We had to go into Stockholm today. Mirinda had an appointment with an eye clinic for an examination ahead of a pretty common procedure. Given it was to do with her eyes, it was very stressful. It was also very stressful for Freya. She tends to feel when we’re upset about stuff so I think she was feeding on Mirinda’s mood.
We couldn’t leave the girls at home given we’d be gone for half the day, though, had she known, I think Freya would have preferred being left.
We managed to get Chris to look after them both, but she was in Stockholm at her boyfriend’s so we took the girls into town on the train. This is what started Freya off. Sitting on my lap, watching the countryside flash by, she was showing a lot of distress.
Emma managed to go to sleep, precariously balanced on my lap. It was a far cry from how they looked first thing in the morning.
Still, by the time we handed them over, they were happier. Emma even let Chris’s boyfriend pat her.
We said goodbye and headed off to a new area of Stockholm. For us, anyway.
The clinic was on Kungsholmen. We walked in a great big circle, heading by the stadhuset and along a stretch of waterway that looked like a river but was actually the divide between islands. Eventually, we came to a bus stop and took it two stops where we found the clinic.
We had timed it so, having located the office, we could then have some lunch.
We popped into a branch of Le Bistrot for some salad and an undercooked boiled egg.
The other day, I saw a video showing how different boiling times affect eggs. I was taught, a very long time ago, that the perfect hard-boiled egg takes eight minutes in boiling water and a soft-boiled egg, six. I’ve never had a problem with these timings.
Having seen the results in the video, I’m pretty certain that the cold, boiled egg I had with my raksallad had reached about four minutes. I sliced through the egg and the yolk wasn’t cooked at all.
Now, I don’t mind a raw egg now and then. In fact, I regularly have them on raw beef when I’m lucky enough to find it on the menu but having a cold solid yolk and uncooked yolk is not that appealing. It did not fill me with joy, delight or rapture. Actually, it filled me with the desire to never eat at Le Bistrot again.
Mirinda’s Caesar salad, on the other hand, was delicious.
Having eaten, we headed across the road and went up to the second floor and sat and waited.
Mirinda’s stress levels were getting pretty high as we sat and talked about future plans for adventures on a deserted island and wondering how hitchhiking on the high seas worked. Without some sort of semaphore, I can’t see how it would.
Eventually, Mirinda was called and she vanished for an hour and a half, returning a lot less stressed than she went in. In fact, from then on, her relief and mood meant she was in constant danger of falling asleep. The dissipation of adrenaline was like pulling a plug.
It was also a lot easier getting back to central, given we took a bus all the way rather than take the roundabout route we had earlier.
When we collected the girls from Chris, back at Stockholm Central, Freya was back to her normal, sleepy self. In fact, she snored all the way back to Trosa. Fortunately, it was quite noisy in the carriage otherwise, I’d have had to wake her up.
The upshot of the visit was that Mirinda has to return in a few weeks for a second time. Hopefully, her stress levels will be somewhat lower.
I almost forgot. I spotted this poster at Stockholm Central:
I’m wondering if Armborst & Tulpaner are the support act.
