and go home. And, to be fair to Kristina, there weren’t as many people at the market as there was the last time we went.

This could have been because there was a big cultural event in the Centrum as well as a gardening and food festival at the museum. After we had picked up a number of excellent items at the market and had the usual perfect brunch at Emil’s Backe, we headed into town to partake of the musical culture on offer.

Actually, at Emil’s Backe, Mirinda spread some culture herself. There was a guy serving at Chez Charlotte who hadn’t heard about Emil and why the mountain is named after him. She told the story with great delight. He loved it and, dutifully, told his next customer.

In town, we ran into lots of people we know: Eva and her husband from the concerts, Jim the Poodle Man and son Sean, Victor and Ebbe, it was a steady stream of acquaintances. I’ve often said to Mirinda that Trosa reminds me of Northern Exposure. Or Cheers, where everyone knows your name. It’s just one of the things I love about the town.

Jim the Poodle Man claims it’s more like The Truman Show.

Or maybe we’re just extras in Inga Lindström.

I am still amazed we wound up in such a magical place, regardless of the TV programme.

In the meanwhilst, the stage set up in the centrum for the Kultureskolan Festival, featured a group playing a slow, sombre piece of music that appeared to have its roots somewhere in Eastern Europe. The music was beautiful, haunting. We listened then moved on as the musicians were replaced by the next lot.

The photo above looks like the crowd was sadly lacking. It wasn’t. There was quite the sizeable attendance. In fact, the town was buzzing with people. We wandered down to the ice cream place outside Boman’s and the crowds didn’t lessen.

In fact, when Mirinda went to buy some fruit from the fruit and veg stall, the chap selling it was surprised there were so many people. He had had no idea there was a function on and was saying how disappointed customers were that he’d run out of Swedish strawberries and were forced to partake of the inferior Belgian variety.

Finally, we arrived at Garvaregården for the gröna dagar spring market. It was here that Sean managed to win a handful of radish seeds and a pot for his mum. It’s Mors Dag (Mother’s Day) tomorrow, so it worked out very well for him. Actually, walking around Trosa with Sean is an education in itself. He loves talking to people and is not shy. Watching him work the market was a joy to behold.

It was at the market that we met a couple of conspiracy theorists. Her more than him. We received an education in various aspects of the world. And a rather strange bit of relationship advice. The couple were engaged but, when Mirinda asked him when they were getting married, he shook his head, saying that the ring on the finger was enough.

He was sporting a very impressive set of moustaches, which Poirot would have twirled and waxed with great delight. He was a jolly chap whereas, his fiancé was far more serious when it came to things like Covid, the WEF and the general state of the world. She didn’t mention the Lizard People but, perhaps, she would have reached them had she not been interrupted by a friend.

We slowly made our way back to the Tig, passing the centrum stage where the William Tell Overture rang out to great acclaim and an almost perfect tuba, and drove home where the deck beckoned like a centrum main stage of our own..

I have no idea what the neighbours thought but I loved attending this open air concert.

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