Or the five-coat crofter.
Well, the dentist called, to say he had a cancellation in an hour, if I wanted to come. Wanted to? Is he not a dentist? I turned him down. I had another ten days before it was my turn. Besides, I was just on my way back to bed after half a breakfast. I mean, half a breakfast! I never have just half a breakfast.
When I woke up I had an email, which suggested the dentist had called again, so I checked with the Resident IT Consultant (who had been forced to honour my appointment with the hairdresser, rather than cancel. Good thing he had some spare hair), and yes, it seems there had been a second call.
This time they’d had a patient talking about her university course homework, jokingly asking if he knew any Swedish-speakers. Well, yes, he did. And the Swedish-speaker’s husband said it was fine to email her, despite the bed situation.
So I found myself staring at three pages from some parish records in Öster-götland in the 1880s. As you do. Basically, some poor man had died and this was an inventory of what he left behind. It’s quite interesting, actually.
He had five coats! Five! He only owned three shirts. And one pair of trousers. The coats were valued at three times the amount for the bed and the sofa, together. There might have been a metal chamberpot, too.
The handwriting’s a bit taxing, but luckily I’m so old I have been taught joined-up writing of that very kind at school. I could read most of it.
But, I mean, five coats!