The House Husband in Sweden

It was a completely miserable day today. Almost constant rain and not very cold. I managed to get drenched on my way back from the ICA. Of course, I still needed my halfway sit down break of course, and figured I’d sit on the bench under the tree for some scant shelter, forgetting what season it was.

The final few leaves provided no shelter whatsoever. And, actually, I think the rain knocked them off shortly after I left.

It was while I was sitting on the bench, recovering, that one of the gardeners walked by, picking up spent candles left over from All Saints Day. She is one of those local people that I regularly see but have no idea who she is.

Anyway, she made some comment about the rain which I smiled at. This was the correct response as we exchanged looks that said, “What can you do?“

She then said, “Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder.“

I was firmly ensconced in raincoat and hood, the riverlets streaming off me, harmlessly to the ground. I understood her completely and responded with a smile and a hearty, “Absolut!“

By the time I reached home, I was pretty well soaked through. In fact, I was so wet that Freya wanted nothing to do with me until after I’d dried off and changed my clothes. Freya hates the rain, even when it’s second hand.

Emma, of course, greets me enthusiastically, regardless of how damp I am.

The rest of the day was, almost, exclusively spent inside the house, preparing things for the return of my wife who spent the afternoon gallivanting around the waterways of Copenhagen following my recommendation of the Stromma tour I took last month. She thoroughly enjoyed it.

So, statistically, things seem to have returned to normal. I only had seven views of the blog today. Sadly, that’s pretty much normal. I guess it was an attack of the bots which found nothing of interest and gave up pursuing.

More surprising, while working in the kitchen today, I had the radio on and discovered that there is a distinctive key change in Ravel’s Bolero. Right near the end. Just like a Eurovision entry. Does that explain the popularity rather than the sexy thing?

It definitely surprised me.

Today, the weather was gorgeous. Blue sky, sunshine, temperature in double figures. The perfect day to take the girls for a walk around Mount Trosa. Which I did, though not till about 1:30pm, as I had a lunch date with Nicoline at midday. Okay, I could have taken them before lunch, but there were other things I needed to do in the morning.

Like, feed the birds. Before Mirinda left I was told to feed them every second day and, having not had this particular chore for ages, I was surprised at how much they eat. Huge and various flocks of them visit our garden every day, emptying the various feeders. Given the quantities devoured, it occurs to me that we are the only ones doing it in the neighbourhood.

There were also some housework-y things to do before Nicoline arrived to whisk us off to Vagnhärad. Mind you, we almost didn’t go given a car problem which I unexpectedly fixed.

Anyway, after reading about how KSP and I ate at Utsikten the other day, Nicoline suggested we go there, given she’s been wanting to try it. So, it was decided, that’s exactly what we would do. And it was just as crowded as the other day.

There was a moment of confusion when Nicoline paid and thought the woman at the cash register had given her too much money in change, only to discover that she had been charged as a pensioner.

“Aren’t you a pensioner?” The woman asked.

Looking around the restaurant, you quickly realise it seems to be half pensioners and half workmen. The place serves good, hearty meals at very reasonable prices. My beef stroganoff was lovely (though could have done with more paprika) and Nicoline said her fish was good as well.

And, of course, there was someone there that knew Nicoline. A woman who is her storage unit neighbour. That is so Trosa! We’ve had storage units over the years but never once have I known anyone with a unit next to ours.

Lunch done, she dropped me back at the house, where I hitched the girls up and took them into the woods.

It was very quiet as well as being delightfully rain free. Though not so much mud free.

I was going to walk halfway up Mount Trosa for a bit of huffy puffy walking but was daunted by the mud left from heavy machinery tracks up and down the now sloppy slope. Too slippy for me given I was not wearing my boots because of my still troublesome tophi.

I have no idea what they were doing but they did it a few times given the ruts and slop.

Back at the house, I popped across to the stuga and recorded my November Letter from Sweden. Here it is:

Later I had another lovely, long chat with Mirinda as she gets ever closer. Tonight she made it to a town in Denmark, having successfully spent only five minutes at Hamburg station. She described her destination as quiet, empty and not the least bit cigarette smoke infused.

And my stats have dropped back to a more traditional ten views, three of which were for the ever popular Turnbull of Whitby post of 2015. However, this change and return to more normal results makes me even more suspicious.

I had a lovely, long chat with Mirinda this evening as she relaxed in her Cologne hotel room. With no phone signal drop-outs and workable wifi, it made for easy conversation and a fill in of what she’d been up to. Obviously, her fortnight had been far more exciting than mine.

Mind you, today I walked the girls into Trosa and, following yesterday’s discovery that the Smackbottom bridge had been reopened, deliberately walked by to see it.

There must have been a grand opening extravaganza, given there were balloons. Mind you, the strange barge-like craft directly beneath the bridge was still tied to the railings, so I guess they are finishing up the final bits and pieces. It makes for a much less traffic jammed bridge down by the ICA roundabout.

I like to think that there was a bottle of champagne smashed over the railing at a grand opening by the Kommun, attended by various local dignitaries. Maybe even another boring speech by the fellow who sent everyone to sleep at Valborg last year.

The weather was very generous for our walk. It started off very sunny with little cloud. Okay, by the time we returned home, the sky was once more cloud-bound, but it didn’t rain. For a change.

We met a couple in the centrum, who said something complimentary about the girls. He obviously spoke Swedish. Iin response I replied with my usual “förlåt, jag pratar inte svenska” and he naturally switched to English.

He asked where the dogs and I were from. I think I confused him by saying “Jag bor i Trosa!” At least, he looked confused. I then told him I was Australian but living in Sweden while the dogs were English.

Seriously, it was quite the confusing, international conversation. It was one of those snowball like chats that just grew into greater complications as it progressed.

That was pretty much it for our interactions. Though I did notice that the once happy witch had been severely beaten up. I don’t think she’ll recover.

In the meanwhilst, at the coal face of mysterious statistics, the blog dropped to 157 views today. When I told Mirinda how many views I’ve had over the last few days, she became concerned and wondered whether it was time I stopped blogging, given it all seemed ridiculously suspicious.

I suggested that I could, maybe, return to my handwritten journals but felt this was a bit extreme. And, frankly, quite pointless given no-one would ever read them. I then proposed that I would wait and see. Which is how we left it.

Today was All Hallows’ Day. In the long ago, it was the day when the Christian church commemorated its many martyrs. They would know it more as All Saints’ Day. The Church of Sweden, though, has made it about remembering the dearly departed, devout or not, saintly or not, generally related. Though not always.

All Hallows’ Day here in Sweden is commemorated on the Saturday between October 31 and November 6. This year, the Saturday was on November 1. So, perfect, really.

Obviously, I don’t know any deceased persons here in Sweden (ignoring Inge, of course), so I remember the people I have held near and dear from both Australia and England.

Of course, our mums and dads are always in our thoughts. But especially today. Looking back over my blog posts, I love coming across comments which they have made. It makes it feel they are still around, somewhere, even digitally. Like a photo, only better.

Family aside, there are three people I knew who died too early, who I remember from our time in England.

Bill was a very good friend of Nicktor’s. They met many years ago and spent a lot of time on the Slab, watching Aldershot get beaten most weekends in the football season. That’s where I met Bill and instantly took to him.

He was a lovely chap and the only road furniture designer I have ever met. We often joked in the car, going to football games, about the best kind of roundabouts and pedestrian refuges. We even bored Nicktor once by discussing containerisation.

The Slabbers put a plaque on the railing where Bill used to stand to watch the football. I hope it’s still there. That way he can live on in some memories and, perhaps, when people ask who he was, someone will be able to tell them.

Then Ben, who worked with Mirinda. Her work husband, they said. A lovely man with a young family and a wife who was the most amazing cook.

And, of course, there’s Darren. A friend with a pain he wouldn’t share.

I miss all of them. All I have are memories, and they get replayed often.

Nicoline popped around today and I asked if it was weird to put a candle on a grave when you didn’t know the person on the stone. I asked because I intended to put one on Inge’s grave this afternoon. Nicoline said she would have no problem with a stranger putting a candle on her grave.

I thought this made perfect sense. And so I did.

Mine wasn’t the only one.

PS: The total is still rising. I had 1,496 views today. I think something is reading everything on the blog. I wonder if this is happening all over the Internet? Is it AI? No doubt.

The UK Government does not believe that I am still alive. In order to check if I am still breathing, they sent me a form to fill out. Until it is sent back to them, they have stopped the pension that I am entitled to and that I worked for. The form is called a Life Certificate. Clearly it’s the bit between the Birth and Death Certificates.

Being alive is not good enough, I had to get someone of good character and professional standing in the community to vouch for the fact. This is accomplished by that person looking at my ID documents (passport, ID card) and co-signing the form.

The list of people that can sign is full of doctor and lawyer types. At number one is ‘police officer’. I was about to despair – would I have to stop a cop and ask her to witness my existence? Then, I saw number two on the list. ‘Teacher’, it said. ‘KSP’, I thought.

I bribed her with a cake, which I made this morning and which she, subsequently, took to Torsby this afternoon, to go with the flask of coffee she and Jonas would take with them for the journey. And the bribe worked. The form was signed and, hopefully, I will post it back tomorrow.

To make the trip over to me less onerous, she suggested we have lunch at Utsikten in Vagnhärad, somewhere I’d never been before but had seen many times. For one thing, it’s just up the road from where I went for SFI classes and above a park where I’d often mope during breaks in class.

It’s in a prime position. In the summer, the views down to the Trossen are fantastic. Inside, the place is simple and friendly. There were three meals to choose from and each one looked delicious. And very reasonably priced. It made sense that so many people were already eating when we arrived.

I had the fish (lightly crumbed with a curry sauce) while KSP went for the chilli con carne. We both enjoyed our lunch very much. And, of course, KSP was greeted by the scores of people who know her. Honestly, it’s like being with a celebrity.

Speaking of celebrity, KSP asked me if there was an equivalent in English to the Swedish saying “Alla känner apan, men apan känner ingen*”. I couldn’t think of one.

Having supped sufficiently (did I say that lunch was delicious?) we headed up to the churchyard to check on KSP’s family grave. Because tomorrow is All Saints Day but she’ll be in Torsby and won’t be able to light the candle here, she wanted to check that all was good today.

I told her that I thought it looked lovely. She checked the light and all was well.

After dropping me home, she headed off for a charity awards ceremony which she is hoping that Torsby Friskis&Svettis will win. The event is tomorrow, Saturday. Tonight, she and Jonas were going to watch Halloween, the original 1978 horror film, which she claimed she’d only see about 10% because her eyes would be shut for the rest of it.

In the meanwhilst, back at home, I hitched the girls up and took them for a walk around Mount Trosa, given it wasn’t raining. For a change.

They were obviously very excited, although Freya wasn’t best pleased about being on the lead for the whole walk, a result of her being heavily in season at the moment.

All round, an excellent day.

Oh and today, there were an unprecedented 1,203 views. Is Grok stealing my content?

* In English: “Everyone knows the monkey, the monkey knows no one.“

I had an unusually vivid dream early this morning. I was sitting down, in a pub, for dinner with my entire extended family, a lot of whom are no longer with us outside of the sleeping hours. I had been late in arriving and had to sit a long way from the ‘top table’. I then had to find somewhere to buy beer. I walked down a narrow street which was crowded with the overflow from the pub. I don’t remember anything else, and have no idea whether I found beer or not.

Then, tonight, I went for dinner with Nicoline to Punschkällaren.

In between, we were stuck inside as the rain fell, almost continuously, all day. Sometimes torrential but mostly just wet and gloomy. So, I’m going to ignore the weather and talk about the restaurant instead.

It’s the first time I’ve been since the new management took over, redecorating and changing the menu. And, I’m happy to report that I finally had a steak sandwich. It’s only taken almost a month. I am also happy to report that the whole experience was lovely. And I didn’t share a dessert with Nicoline, unlike my wife.

In the process of enjoying our meal and chat, we also met one of the three new managers. He’s an English chap who has lived in Trosa for a while. He was telling us how they were soon going to brew their own beer, upstairs. This, obviously, made me very happy.

He then said that he knows an Australian brewer, living in Trosa, called Brad, who will be helping in the ale enterprise.

This surprised me. I explained that I had stopped to chat to a fellow last weekend who had an aunt with an Australian boyfriend called Brad. I also said I knew another Australian called Colin from SFI, who also mentioned a Brad who was a brewer.

The small town reality is all around me, it seems. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll even meet Brad.

Anyway, aside from all of that, we both enjoyed our night at Punschkällaren. I particularly enjoyed the odd sauce tasting menu.

The restaurant specialises in sauces made with various alcohols. Principally they are whiskey and pepper, rum and molasses, gin and juniper and schnapps mustard. When you order the tasting, you are presented with four little pots of different coloured sauces and a basket of fries for dipping.

It was an unusual and interesting way to start a meal. It was a bit surprising at first but I quickly got over the shock and enjoyed them all. Even the gin one. Nicoline, I don’t think, was as enamoured as I was.

Actually, the only thing lacking was enough horseradish but Nicoline sorted this by asking for more. The waitress was more than happy to bring us little pot full.

It was a splendid night with good food and an excellent dining companion.

And I had 306 views today. It’s going up. Mirinda’s Painted Hall post received four of them.

Before I begin writing my post each morning (for the day before) I check my stats. For reasons I have not been able to fathom, it is proving very difficult to pay for more in depth statistics, so I make do with the cheaper (read free) number of views and visitors and where they came from. I’m fine with that, though my curiosity is sometimes piqued with anomalies.

Normally, I’m lucky if the combined views/visitors reach double figures, but occasionally there’s a sudden spike. Yesterday, for instance, I had 78 and, this morning, that figure had climbed to an unprecedented 301.

Not, since the days of my posts regarding the filming of Skyfall and associated photographs, have I had such a sudden interest in my blog.

The majority of the views today came from the US (234 views) with the UK (31 views) in a distant second.

The strangest thing, though, is the fact that these huge quantity of views have not come from Google or Facebook, the two places they normally come from. Facebook (4 views) because I post it there and Google (5 views) because my site is indexed by them. There have been a few from those expected places but the bulk have come from…well, nowhere it seems.

I can’t help but be suspicious, though, to be honest, I don’t think any of the viewed posts are especially important enough to be searched by some nefarious government agency. The majority of views are of the home page – the most current post – though, of course, there is generally one or more views for Turnbull of Whitby, my most popular entry by a long shot.

Another thing is the time. The majority of today’s views (66) occurred at 14:00 CET (Central European Time). This is 09:00 EST (Eastern Standard Time) and 13:00 in the UK. I can’t break down the views any further than that so I can’t tell where they came from. My assumption would be the US given the time differences.

Anyway, while it is quite odd, it does at least give me something to write about given today was pretty devoid of action. My gout tophi played up, forcing me to remain supine for a lot of the day. I only put shoes on, vaguely, when I fed the birds.

The day consisted of a lot of throwing the ball for Emma while Freya snored.

The only thing of note to happen was a successful phone call with Mirinda as she walked from Surrey Quays ferry stop back to the place where they’re staying.

She and Fi had been to the Pirates exhibition at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich. Sadly, the exhibition did not highlight the most successful pirate of all, Zheng Yi Sao beyond a single tablet. Was it because she was a she, we wondered, or because she was Chinese? Who knows, but it is a sad reflection on the curator.

Interestingly, Zheng Yi Sao’s leadership of the Pirate Confederation, and the confederation itself, are wonderful examples of Commons, which our fledgling Book Group is currently reading about. I must remember that for the discussion in December.