As I returned home from a very quiet Garden of Eden (not that one; this is my greengrocer) yesterday, I couldn’t help but reflect on how very wrong it is for shops to open on Good Friday. But it was nice and quiet. Which is nice. So much easier to dither among the fruit, when I’m not having to give other people ‘looks’.
It was nice and warm and sunny out (those of you not afflicted by haar, or by living in the wrong part of the world, might have noticed the weather’s been good recently), so I went for a little hobble as I was already out. There were pink snowdrifts on the pavement at one spot. Should have ‘dashed’ home for the camera, because blossom never stays fresh for long once it’s down.
Anyway, the weather reminded me of that long ago Easter of 1965. The little witch went away for the weekend, along with Mother-of-witch and Favourite Aunt and Favourite Cousin. We stayed at the very nice Ronneby Brunn hotel (and no, it didn’t look like that then) down in the righthand corner of Sweden. I need to point out that we weren’t rich enough to do this, but Favourite Aunt was involved with politics, and her party also had a holiday set-up thing, and I think that’s why she often had access to nice hotels.
So, it was good. There was a group of children to play with, and we had a very handsome waiter at our table in the restaurant.
Ahem. Quite. Where was I? Ah yes, the weather. Good Friday was very good. As you can tell by the name. Easter in Sweden tends to be cold and wintry, with only hints of spring getting closer. So this business of being able to sit out on the hotel’s terrace sunning ourselves was most unexpected, and welcome.
Needless to say we woke up to snow the next day. Lots of it. Very wintry.
Along with the Easter Saturday buffet supper (really nice) the children received Easter eggs. This being Sweden we had no idea we were doing it on the wrong day, but there you are. The hotel people at least had a sense of humour. The eggs were delivered by Father Christmas. Obviously.
More than 45 years later I still remember them, which is good from a marketing point of view.
We had a little disagreement here last year, whether Swedes have bonfires on Easter Saturday, or not. They are there to scare away the witches, flying to Blåkulla. I received a text message (surely the modern way of sending postcards?) on Thursday, from Swiss Lady. She was already away on her broom, which was a bit splintery, she said. She’d been unable to locate her cat, so had stolen the neighbour’s cat. And not the old-fashioned coffeepot (should be kettle, really) for her. She’d taken her espresso machine.