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What an odd night I spent down at the dock, guarding the boats through to the early hours of Tuesday morning from the late hours of Monday. It is part of our agreement with the boat club that we spend a night in the boat club office, keeping an eye on things. And tonight was our night. And all was calm. Well, apart from the big birds I disturbed while doing the rounds.
It was an odd end to a day that was a little diverse.
We had a plumber come round to tell us how to fix the leaky shower screen in the stuga.
Now, before I go any further, I know that the word ‘stuga’ merely means a type of house. Both the main house and the guest house next to it are stugas. This was pointed out to us by Nicoline the other night. And, yes, I realise that by continuing to call the guest house a stuga and meaning it apart from the main house can be confusing for any Swede reading this.
However, like many things, both in Swedish and English, we get a bit nicknamey and the nicknames stick. This might be because we are Australians and we love giving things nicknames that probably sound odd or just downright wrong, to some ears. To those ears, I apologise.
But things have gone too far down the track to change now. And so, we call the main house ‘the house’ and the guest house next to it is the ‘stuga’. Sorry, and all that. Tis what it is.
[It’s quite eerie sitting in the clubhouse when the motion detector lights suddenly come on outside. I got up and looked out the window a couple of times, but there was no-one out there. Probably the same pesky bird that splashed at me from behind the boats, earlier.]
Anyway, the plumber came, inspected and gave us a couple of possible solutions, one of which he will attempt tomorrow. If it works then the solution will prove very cheap. If it fails, another solution will cost an awful lot more. I’m hoping for the first one.
Then, after I started a Gazerole in the slow cooker…
…we headed over to Gnesta Vet clinic for Emma to have her three yearly rabies shot.
These can only be done by certain vets and our usual vet isn’t one of them. I think one of the qualifications is that the vet has to be called Emma. The thing is, there are two vets and a nurse all called Emma at the vet in Gnesta. Most peculiar but very reassuring for our Emma.
[The log book in the boat club office records the number of boats docked, cars parked and anything that happened during the watch. Saturday night’s log entry records that, along with the number of boats, a couple were spending their wedding night on one of them. The entry does not record anything else. I do wonder if things got a bit noisy.]
The thing is, as Mirinda pointed out, Emma is not exactly a Swedish name so to find three in a vets practice in Gnesta is surely an anomaly…except it isn’t. According to a source I found, Emma is a very popular name in Scandinavia. Though it was originally Germanic. The name means ‘universal’ so I guess it’s popular everywhere.
Interestingly, of all the female babies born from 1998 to 2006, only one a year was named Emma. After that, from 2007, it became a lot more popular. The name peaked in 2007 with 831 baby girls named Emma being born. The number of babies called Emma since then have gradually declined.
Even so, according to a site on Swedish name statistics, there are 69,488 women called Emma in Sweden making it the 21st most popular name.
By the way, her name day is July 23. I have made a note in our calendar so we don’t miss it next year. I’m sure our Emma will be thrilled. As will the three Emmas at the vets in Gnesta.
[Meanwhile at the boat watch, I went for a stroll around the boats every hour, half in order to make sure everything was fine and dandy, and half in order to wake myself up. Forunately the night was calm and dry; no sign of rain. I’m not sure I could have avoided sleep if it had been pouring down.]
Having had her rabies shot we all drove back home. Dinner was the Gazerole, which was delicious, if I do say so myself. Particularly after cooking slowly for about five hours. Then, of course, Mirinda drove me down to the dock for my night watch.
There are a few paintings in the clubhouse and I rather liked this one.
Rowing through a storm, perhaps?
At 4am, I walked home.
PS: Angry Anderson, frontman of Australian band, Rose Tattoo died today, aged 79. He was an icon of my youth.
