Return to the House

Posted on July 2, 2026 by Gary

As I was heading up the escalator at T-Centralen this morning, on the opposite set of moving steps a very large tour group, headed by a woman with a paddle, was heading down. The platform was quite crowded already so goodness knows what it was like afterwards. There was one of those big ugly liners in the harbour so I guess this was some of the passengers. I can only assume that they were being shown the delights of the Stockholm artistic underground stations.

I was in Stockholm for some aboveground art. Having read the catalogue, I was heading for the Moderna Museet to view once more House of Nisaba: New Stories of Painting. A second look was required and, I must report, well rewarded.

It reminded me of when some of the Weasels went to Amsterdam to see the Vermeer exhibition. John had already read the catalogue and said how it made the visit so much more rewarding. As far as my return visit today was concerned, I can only agree with his assertion.

As well as an overall appreciation of what the curator was trying to achieve, there was also the opportunity to spot little, delightful details in some of the works.

The first painting you see as you enter the exhibit is the amazing Progress: Real and Imagined by Nicole Eisenman. While I spent a delightful while examining the various figures and details back on June 18, I missed this pair, playing a game of Sorry.

Detail from Progress: Real and Imagined (2006) by Nicole Eisenman (1965-)

Now I look back to the original photo I took of this amazing work, I realise I can spot this couple but, at the time, I completely missed it. And, following my art class yesterday, I guess we have Manet and Courbet to thank for the attitude of the nude.

Anyway, the exhibition was, once more, even on the second viewing, superb. I left a review suggesting as much.

As a side note, when I got home and started raving about what I had seen, Mirinda said she was glad I had discovered a new interest. Since the WWI research ended, I have been a bit bereft, apparently. A bit like when I stopped my research at the Science Museum. And the Royal Naval Library.

After she said how glad she was, I said it was better than my last interest because at least it isn’t about the war.

Anyway, the House of Nisaba wasn’t the only exhibit I visited. Given I was there, it seemed a bit of a waste not taking advantage of the fact that there was a new curated exhibition of pieces from the collection. It was called Will You Be Profitable, My Friend? and included works of Swedish Art from 1945 to 1979.

As well as some truly amazing pieces, there was also a new (for me anyway) work by one of my favourite Swedish artists, Marie-Louise Ekman, who I first discovered back when we first came to Sweden in 2020. We attended an exhibition at Artipelag showing works by women artists and Ekman was one of them.

At Home With a Lady I-IV (1967) by Marie-Louise Ekman (1944-)

My apologies for the reflections but the lights in the final room were a bit difficult to avoid.

So, all in all, an excellent day at the gallery, absorbing art. I can only hope the tour group got as much out of the works they spotted on the underground as I did above.

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Secret Santa in the Tuileries Gardens

Posted on July 1, 2026 by Gary

What is it with face tattoos? I’m not a tattoo fan as it is but, if you ask me, getting your face covered in ink is s bit psycho. What is the person saying to the world? The only reason I bring this up is because I saw two men at the ICA with them this morning. It was very disturbing.

Not so disturbing was the new footpath. It was completely walkable, allaying my fears from the other day that it would be impassable after the asphalt went down.

Very pretty though it didn’t feel any different to before. Except for the lack of potholes in the stretch above. Whenever it rained, they would fill with water and, in the winter, the water would freeze over and create little ice rinks for the pixies. It meant some judicious dodging in shopping trolley movement.

I also saw Harald at the ICA. That wasn’t disturbing, just unusual. I often see Annette but rarely Harald.

We briefly chatted about his recent boys away trip to southern Germany, climbing hills in walking boots while the mercury rose to 40°. I said he was insane. He laughed.

On the way back from the shop, I spotted this little fellow in the path.

Was it a slow worm or a baby snake? Whichever it is, I hope it managed to get across the open path before someone rode over it on a bike. The heat has obviously brought it out in the open, indulging in a little (mis)adventure.

Speaking of bikes, someone found one in the river in the last couple of days and decided to display it on the small dock near the pedestrian bridge. At first, I thought it was just parked there while the owner went for a walk but, as I got closer, I realised it looked more like it had come from Davey Jones’ locker. Or, at least, the river equivalent.

Or is it making a point about parking?

While it was still hot here in Trosa (though not even close to 40°) it was cooler than the last few days because of persistent cloud cover and infrequent breezes. But, in saying that, it was also quite humid, which made me disinclined to do much. Though I did, finally, put another small shelf in the pantry.

The shelf is in answer to Mirinda’s claim that she could never find the cumin. I explained that it just hid behind the various other herbs and spices, getting shifted around every time I use something other than cumin. Obviously, the solution was to put a little shelf up higher than the other stuff. Now the cumin is very obvious.

Apart from making Mirinda chilled avocado soup and cooking dinner, that was about it for me today. Though, being a Wednesday meant it was an early dinner because of art class.

And it was another excellent session this week with Dr Amy taking us through the 19th century changes wrought by the invention of photography, the changes made to Paris by Haussmann and the art of the nude.

Tonight we looked at Manet and how he helped topple the female nude from perfection to reality. He was not alone in this. Courbet, who I mentioned last week, dealt perfection a bit of a blow with his controversial painting, The Sleepers.

The Sleepers (1866) by Gustave Courbet (1819-1877)

This painting shocked Paris, most notably because the two ladies were not exactly sleeping.

As for Haussmann, his renovating of Paris into a city of boulevards, had the effect of pushing the poor out of the city, where they could no longer afford to live and into the outskirts were they could be ignored. This was in sharp contrast to the Paris prior to the changes when all levels of society lived cheek by jowl, a leftover from the French Revolution which endeavoured to make all French people equal.

And, of course, I asked some questions again this week and made Dr Amy laugh.

My first question was in regard to the Manet painting Music in the Tuileries Gardens. In the painting, Manet included a lot of real people, mostly men in big top hats, dressed in dark coats, wearing big black beards.

It was while we were looking at the painting that I realised there was a little figure in the crowd who looked a bit out of place. In fact, I thought it might be Santa Claus. This is what made Dr Amy laugh. She was delighted by the thought that Manet would include a Secret Santa in his famous painting.

She went and had a look at the painting during the break and reported back that it was actually Manet’s father, wearing a red hat.

Music in the Tuileries Gardens (1862) by Edouard Manet (1832-1883)

Another question I asked was whether the romanticised female nude of most of arts history explained why Ruskin was so shocked by Effie Grey’s pubic hair. The answer was a resounding yes. “100%” She said emphatically.

So, another excellent session. I really feel I am learning a lot from the National Gallery Stories of Art 1800-1900. I’m also becoming quite the fan of Manet. Not Monet, as Mirinda hastily pointed out. One vowel makes all the difference, she said. This is true. Monet does nothing for me.

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And the heat continued

Posted on June 30, 2026 by Gary

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.

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Remembering hot summer tar

Posted on June 29, 2026 by Gary

I was right about the rowing yesterday. This morning the aches in my body were intense and unforgiving. I can see why people use rowing machines for exercise. They ensure a work-out in a number of different body areas.

As well as my shoulders, there were aches in my arms, my thighs and my back. Muscles had been discovered and awakened after a very long hibernation due to a general lack of use. I can only hope the aches won’t be worse tomorrow.

There were inaudible groans as I headed to the ICA first thing. Though that may also have been because I was operating on about four hours of sleep. There was also an ache in my eyes as they tried to stay open. This wasn’t just on my way to the shop early on. It was also very difficult to read in the late afternoon.

On the way to the shop, I noticed the advance of the asphalt replacement.

I would have thought that they would do it in stages but it looks like they are going to rip up the old before they begin putting down the new. That will mean there will be an interesting slalom effect for anyone wishing to use the footpath once they begin phase two.

Mind you, I think the heat would have made the laying of a new footpath rather difficult. With memories of the summer roads in Oz as I grew up was enough to make my feet squirm. Metaphorically of course.

Things are pretty bad in Germany, truth be told. I read today that with temperatures rising to 41.7°, trams have been stopped in some cities because the melting roads have made the tracks impossible to use. A lot of people blame inadequate road building materials. I blame too much climate change denial.

Youthful days of bubbling tar on bare feet and the fate of German trams aside, the temperatures this summer seem to be making poor Freya suffer more than absolutely necessary. We have been forced to reverse cycle the heat pump so the house remains cool enough for her. Even so, she sleeps for most of the day and doesn’t each much before 6pm most days.

Her lethargy today was so full on that I had to keep checking that she was still with us.

Then, while Mirinda played guitar on the deck, Freya was up and about and listening intently. She was almost back to normal.

A little later, the dogs were on the sofa with me in a strange reversal of positions.

Normally they are the other way around. Emma even had a go at lying on the back, just like Freya does when she’s up to it. She didn’t last. Freya has the weight advantage when it comes to balancing on a narrow, squishy lounge back.

Actually, we think that Emma realises that Freya isn’t well and is taking care to leave her alone rather than act in her usual bullying way.

As for me, I worked on my next Letter From Sweden which will feature the exploits of the M20. I will have to spruce it up a bit because the results of my typing were not exactly inspiring.

I also cooked, of course, making another Geraldine dish for dinner (spring lamb stew) and a lot of perfectly cold gazpacho for Mirinda.

She said it was perfect.

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All at sea

Posted on June 28, 2026 by Gary

Sometimes I worry that I’ll not have anything to write about. Each morning, when I wake up and start typing, my musings and moanings threaten to sink into a sea of utter dullness. A bit like yesterday. But then something happens to change everything. A bit like today.

We had planned to go out in The Bob today. Mirinda wanted to head out later than normal. She wanted to watch the sun set over the Baltic and return in the almost dark. We thought it wise to wait for the thunder and lightning to stop as well.

Storms had been predicted all day and, in a period of unusual accuracy, it all happened after lunch. The sky burst, crackled and popped and the rain fell.

It had been another warm morning and you’d think that the rain would have cooled things down a bit but rather than a bit of welcome cold, the humidity set in reminding me of the many sweat filled, after rain days I spent visiting my parents in Queensland.

After dinner, with the day still muggy and decidedly unpleasant, it was with great relief that we headed down to the boat. As we slowly headed out of the dock and into the archipelago, the cool breeze created by our movement over the water, felt wonderful; comfort at last.

And the day started leaving.

Putt-putting along, almost alone on the water, we headed down towards Stensund. Mirinda was set on surprising me with a trip as far as Tullgarns slott, a place I’d not yet seen from the water. And a place I have still not seen from the water.

Just before we rounded the last headland before the bay of the grand house, disaster struck.

We were travelling at an almost top speed of 20 knots when the engine gave a loud bang, the screw stopped spinning and clouds of smoke erupted from the outboard motor. We were suddenly stranded between bits of land in a world dominated by 15 metre deep water.

All was quiet as we debated what to do. Eventually, it was decided that I would row towards land. A small boat shed with a dock looked like a good option. I retrieved our single oar and started punting towards it, happy that there were no tides to row against. As it turned out, we never made it to the shed.

Mind you, it was a good work out that made me realise why we only have a single oar. The Bob isn’t the kind of boat that can utilise the benefits of real rowing.

Then, Mirinda managed to contact Stefan, a man with a big boat who was willing to come and rescue us. He asked where she had got his number and, when she said through Roger, he asked which Roger? There was some confusion over this because Mirinda couldn’t remember Roger’s surname. Listening from the bow, I was a tad concerned he was going to ignore our plight and I’d have to keep rowing for hours.

But no. Stefan arrived half an hour later.

After a bit of extra quizzing about which Roger, and Mirinda’s frantic listing of every relative he had, our rescuer finally handed me a twinned rope to attach to our bow and he proceeded to tow us back to Trosa Harbour.

We asked to be dropped at the boat shed where The Bob had spent the winter, for the simple reason that they had serviced the motor and claimed it was all good. And, sure, it was, for three trips. Maybe that’s as far as the warranty on service goes. I don’t know but I sure am glad it didn’t happen when we were out at Kråmö the other day.

Arriving at the boat shed, we tied up. It would be a long walk back to the car and Mirinda had worn crocs rather than proper walk worthy shoes so it was not a happy prospect. Then, while she and Stefan were settling our sizeable rescue bill, I spotted Roger on the opposite bank, waving with a big grin on his face.

I told her she didn’t have to worry about walking now. There was a lot of relief in her return wave.

And so, we managed to get home at around midnight following our sunset tour. And what about the sunset? Was it worth it? Hell, yeah.

Mind you, I could have done without all the rowing.

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Musings on a Saturday as I do the washing up

Posted on June 27, 2026 by Gary

KSP said something last night that got me thinking. How come people don’t say the last of the month? Like “The last of August,” for instance. After all, we say the first, so why not the last? For a start, it would save people like me from having to go through the mnemonic in their head whenever they are trying to work out if it’s 30 or 31 days. The one that goes “30 days have September, April, June and November…“

Actually, as I approach the last of June, I’ll have to start concentrating on writing and recording my latest Letter from Sweden. I had planned to write about the visit of the M20. I don’t see why not.

By the way, planning was the only way I could manage to successfully prepare and serve dinner yesterday. Here is my itinerary.

Incidentally, this was the third iteration of my schedule.

I have no idea how anyone could create a dinner party without having an itinerary. One that gets refined over about a week leading up to the event.

Of course, I didn’t need an itinerary to clear up this morning. I just worked through it, washing up load by washing up load. (The spelling and grammar checker in my browser just suggested that ‘washing up load’ should, maybe be spelled ‘washing upload’ but does not indicate where I can upload it to. Pity, really as it would be quite handy if an AI bot could have done it all instead of me. Now there’s an excellent use for AI.)

So, yes, four loads and the kitchen was returned to normal and all was right with the world. I was astonished to find that we had used almost every glass on the glass shelf. Mirinda, who looks after our guest’s libations at social events, explained it by saying that there were pre-dinner drinks then two different wines and, basically, she just put them all out on the table. It was a lucky thing that Louise didn’t come because there wouldn’t have been enough. She’d have had to bring her own.

Speaking of Louise, she popped over this afternoon to apologise for not coming to dinner. I told her it was fine, that as Mirinda said, I was an idiot for not telling her what time it was kicking off. She said that, no, she was the idiot for not checking what date the Trosa run was on, which her boys wanted to see.

She ended up staying for fika, sitting in the glassroom with Mirinda, throwing the ball for Emma and chatting about the various professions of men she meets. Actually, earlier I had unintentionally ignored her at the ICA while she was busy talking to a Scot. She loves the accent. Alas, I didn’t hear what he did for a living.

Speaking of the dogs, Freya was much improved today. We cooled the house down to make her more comfortable and, by lunchtime, she was a bit more active than yesterday. She even ate her meals, something she hasn’t been that keen on doing on her off days. The remaining bits of confit de canard may have helped.

Mirinda waited for the sun to be gone before taking Emma for a walk at Stensund where they almost met a dangerous and manic Dalmatian. By the time they got back to the house, there was just time for some strawberries on the deck before it was time for me to head to the Football House for the last England group game against Panama.

Nicoline can stop reading now

It was a bit of a nervous watch, if I’m being honest. The England team (playing in red while Panama played in white, which is odd because they are usually the other way around) looked disorganised, giving the ball away too easily and not looking like a winning team until near the end of the second half.

Maybe they figured they didn’t need to bother given they were through to the knock-out rounds anyway. Obviously, I don’t know but it was frustrating when I thought that Panama would be a walk over to some extent.

Then, near the end of the second half, England scored two excellent goals, and the game was put to bed.

So England topped the group and Panama are going home. England next face Congo DR on Wednesday at the ridiculously reasonable time of 6pm. Less reasonable is the Sweden v France game on Tuesday which kicks off at 11pm.

While I think Sweden is unlikely to beat France, obviously I have to watch the game.

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Gin and the wallpaper

Posted on June 26, 2026 by Gary

If anyone tells you that peeling a dozen quail eggs is easy, they have probably never peeled a quails egg before. Okay, if you manage to pick up the membrane then it’s all easy peely but, if you don’t, it’s no picnic for grown up fingers. I would suggest, if you have a five-year-old with nimble fingers in the house, get them to do it.

Adult hand for scale

When I was on the Retreat, where I first came across the recipe that includes them, they came ready peeled. Okay, now I realise it wasn’t exactly cheating but was, in fact, expedient. It would have taken the 12 of us a lot longer to prepare the meal if peeling was involved.

And the reason for quail egg peeling was because of the Retreat. Tonight was the evidence of my learning, the test of the teaching, if you like. Something I was tempted to call The Geraldine Leverd Tribute Dinner, given everything I prepared was her idea.

(For clarity, the amuse bouche was a Turkish tea cup filled with Geraldine’s refreshingly chilled zucchini and pea soup.)

To be fair, the whole meal took all day to create, along with a bit of yesterday afternoon for the strawberry tart pastry cases, but it was extremely rewarding. It was also not something I would do every day. Which probably explains why I have never had any aspirations to be a chef. I reckon that would be a good way to spoil something I love.

Of course, I didn’t just make it all for Mirinda and me. I had invited Nicoline, KSP and Jonas to join us for the feast. I had also invited Louise next door but through a bit of Gary organisational stupidity, she couldn’t make it. Suffice it to say that Mirinda claimed it was the fault of both parties and we should just let it go.

Not that we didn’t include Louise in a number of ways. Firstly and again due to my weird brain, I still made six of most things. Secondly, and more importantly, we gossiped about her. In the nicest possible way, of course. I mean, we’re not monsters.

One of the great topics of Louise goss was her relationship status. Or, rather, statuses. With one chap a painter/decorator and the other a dab hand in the manufacturing of alcohol, we christened the pair Gin and Wallpaper. Jonas and I thought it would make a great name for a band while Nicoline thought it was a perfect blog post title.

While we may have discussed Louise for a bit, there was, of course, the meal.

I changed a few little things from what we did at the Retreat. For one thing, rather than make the little filo crunchy tuna things flat like an envelope, I formed them into something resembling the money bags that Mirinda’s family used to order from the Thai restaurant in Dural so many years ago. I also served them, as a finger food entrée, with Geraldine’s French mayonnaise.

The mayonnaise was very popular with Nicoline. She kept her little brown bowl next to her for the entire meal calling it her comfort food.

I was very happy with my confit byaldi which I cooked in the stuga oven because the one in the kitchen was fully occupied. It just shows you how spoiled I was with my kitchen in Farnham that I feel a bit lost without a double oven. A very first world problem.

And my hachis parmentier (or shepherd’s pie, with duck instead of lamb, in English) was presented in perfect little towers. I was well pleased with them. The rings lifted off perfectly, making me very happy.

Well, apart from mine which lost it’s browned top but, hey ho, there you go. And, at least it was just mine. In retrospect, I could have just swapped it out for the one I prepared for the invisible Louise. Not that it made any difference to the taste.

KSP was driving so she and I were the only sober ones. I will always find watching people get slowly inebriated around me while I remain sober, immensely entertaining. It’s sometimes comical, other times mystifying, always enjoyable.

Naturally, there was a lot of chat about how much we all love each other as we headed full on towards midnight. (I was going to write the witching hour but I think that’s slightly earlier.) And plans were made for when we head back to the UK later in the year. There were almost tears. But that may have been because it was well passed Nicoline’s bedtime.

Finally, everyone left me with a mountain of washing up, which I, in turn, left for the morning, hoping that the witches would do something magical in the early hours, sort of like the brooms did in Fantasia for Mickey Mouse but without the mayhem. Obviously.

That looks like some serious chat accompanying the cheese course. I’d like to say they were discussing something very French and philosophical as first discussed between Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre at the Café de Flore in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, but I think it was more likely about the difference between ‘friend’ and ‘acquaintance’ in everyday Swedish.

It really was an excellent night. As Nicoline said, we should do it five times a year.

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Life in the hot house

Posted on June 25, 2026 by Gary

I was listening to Witness History on the BBC World Service this morning, just before the 5am news, and it featured the guy behind the 1980s Slip, Slop, Slap skin cancer campaign in Australia. It was very effective in reducing the incidence of skin cancer, particularly in kids. We both remember it very well. This led me to wonder why someone, anyone hasn’t done something as creative for climate change.

I guess it’s that old short term thing: I don’t want my kids dying from skin cancer in a few years but don’t care about their existence much beyond that. Let them fry after I’m gone.

This made me wonder if the denial of climate change is more fear that anything else. “If I don’t believe in it, it will go away,” kind of thing.

The current heatwave roaring across Europe at the moment and the millions suffering from the effects, highlighted this for me. Particularly in Britain where many people are bemoaning the fact that they don’t have air conditioning. Talk about ironic. But, of course, they may just want to accelerate the race for the end.

It was pretty hot here, in Trosa as well today. This was made worse given I spent a lot of the day, after shopping, in the kitchen. Poor Freya was also suffering with the temperature. To alleviate her suffering a bit, Mirinda put the heat pump in reverse, we shut everything up, and the house cooled down to manageable levels.

Of course, the temperature was nothing like the height of summer in Oz. When we grew up, the heat was regularly unbearable and the sun a blazing melanoma machine.

But, enough of that. As I said, I spent a lot of the day in the kitchen, preparing for the Friday French Feast tomorrow. Here’s a sneaky peak under a tea towel.

To be fair, while I did spend a lot of the day in the kitchen, it wasn’t all cooking. Of course there was also the planning, something I desperately need when organising a dinner party. So I scrawled on bits of paper scattered on the dining table, trying to make life easier for myself.

But, as I said, I also went shopping. First up, there was the ICA but then, Mirinda drove me into Trosa in order to buy some French wine and cheese.

The town was very busy with maximum cars in the Coop car park but, eventually, Mirinda found a spot. I hopped out and wandered the requisite shops. I was quite dismayed to discover so much French wine in plastic bottles. I realise why they do it, but I have more than enough microplastics in my system already and don’t think it’s fair to have more foisted into me.

Anyway, I found some proper glass bottles and then headed for Lotte’s Deli where I spent a lovely time tasting and discussing the correct cheeses for tomorrow night. It was a lot of fun speaking in a combination of English, Swedish, French and fromage.

At the end of the day, I felt like I’d achieved an awful lot and went to bed, firm in the knowledge that I would be ready for the new day.

Oops, almost forgot. The destruction of the footpath had come on apace since I last walked to the ICA. I don’t know what will happen when they lay the asphalt because I’m thinking we won’t be able to walk on it for a bit.

And it’s not like we can walk on the other side of the road.

Oh, well, it’s all part of life, I guess and will be resolved in time.

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Is that a cow in the snow?

Posted on June 24, 2026 by Gary

I am very happy to report that Freya had an excellent day today. She ate, she went for a short walk, she snored a lot and, best of all, she gave a short quokka dance when Mirinda came home from zumba. She was back to her normal self. I have no idea how long it will last so I enjoyed it while I could.

Given that Mirinda went into Stockholm after lunch, I had a lot of time to spend with both dogs today. Mind you, that was not the case first thing as I headed for the stuga to finish the latest draft of my book, implementing Nicoline’s editorial improvements. As the word count passed the 60,000 mark, I decided to, once more, put it to bed for a bit.

It is always best to put it aside after completing a writing stage. Rather than ploughing on, I think I’ll start work on my next book. The freshness of a new story will be a great pleasure, I’m sure. If nothing else, I’m looking forward to finding out what new adventure Suki Banes, my erstwhile heroine, will get caught up in next.

The other thing I did today was make a batch of herby crackers ahead of the Friday French Feast. I was very happy with them. Obviously, they are a Geraldine recipe and delicious. I may have had a few taste test samples. Just to make sure, you understand.

Tomorrow I will be a captive of the kitchen as I begin my preparations in earnest.

But, of course, the highlight of the day was my art class. Being a Wednesday I was once more in front of my laptop from 18:20, ready to absorb as much theory and history as I could.

Tonight’s lectures were about Naturalism and Realism and how such artists as Gustave Courbet turned the artistic cognescenti against him as he painted real people on monumental canvases in very ordinary scenes.

The Paris salon people were so unhappy with his painting of A Burial at Ornans that they refused to show it. Courbet shrugged off this snub and, instead, hired a big building and held his own exhibition.

His action led to a big change for Realist painters at the time. Before Courbet, the Paris Salon was seen as the leading arbiter of what art should be and look like. Emulating Courbet, artists started displaying their work in private galleries, believing that great art was more in the eye of the beholder rather than a bunch of snobs at the top.

Detail from A Burial at Ornan (1849–50) by Gustave Courbet (1819–1877)

We also looked at the Pre-Raphaelites and the effect they had on the British art scene, leading to the Arts and Crafts movement which, ironically, strove to create simple things for the people who, ultimately could not afford to buy them. Though they made them. Shades of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists if you ask me.

Again, it was a wonderful couple of lectures led, once more by Dr Amy Mechowski. And I even asked a question. Again.

While discussing Courbet’s painting, The Diligence in the Snow, I asked if one of the animals was in fact a cow and, if so, why. Dr Amy wasn’t sure but said she’d check. I wasn’t being facetious. It really did look like a cow. And, given it was an example of Realism, I was intrigued to know.

But, here, you decide.

Bad quality detail of The Diligence in the Snow (1860) by Gustave Courbet (1819–1877)

My apologies for the bad quality but, really, is that person riding a cow or not?

Oh, and Ann Blyth died today aged 98. From natural causes. She was one of the last of the Hollywood actors of the golden age of film. Her story is interesting when you consider she broke her back then got better and made lots of movies, did musicals and had time for kids.

Posted in Art Course 2026, Dead Celebs, Gary's Posts | Leave a comment

Purple time of the year

Posted on June 23, 2026 by Gary

I noticed this morning, on my way to the ICA, that there is a long line of purple just as the woodland path emerges from between the trees; just by the pre-school. I don’t know what the plants are. This is not surprising given my lack of horticultural knowledge. But they appear to be deliberately planted. Or sown. I guess they could be butt seed but they look too regimented for that.

Anyway, they cast a delightful haze of purple over the edge of the path, almost obscuring the cars that daily blight the view.

Speaking of cars, today I read a piece about a new plan to pedestrianise East Street in Farnham. One person was not happy, declaring that it was a waste of money because he wouldn’t be able to get there. Clearly a man who has yet to work out how legs work.

Anyway, moving right on along…

Freya had a day of sleep today. We had to keep going over to the dog bed and checking she was still breathing. It was almost like we only had one dog for most of the day. She didn’t eat anything for lunch, preferring to remain virtually comatose. I did manage to force her to take her antibiotics but that was it and she hardly woke up for them.

Then, come the evening, she suddenly became part of the world again. She ate dinner, she went out into the garden with Mirinda, she walked around the house with me for a bit. She has become a Jekyll and Hyde dog but without the evil personality. More Dr Coma and Miss Awake.

While she slept through the daylight hours, I completed a few odd jobs around the house while Mirinda went for lunch with Eva and a couple of her friends. They managed to go to the little café on the river, by the Centrum; the place that is only open for a few hours every year. The hours that we regularly miss.

My odd jobs included putting up a curtain in Mirinda’s study so she could see the screen in the afternoons when the sun beams in, making everything very hard to see. It made a big difference when it came time for her Swedish class.

I also touched up some paint and made some handles for the Death Cabinet. And, of course, I went shopping. Oh, and I made some crackers.

The crackers were a test run for the upcoming Friday French Feast. I’d not made them before (they are a Geraldine special) and thought I should have a test run before subjecting our diners to them. They turned out very good. So good that Mirinda finished them up for dessert tonight. Tomorrow I shall make another batch.

All round a busy and productive day. A pity I can’t say the same about the England football team.

Nicoline can stop reading now

The other day I watched Argentina play a tippy tappy game of pass the ball around the defenders, efeectively killing off a game which they led 1-0. They went on to score a second goal but, by then, the game had reached a level of boredom usually revered for the Italian football team. Tonight I watched the England team emulate this very dull style of play.

Sure, they sometimes attacked but, effectively, they held Ghana at bay for around 100% of the game. In fact, I don’t think Ghana even had a shot on goal. What Ghana did do though was hold England to a scoreless draw.

England had a few attempts, some on target, others pathetically high, but, essentially, they practiced their passing game. It was uninspiring and made me wonder why I bother watching them play.

Of course, at full-time, as soon as the whistle blew, Ghana was over the moon. Players and supporters bounced around as if they had won the whole competition. They deserved the draw given how well their defence held.

So, a dull and boring game. The only saving grace was that it was broadcast at 10pm rather than 3am. I would have ‘enjoyed’ it a lot less had I woken up at 2am to watch it.

Some England fans in costume, in summer, in Boston. That has to be a bit warm.

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