I found the perfect book blog holiday illustration the other day, but was unable to act on it. I was sauntering along the water’s edge, giving my toes some much needed sea contact. It was peaceful strolling, despite the beach being pretty busy. A young girl (early teens?) did the same, but in the opposite direction. She was dressed for the beach, skimpy bikini and all. And she was reading a book. I’m not sure I could walk and read without falling over. I was dying to ask her what book, if she liked it, and if I could take a picture of her for my blog, but it didn’t feel quite decent, even for Sweden.
Other close encounters on the beach include a sizeable crocodile. Daughter scornfully pointed out it wasn’t real. But it moved! I swear it did. It might have been inflated plastic, but it definitely moved.
So did the little dog which came all the way into the house, as far as my wardrobe office. I heard the pitter patter of feet and turned round, expecting the orange cat (although why it should pitter patter I don’t know, seeing as silent sneaking is more its style), only to find the small beige dog from next door.
The giraffe on the café table at the windmill was more sedate. It was leaning against a flowerpot, and didn’t do much at all.
We went for ice cream at Margit’s. In fact, it was Daughter’s treat. We must be getting old when Offspring pay for our treats out. I people-watched as I ate my pecan and pistachio cone, slowly realising the children at the next table were very pale. This was explained when I heard them speak English (as well as Swedish, so rather like ourselves). They were clearly so freshly arrived from England that no colour had had time to happen. ‘Real’ Swedish children look like gingerbread children, with straw on top.
Speaking of straw, we picked our own strawberries a couple of times. They are no longer covered by straw, but unromantic black plastic. The taste is fantastic, though. Beats the sad mush shops here have started offering their customers.
And speaking of half-English children, the local shops have been selling a blogger book. At first I didn’t know what it was; whether a novel written by a blogger, or a book consisting of blog posts. After reading an article in the local paper I know it’s both. Sort of. It’s a novel, written by a local Swedish blogger, recently moved to lovely Cambridge (‘where mothers are at home with their children’ so she had nothing better to do but write a book), although I think it’s in blog post format.
(Apologies for lack of link. Hallandsposten have gone posh, and are hiding behind a paywall these days.)