Not the banks. That’s for sure. You can barely give it away. Well, actually, you can. And I did, mad witch that I am.
The 50 öre coins are going. Son apparently told me this ages ago. I paid as much attention to this as is to be expected. He told me again. So, being a coin hoarder, I finally collected all my little 50s together and took them to the bank. The lovely looking young man on the cash counter at my bank said I had to take them out and put them through the machine to deposit them into my account. ‘You have an account with us, do you?’
I took them out. ‘Machine turned off. Seek assistance.’ I sought assistance from lovely looking young lady on the customer counter. She panicked. She sought assistance and was told machine is full and they need help to empty it. I did my ‘difficult older woman’ bit, and in the end she said to give the 50s to her and when the machine is empty she will feed it and put the money into my account…
Of course she will. I’m sure she will. It’s only £4 worth, or so, but it seemed stupid throwing money away.
Don’t get me started on my professional money counting days. I’m an expert at counting money. I’d love a job counting money. (No, maybe not any more.)
You know the optician who wasn’t there? The one who moved. Anyway, he recommended a shoe shop. I think the shoe shop should pay him commission, since even with my shoe finding skills I’d never have found it. It’s wonderful..! Oh, the shoes…
Ahem. Let’s move on. Just remembered the Resident IT Consultant reads this.
(The optician often gives us a 10% discount for having come all the way from England.)
I sent Daughter and the Resident IT Consultant home. Mr and Mrs Vet’s Saab had to be returned, so we arranged for it to be left outside Grandmother Vet’s house, and she promptly drove the Resident IT Consultant to the train. Then she invited me round after my shoe sh… After my walk round town. I bought two pastries, hoping to exchange one for a cup of tea. She had prepared ‘legs’ for lunch, before coming to a belated realisation that I most likely don’t eat ‘legs’. (Suspect they were drumsticks.)
So we had tea from Blå Eld cups and bemoaned the state of the banks and other businesses. Then she took off to collect Mrs Vet and Miss Vet. One to collect the car (are you still clear on which car is where?) and one to go and see Eclipse in the cinema. Her car registration number is 666, which is a number I would love.
I had noticed that there was a funny looking copy of a Stephenie Meyer novel on her coffee table, and it was only as Grandmother Vet explained she reads it in French that the penny dropped. (Better not take that to the bank, either.)
Ten years ago I introduced the Vet family to Harry Potter, and I’ve been pleased to hear that it’s now a perennial favourite, which sort of makes up for the vampires. Though, I’m reading a vampire book myself, right now.
The day before, Daughter had had a kamikaze bus driver, and the one I got for my trip back lasted all of 50 metres, or so, before he stopped and started shouting in some foreign language until two more drivers came running and one of them took over the bus and drove off. Have noticed that buses are kings around here. Or rather, their drivers are. There was a very surprised looking car – or car driver – on a roundabout, who hadn’t quite imagined that our bus would just cut in, right in front of him.
So we kind of kamikazed along. No need to go abroad for your bus thrills when the drivers come here.
And I know I’m abroad. Except I’m not.