Do bags grow on trees?

After making my pickled beetroot last week and giving it the occasional slosh about as it ‘cured’, today I finally tried it. And, it was excellent. Not too sour, not too sweet, not too soft, not too hard; a genuine Goldilocks of a preserved vegetable. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s better than last time I pickled some beets.

Mind you, I could be wrong about that. After all, the last time I made pickled beets was quite a while ago now.

Still, enough about my pickled beetroot.

Today was a bit dull: Weather wise and general life wise, to be fair. Apart from a Skype with Mirinda, my regular språkcafé with Nicoline, then a surprising phone call from Mirinda, I only left the house to walk up Mount Trosa with the girls.

The phone call was surprising in that I was about to start doing the washing up when I picked up my UK phone to move it out of the way. As I glanced at the screen, it lit up with the phone call. The phone didn’t make a sound. I don’t know why. I also don’t know why I picked the particular time to pick it up. I guess after all these years of marriage, we hardly need the phone to ring any more.

Anyway, our walk through the woods was, once again, delightfully devoid of other people, so the girls got to wander freely for the whole stroll. They were very pleased. I was very pleased we didn’t see the deer today. I think, maybe, it has moved its home to somewhere the puppies don’t go.

Something we did see was a rather odd sports bag, dangling from a branch.

Was it a drug drop? A possible alien invasion? Something some kid forgot? I have no idea. I peeked inside but couldn’t see anything in it.

Or, maybe, it grew there. Who knows? Not me.