The House Husband

Last year, during the Stockholm Tap Festival, we attended a performance of some wonderful dancing featuring talented tappers from all over the world. The Tap Festival is a yearly thing, and so we decided to attend a show this year as well. The festival was set to finish this weekend, so we booked for a performance for tonight. The tickets were booked, and the date put into the calendar.

Being Easter, this weekend has also featured a pop-up chocolate shop in Trosa, something Nicoline alerted us to. We decided we’d visit it before heading into Stockholm. Then Mirinda decided it would be a good idea to get a Swedish phone which required a trip to Telia in Stockholm and, given it was Easter and everything closes early, the chocolate shop took a back seat as we headed for the station instead.

As we drove towards Vagnhärad, I discovered the trains were not running due to, I assume, track work. There was a bus instead. Unfortunately, the bus was taking a lot longer than the train. We decided to drive to Södertälje syd and catch a train from there.

There was a bit of sitting around at the station but this plan worked out and we made it into the city with time to head for the phone shop and, subsequently, buy a new one.

If the train situation was annoying, it wasn’t as bad as the Telia shop which had had a power outage and so, while it was possible to buy a new phone and contract, it wasn’t possible for it to work until Thursday. Mirinda is due to leave for Portugal on Tuesday and we were hoping she’d have an EU roaming phone by then. This is mostly because O2 has decided to go against what it promised and has started charging a lot to use our UK phones.

It felt like the day, while beautiful and blue and not at all cold, was turning from good to not so good with every step we took. We stopped for a coffee in a handy Fabrique.

The café was very narrow; really only wide enough for one person. There were three stools at a bar across the back wall and one small table with two chairs up against an ancient, metal spiral staircase. However, looking up, there was an awful lot of space. As Mirinda noted, if you were to turn the place on its side, there’d be masses of room.

We then headed for Åhléns so Mirinda could buy a new handbag.

This was not to be any old handbag, however. No, this handbag would replace the blue and white striped, oversized handbag she bought a while back to take to language classes and, generally, to use whenever she had to take her laptop anywhere.

The old one hadn’t lasted very long before it was rendered useless. The replacement would need to be a bit better in quality and, therefore, price. She succeeded on both counts.

The bag managed to restore some semblance of pleasure which the lack of an active phone had forced upon us. It really is a beautiful handbag. It should last a lifetime. Preferably a lot longer than the one that the blue and white striped one had.

Following this success, we headed off to find some early dinner before the tap show curtain.

Ages ago, I was walking down Drottninggatan when I spotted a tapas restaurant. I always check out tapas menus in case they serve berenjenas so, obviously, I duly checked this menu and stored the knowledge somewhere in the back of my head.

Leaving Åhléns, I suggested we try the tapas place and I am so glad we did.

Not only was the food exceptional, the staff were amazing. Full of energy and happy to be working. Or so it seemed to us. The guy that served us was from Chile and he went through the nationalities of all the staff. The chef, for instance was from Grand Canaria.

And, the berenjenas was delicious. As usual, it was slightly different to any other berenjenas we’ve had but still bloody good. Denise would have loved it. In fact, it was so good, we had seconds.

Suitably full, we decided it was time to head for the theatre.

The little theatre was closed up. This was not unusual. When we went to the little Strindberg theatre, we realised that theatres in Stockholm don’t always open more than 20 minutes before a performance. We were an hour early so we found a small place and had a drink.

When we returned to the still dark and deserted theatre we discovered something rather important. We had the wrong night. The performance is tomorrow. With heavy hearts, we went home.

In the cemetery up the road, there is a bench. It’s where I sit and take a rest on my way back from the ICA. It’s nothing special just somewhere to perch for a short while and contemplate the dead. The thing is, the people who look after the cemetery move it occasionally, providing different views for the sitter.

It’s obviously not important in the grand scheme of things, but I do wonder if it’s a deliberate change of scene or, simply, a way to garden underneath it. I’d love it to be the former but fear it’s probably the latter.

That’s what I was thinking as I sat there this morning.

Normally I’m alone in the cemetery, but not today. A woman wearing a bright yellow raincoat, with a wheelie walker, was doing laps of the path. On the seat part of the walker was a small plastic pot containing tulips. Real tulips growing. They were also yellow. Beside the pot was a loaf of bread. It wasn’t yellow.

It was a bit odd.

Something else that’s odd is the fact that the mountain bike track is still under construction. The people from MTB worked through the worst weather late last year through blizzard and snow, wind and freezing temperatures only to stop. I thought they’d be finished. I thought wrong.

Presumably, they will have it finished for the summer.

I am pretty certain I have never seen such a joyous reaction as the one shown by Freya when we arrived at the house in Trosa. She sprang from the car, then proceeded to bounce everywhere like a happy lamb.

She followed me through the house as I unlocked the doors, bouncing almost continuously. As I unpacked the car, she continued to spring between rooms and along corridors, in great happiness. It was a delight to see. Clearly she likes Trosa as much as, if not more than, us.

And it would be hard not to when the day looked so beautiful in a marked contrast to the way it was when we left back in January.

In fact, the whole drive up the E4 was in splendid driving conditions.

As well as unpacking the car, there was quite a full on job of work rearranging the house following the work that Harald did while we were away. He refloored and painted one room and painted another. The rooms looked marvellous, new and empty.

Eventually, I headed up to the ICA to get provisions while Mirinda took the girls for a walk around Mount Trosa. The temperature was chill and so was I. It felt good to be back.

Of course, as we’re rapidly approaching Easter, there was a witch on the way. She didn’t look particularly happy. At least she had a shawl.

Freya eventually settled down.

Catching the early ferry from Rostock to Trelleborg, is always a struggle. It means waking up at 5am for a start. Without coffee. It’s then a matter of navigating the convoluted circles that ensure you are driving on the correct road to the port. Still without coffee. But, it was all successfully accomplished with only a modicum of driver irritation at the navigational idiocy coming from the passenger seat. And we boarded the ferry straight away.

Obviously, we headed straight for the café where the girls immediately made themselves at home on the lounge and I chased down a much needed cup of coffee.

After a couple of hours, I was told by a somewhat officious ferry woman that the dogs should be on the floor. So that’s where I spent the rest of the journey, with them on my lap.

At one point, Emma decided to poo on the floor. I think it was her way of telling the woman what she thought of the lounge embargo.

But, mostly, it was a long and dull journey. I managed lots of reading and cups of coffee, but, basically, we waited for six hours before finally returning to our beloved Sweden.

(Mirinda insists on calling it her beloved Sweden, so I’m repeating it to make sure there’s a permanent record.)

And what a joy it was hitting the E6, followed by the E4 as we headed north. Not so much traffic, easy driving, the works. It was a lovely run all the way up to the Rasta Hotel in Värnamo.

Mirinda had this idea that rather than stay at the Småland Hotel as usual, we’d try somewhere different. Turns out, the hotel at Värnamo is almost identical to the one at Småland. As is the restaurant. Hey ho.

Still, there’s an Espresso House next door, which makes up for a lot.

It’s brilliant to be back.

Tomorrow Trosa.

Poor Hammonia was a bit chilled in the wind at the Services of the Headless Man. She is the beautiful goddess who watches over Hamburg. In this case, she was watching over people stopping to use the loo in the restaurant as well.

There was also an entire army of police officers inspecting a timber laden truck. I have no idea what they were looking for, but, eventually, having had the driver move his load around, they were satisfied enough to drive off without arresting anyone.

We had stopped at the Hamburg – Stillhorn services for a much needed coffee injection and loo stop.

This followed an almost run-in with a huge lorry on the ghastly A1. The barely human driver, frightened by a tiny mini, decided a blast on his horn, and a furious flash of his lights was a clear indication of his driving prowess.

The experience almost soured the delightful breakfast we had, following an excellent night’s sleep at the Thöles Hotel.

We really love the hotel, particular now that the floods have receded. Mind you the ground still feels pretty spongy.

Back in January, we were diverted around the worst areas, so we missed out on seeing this amazing, single lane bridge.

This is the bridge across the Weser River at the Intschede Weir. It opened in 2023 and has lights to control the traffic. A thing of beauty.

Now, from the above photo, it would be fair to assume that the weather continued awful, but that would be wrong. There were a few spots of rain spitting on the windscreen now and then, but by the time we reached the Hamburg bypass, the sun beat down on us.

Not that it was warm. In fact, as you’d expect, the further north we travelled, the colder it became. By the time we reached Hermann’s Gut Hotel, it was a chilly but dry 8°.

While we’ve stayed at Hermann’s a few times, today marked the first time we’d seen it in the light and without rain. It felt so good.

We checked in without fuss (Ina will be pleased to know that, this time the receptionist spoke English), and Mirinda took the girls for a walk.

There was a bit of a disagreement over when we could eat in the restaurant, but, eventually, we were seated.

Then, unexpectedly, the woman in the restaurant, whose son lives in Oslo, asked Mirinda if she was Swedish. It caused a lot of hilarity. This was an excellent beginning to a very German dinner.

The dogs were particularly popular.

We quickly forgot the truck before the services of the headless man.

Hopefully, the truck driver will get over his unnecessary anger issues before his ulcer gets any worse.

Emma woke me up for the loo at 03:20. I dragged myself out of my bunk bed, woke Freya up then hauled them both down to the dog toilet area, the ghostly lights of ships on the North Sea, the only life. They both eventually had a wee and we headed back upstairs. Then, just outside the room next to ours, Emma had a big poo in the corridor. This meant a second trip down to the dog toilet, so I could dispose of it. Bloody dog.

Mind you, at least she managed to avoid doing it in front Reception like she did a few trips ago. And the corridor, fortunately, wasn’t carpeted. Speaking of Reception, when Mirinda popped down to get a coffee, she overheard an old chap ask the guy in reception how he was going to turn his car round when we docked.

I assume he managed to get out a lot quicker than we did.

Because we’ve been told off previously for coming out of our room too early, we waited for a bit longer than we should. This meant that, while there wasn’t queues on the stairs and in the lift, by the time I reached the car, all the other cars were full and starting to leave the ferry.

A guy asked me if I’d lost a driver. I smiled and indicated that she was right behind him. Unusually, no one beeped or yelled or did anything impatient. That was probably because they were seasoned ferry travellers and knew there’d be a long wait at passport control.

Not for us, you understand. No, our Swedish residency means we don’t have to wait for our passports to be stamped. That saves us ages. Actually, I didn’t see many UK cars, most being from The Netherlands and Germany which, basically meant, we all sailed through.

And then we were back in the EU and headed across country towards Germany.

And, this time, Freya decided that she prefers to sit on the higher spot in the car. Previously, this was Emma’s position.

Mind you, she did start shivering when Mirinda put the temperature down inside the car, to avoid falling asleep. I wrapped her in my fleece and shivered instead. I’m guessing she didn’t appreciate the haircut the other day.

We decided that Thöles Hotel, Bücken, the place we stayed at in January, was very nice, so we opted to book there again. Though it meant a bit of a long drive, we managed to stop a couple of times which should have been a few more, as it turned out. But, what with the excessive rain and sun, we really didn’t want to get out of the car.

This was Freya’s opinion as well.

There was the usual amount of roadworks on the motorways but, when we left to head across country to Bücken, the roads through farmland were pretty empty of both work and other drivers. Of course, it helped being a Sunday.

What didn’t help was the fact that the hotel is all but closed on a Sunday. Which means no restaurant, no bar, no staff. I had to rouse the security guy to let us in. Fortunately, he was expecting us and handed me a key card.

Of course, the room was excellent, and it didn’t surprise me that on the TV, a screen saver didn’t just show a map of the region we were in, but it highlighted all the roadworks and the awful weather, currently slowing drivers down.

Mirinda flaked out as did the girls while I caught up on my blog writing.

A while later, we walked to the only place open in Bücken, Flic-Flac. The restaurant in the hotel, where we ate last time we stayed, isn’t open on a Sunday and, in a way, I’m glad because it’s always good to try something local and mysterious and hidden really, really well. As it was with Flic-Flac.

Of course, I should have checked that they took cards (they don’t) as well as if they allow dogs (they do) but, it didn’t matter because there was a handy ATM not far away and they trusted us to come back.

Obviously, I had the pork and two weissbiers. While there was only a little bit of English and virtually no German, it all worked out fine. A thoroughly enjoyable meal.

And we got to see the wonderfully lit church.

It was lucky because the lights go out at 9pm, sharp.

Oh, did I mention the rain? It just keeps falling.

During our stay in Lymington, Mirinda had been using ChatGPT to practice her Swedish. During a break before we left this today, she was describing the dogs, and when the AI commented on her written language, it wrote that the dogs ‘level of fluffiness was excessively high.’ Which, while true, was very funny.

In fact I thought it was so funny, it was almost going to be the title of this post. Then an alternative presented itself. Rather unexpectedly.

But before that, we spent the morning packing Max and searching the house meticulously. It’s extraordinary how much stuff gets spread around into all manner of corners when you stay somewhere for three months.

I managed to use up most of the food except for a single carrot.

However, by 2pm the carrot was finished, and we were ready. We set off for Harwich.

Then, as we joined the M27, two cars ahead of us, a trailer stacked with hay bales suddenly launched one of them at the car behind him. Fortunately, the car behind him wasn’t too close and avoided it, but it made a mess of the road.

As we passed the trailer, the hole of the absent bale grinned in mockery at the mismanaged knots. The hole was at the front. I’m sure the driver must have noticed but maybe he just didn’t care. Perhaps he expected some starving forest creature would welcome the big pile of takeaway food. I’ll never know.

This was the most excitement we had all day. Of course, it rained with wind and showers followed by moments of sunshine, but that was only to be expected given the general wetness during our stay. After the earlier floods we encountered in Germany, I think this three month break should be called The Holidays of Wet.

Of course, I realise this is the worst time to visit the UK, but I don’t remember it ever being as bad as it has been this year. And as for the New Forest…I think someone didn’t realise that it should be spelled B-O-G.

Still, apart from some scary, apocalyptic weather over Winchester, most of our journey was through sunshine and, apart from the usual mysterious holdup on the M25, we reached Harwich in five hours after a long break at South Mimms services.

We had intended to visit a pub for an early dinner, before boarding the ferry, but the two pubs we visited in Harwich weren’t serving food. They normally did, but not this Saturday. Seemed a bit odd.

We wound up at the New Bell Inn, where we had a couple of drinks and packets of crisps, one of which was IPA flavour. They had an interesting lemony after-taste which was better than might be expected.

The pub has been under new management for six months, and one of the owners told us she took it over because it was exactly the sort of pub she wanted to run. It was a lovely place with, apart from Mirinda and the two owners, lots of men, one in a cloth cap which Mirinda rather enjoyed.

While the original pub started life as a blacksmiths, in 1743 it became The Bell. It was later called the Blue Bell until the building burned down in around 1910 and the empty block was known as Bell Yard. I don’t know why.

At some time during all of this, another pub opened up down the road, and it was called The Bell so, once the building was rebuilt, the pub was called The New Bell Inn to avoid confusion. I mean, if you tell someone you are going to meet them at The Bell, you really need to know which one.

After a lovely rest out the back, trying to ignore the three guys swearing about someone at work, we headed for the ferry terminal and our bed for the night.