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It was another hot day with Trosa drenched in sweat. Or, at least, a Gary drenched in sweat as he cut the grass under the blazing sun. Still, it was worth it for the finished result though the soda stream took a bit of a beating between battery charges.
I also managed three loads of washing which the sun dried for me in record time. I almost had to bring it in before it combusted from the heat.
Mirinda spent the afternoon gallivanting around Stockholm, visiting the Technology Museum and being denied a decent cup of tea in a number of places. The first was because the kitchen had closed, the second because they only had fruity teabags. All a bit annoying, really.
Freya was also up for a bit of a gallivant so, after the day had cooled a bit, I took her and Emma up to the track and around to the bottom of the ski lift. And, I am very pleased to report, Freya did very well. Her tail was wagging and she appeared interested in everything. Best of all, she walked properly without the wobble that has been a feature of her ambulation lately.
We mounted the small lookout for a brief rest and a photo before heading back to the house.
It’s been a while since I walked around the track and I was struck by how overgrown the path is in various places. I know I shouldn’t be given this happens every summer, but still.
We only saw two people as they jogged past us. The rest of the world was green and full of birds. It was a delight.
Back at home I managed a bit of admin before Mirinda returned home, pretty exhausted. As for me, I headed for the newly christened Football House for the France v Sweden game.
Nicoline can stop reading now
I am constantly amazed at how big time professional footballers have no idea how cameras work. So many times I’ve watched players fall over and roll around grasping their legs when they haven’t been touched. And to think, in their small minds, they believe no-one can see what they are doing.
It’s one big reason why I prefer women’s football. While there are some female players who cheat in this way, forcing free kicks and playing up to the officials, it isn’t often. The French men’s team however, seem to revel in rolling around on the ground like toppled infants, screaming and squalling.
It was a bit of a shame when France played so well. They didn’t need the childish play-acting. They were all over the Swedish team, eventually winning 3-0.
That is not to say that the Swedes didn’t play well. The game, as a whole, while disappointing, was exciting. Both teams attacked and defended in equal measure, with good, solid end to end play.
The thing is, as I had said to Mirinda in one of those rare moments when she asked me a question about football, France was much the better team and I couldn’t see Sweden knocking them out of the competition.
The result made me wonder how long it would be before the Swedish team came home. Do they catch a plane tomorrow or do they stick around to watch some of the games? And how does that work with booking flights?
These questions are merely rhetorical.
Oh, and Penelope Keith died today. She was 86 and had cancer.
