Torfin of Witreburne

Yuletide needs a good story to tell at the fireside on a cold winters evening. Let me take you back to the north east coast of England in the early years of the 11th century. Make yourselves comfortable and I'll begin.

The Saxon English have been driven back by viking settlers. They came to conquer, to trade and finally to settle and farm. From what is now Norway and Denmark they came in their longboats. Jorvik (York) was their capital, at the centre of a thriving trading economy. The vikings of England's Danelaw sat at the junction of western viking commerce. It was to the Danish king that taxes were paid, not the Saxon English king in London.

The Vikings and their Scandinavian homelands have fascinated me since I was a boy, but Torfin is special. He is MY viking. I am one of hundreds alive today that are descended from him, but I get ahead of myself.

This is the land to which Torfin came towards the end of the viking era, to take his place amongst a patchwork of Saxon and Viking fiefdoms of Yorkshire. Torfin was a Norwegian viking. A powerful lord he took the land that included Malham Tarn, the highest fresh water lake in England. His seat of power was his great hall at Whitreburne. Living side by side with Earl Edwin, a powerful Saxon nobleman, they were surrounded by a mixed hierarchy of native Saxons and Vikings. These were real men. They lived. Their names ring out across the centuries to me. Arnebrand, Archil, Orm, Uflred, Gamelbar, Gospatric, Suartcol, and Torfin. Torfin's daughter would established a lineage that would endure, but through marriage and politics, not warfare. His story in England was ended hundreds of miles to the south in 1066, when William Duke of Normandy defeated Harold's English at Hastings. Saxon England was doomed, and with it the Danelaw.

The land our ancesters called home.

Twenty years later the great census, the doomsday book, picks up the story of the lords of the north. Against almost all of the fiefdoms, measured and taxes due, is written, taken from him and given to Roger of Pictou, and now lays waste. Witreburne is amongst them.  

According to my story Torfin landless, left Yorkshire by boat, and returned to Norway. A refugee? Rich or now penniless? He may have been the first of my ancestors to lose a fortune, but he wouldn't be the last. He left behind one stubborn daughter who refused to leave the land of her birth. She vowed that her descendants would regain the great hall at Witreburne, and so they did. Astute dealings and romance with the new Norman masters ensured that the blood of Torfin would run through the veins of the men of Winterburn as the place was renamed. Over a thousand years we became English. We served as soldiers. We would stand up to the tyranny of King Henry the VIII in the 16th century (more of us heading for the coast I guess, or the block).

I love the fireside story of my ancesters, but right now I have a dinner to prepare. Seasons greetings to you all on the feast of St Stephen. To the English, enjoy the cold cuts and pickles of Boxing Day. For us it's roast haunch of venison. You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy!

Min Ny Hem

My house hunting trip was very successful. I got the house I wanted, at the price I wanted. Much furniture and equipment included. Check out the pictures below.



It went like one of those property shows that are popular at the moment. Fly in, second viewing with a local friend at my elbow. Thanks by the way Roland. Good job. I quick conference in the garden then make an offer. Negotiate backwards and forwards for the afternoon, agree a price and book the meeting to exchange contracts. It really can be that quick and efficient in Sweden. I have some weeks before completion but essentially the deal is done. The house is mine. I signed the contract so no going back. I stopped talking and put the ball in the back of the net.

It's a summer house situated in a popular hunting and fishing area, so great holiday let potential. It's a lot of house for the money, and I am enthusiastic about it. Once I have the keys I'll organise all of the usual suppliers, put the heating on frost protection and mothball it for three months. That will be hard. I want to play. In the spring I imagine a long drive over in the car, loaded to the roof with stuff. A few weeks later I would expect to fly back to England to fetch Elsa. I have a feeling that even if I do not take citizenship, Elsa will be Swedish within a year.

All of that is running well ahead. Back in England I'm flying a desk for a few days, organising international finances, insurances, electricity supply, tax etc. I have work to do. My international business experience is standing me in good stead. All of that is before I get on with the modernisation of my Warwickshire house. Then there is the small matter of Christmas and the new year. The solution is nice. Christmas in England with friends and family, then fly out to Sweden for new year with my Swedish friends. 

I haven't mentioned the black dog that storked me for so long lately. For four years he has waited for me to slip again. It didn't happen. The truth is I haven't seen him for many months. Life is about ups and downs. It's nice to have found an up at last. I feel a house warming coming on.

Will the British Union flag replace the Swedish one? NO. Well... just one day a year on our queens birthday maybe.

The Bit Between My Teeth

I'm due to fly back to Goteburg, and on to Jonkoping. It must be winter now, I am sure. Preparations are going well. I have a back up list of fresh houses to view should I fail to get the one I have in my sights. I'm prepared for a second viewing on my target property with a list of stuff I have to check. I have a little time with friends which I will cherish. Cozy is a word that has become important as I experience the winter weather of Sweden. Will I get the house I want? Can't make up my mind whether to cross my fingers English style, or cross my thumbs Swedish. Seriously though, I do this without hope. Hope nails you to a certain outcome and I cannot afford to do that. I remain flexible and open to new possibilities.

As an aside I once told my grandma' Emily Winterburn that I had an open mind. She told me to be very careful with an open mind. Rubbish can fall into it!

Here in Warwickshire my house modernisation steams ahead at break neck speed. The builders are in as I write. They are putting in a studding wall so that I can create an en suite shower room. I am preparing a guest suite to offer as a Monday - Friday let. This damned recession continues and funds are going down. I need income, and I need to be smart with my resources. Talking of trying to work smart, I have a little sister, a typical Taurus girl. She is brave and charges in, and she almost always pulls it off. She is also smart so her risks are calculated. As her cautious older brother I let her run ahead, then learn from what she has achieved. Not noble, but sneaky smart, and I am not ashamed to admit it. I have to get this house sorted so that I am ready for the Swedish project. I scare myself sometimes. This is full on.

The Wall

Before                                                                                              The wall goes up

The rest of the bedroom

Once the suite is finished I will have TV in the room and the use of free WiFi to offer.



Homo Sapiens....

....means Wise Man. As a species we are misnamed. I think we should be renamed Homo Ingeniosus.   Setting aside that in modern times Man should probably be person, my point is clever we undoubtedley are, but there is a problem. Unlike dolphins we are smart-stupid. We still have monkey brains apparently. Dolphins show more common sense. If an area is over populated they spread out, and stop making babies. That is wise. We strip our environment of resources which will inevitably lead to our species dieback (I think), and bonk our brains out making thousands more babies to overload a world already holed below the plimsole line. Maybe I am being unfair. Dolphins have been around for 50 million years.
Wisdom? Emotional intelligence? Enlightenment? Maturity is another word. What I am seeing is that our species is clever but immature. I've been watching the news of the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians as they rush with blood lust towards outright, full-on war. Who is right and who is wrong? The question is immature. I don't need to, and cannot answer it. Arguments have two sides and usually have no ends. Where did it all start? When? thousands of years ago I think, and it is the same for many peoples around the world where different cultures rub up against each other. I studied culture for commercial reasons. Culture clash costs businesses money. My studies convinced me that nice as the idea of multiculturism is, it is dangerous and has never worked out so far. We are too immature as a species to make it work yet is my current opinion. We are like little children pulling each others hair out by the handful in the play ground. People die in their thousands because they have different religions or ideologies. It always ends in tears.

I suffer accusations of racism because I think multiculturism is a bad idea. I'm not. I honestly don't care about the colour of a person's skin. It is what is in their hearts and heads that is important. Here is another thought. If a wise person finds themselves in the middle of a war zone, being shelled. What do they do? Take sides and rush into murderous battle? No, they probably leave and seek asylum in a safe place. The immature will call them cowards maybe. Since in this case they are genuine they will receive refugee status. Next time you hear the phrase asylum seeker, remember that although a bogus one may be doing it for the government handouts and national health service, the genuine one is a wise person who got the hell out of there. give them a break or better still listen to them and learn something. I do. I spent time with some refugees from Iraq in 2010. I learnt a few things.

Wisdom: My grandmother Emily Winterburn was a clever lady, and wise. She lived to be 91. I asked her once how old you had to be to stop taking prat falls. She thought a while and said that she could only speak for herself. 70 years old maybe. Her next point was that it's possible the majority go through their entire lives without achieving it. For me I think I have flashes of it, and I recognise it when I see it. Am I wise? Occasionally, but certainly not most of the time! I have a way to go. I certainly don't want to live the rest of my life as dumb as I can be sometimes still.

I dumped religion and party politics years ago, but if I was a person of faith I would say a prayer for another blogger. Her name is Malala Yousufzai. She is a brave 14 year old from Pakistan. She was campaigning for the education for girls. The Taliban shot her in the head. As she recovers from surgery I salute her bravery. Not only am I not wise, I also cannot match her courage. Get well soon Malala.

A Swedish Adventure

"I may not always be happy, but the starter gun went off and I'm up and running."

What a difference a couple of weeks makes. House hunting in Sweden and spending time with dear friends. They helped with the search with their computers and four wheel drives. The houses I had lined up for viewing didn't work out. The big old farm houses at great prices have draw backs as you would expect. No mains water, sewage, heating. Almost none existent road access. You need twice the money to fix them up, and it's still a risk. Thanks to an agent called Fredrik for opening my eyes to other possibilities. I hope he makes a sale with me, but suspect he won't. I found a place towards the end of my trip I might want to make an offer on, so I'm heading back in a couple of weeks to pursue that one. It would be wonderful to get the job done ready for the Spring, but I will not rush. Rushing will cost me thousands. Nice and steady.

Time with friends was wonderful. Outside an early winter snow storm lashes the windows. Inside we have a Stieg Larsson movie unfortunately without subtitles. The violence and sex in the story need no translation. The court room drama is totally impenetrable to me. I don't care, I am content and comfortable. The winter weather isn't putting me off. It's atmospheric (yes I know in the forest alone would feel different). Given a good reason I would stay here for sure.

My first Scandinavian adventure was Nordkapp. What I am doing right now is every bit as exciting and challenging. Bring it on. I am ready!!

    
Thanks to those who provided houses to view, beds and wonderful meals, a car, and wonderful friendship. See you in a couple of weeks.











Before I flew out I almost got the shed finished. I'll tidy it up when the stormy British Autumn weather allows.

All Change is not Progress...

.......but much of it is, if we learn from our mistakes.

I've not blogged for a month. Life is not always exciting. My days have been filled with construction work. I finally finished my patio area and did something with the front garden. It doesn't look much, but a hedge will grow, and the border will mature. If I am to spend my summers in Sweden, at home I need my borders well defined for someone to maintain.

New windows and doors also. Modern UPVC french doors to open onto the raised paving area. I updated the look of the back of the property. Maybe not exciting, but very satisfying and needed.

Next was to give my sister Karen a hand. She has bought property to let and has a tight dead line to meet. The garden needed a total restructuring rather than a tidy up. We got stuck in.

We turned a 1.3M slope into three terraces and laid the patio shown above, mostly from reclaimed slabs. Back breaking work, for which Karen will trade me the five days. She gets to do a weeks decorating at my place when my modernisation project is further advanced. I still have a bathroom and new en suit to install, and three bedrooms to decorate.

With winter just around the corner I went straight on to building a shed in my back garden, which used reclaimed windows and doors. When it is finished I think it will be the only shed in the street with lead lighted windows and french doors.

I'd give myself 7 out of 10 for my woodwork. I think my old woodwork teacher My Hampson wight be more critical. This piece would be too big for him to throw in the scrap box though, where some of my early work went. Hanging 48mm thick hard wood french doors on the front was always going to be a challenge. I will soon see how much of an engineer I am. The pressure is on. Gales are on the way, and I leave for Sweden is a few days time. I have no choice but to crack on now.

House hunting in Sweden via Hemnet has been a challenge. I have to work in Swedish. The task is pushing my language skills along quickly. I have help in country without which I could not do this sensibly. Tack sa mycket Roland och Ernst. I have a house to view and made contact with the agent, again in Swedish. Success, I have the viewing. He is putting together a list of three in my target area. While I am over there I might as well make the most of the opportunity. I don't imagine I will find my house first attempt, but I will have broken my duck! My target for this trip is to make an active start in country, learn the market, learn the Swedish conveyancing process, identify road blocks, and make contacts. Buying a summer house in Sweden is progress for sure.

I may not always be happy, but the starter gun went off and I'm up and running. I learnt something else. A sprinter analyses his race after he has run it, not endlessly while hurtling down the straight! Life will change. Of that I have no doubt. If this works out I will have two homes. Two places where I am honestly comfortable and surrounded by friends.



The Asylum - Lincoln 2012

Paul and I had arrived in the middle of the gathering. We stood out in OUR 21st century casual, contrasting with their alternative dimensional style. Airship crew in frock coats and goggles, British army red coats with steam powered guns. New Victorian adventurers inspired by Jules Verne and H G Wells. Welcome to Steam Punk on a hot September afternoon in historic Lincoln. The women particularly were stunning in their costumes. I didn't stop smiling until the hangover the next day!


Airship exploration of North America?

Queen of the gathering: Absolutely stunning and quite surreal.

Lincoln before the invasion

There are steam punks across the world and I only found out about them by bumping into hundreds of them today. Across North America their style is 19th century wild west meets Jules Verne. Europe has its societies and gatherings, as do the Antipodes. 

Late afternoon saw Paul and I heading up town for a second time. Both over weight we were agreed on doing the cafe culture rather than the traditional pubs. A crisp, cold white wine sitting on a hotel lawn,  watching the steam punks promenading through medieval Lincoln. Smiles and chuckles of delight. By the end of the bottle both of us very much wanted to join their ranks, observing that steam punks came in all ages and sizes. Still, it was time to move on. Paul had spied out a tapas bar that did a virtual bottle of wine. Choose any six glasses to go with your small plates of Spanish snacks, and pay for a bottle. It was positively cave like and empty. We walked in and walked out. Off we went looking for that perfect venue for what we were about. We thought we were about convivial company, two friends catching up, celebrating pastures new, wining and dining in a civilised manor, rather than two sometimes mature guys out on a summer binge. 

The cloud bar was that stunning venue, perched on the roof tops with the ancient cathedral as it's back drop. As the sun went down keeping pace with our second crisp, cold, sophisticated bottle of white, it turned the cathedral towers salmon pink. At this point if I was writing a story I'd substitute my mate Paul for a gorgeous leggy young woman. Hang on, yep, she was there as well, just not with me.

They forgot our salad. With virtually nothing left in our wine bottle we enquired what happened to our dinner. They hustled and rapidly produced two exquisite salami and palma ham salads to sit along our ice bucket with the empty wine bottle upended in it, dead as a door nail. There was an inevitability about the third bottle of wine if we are honest, and once we acquiesced and it had arrived, we remembered the tapas that we didn't have. They did tapas so we started again with calamari (squid rings in batter). YUM! Finally we were done. A little tipsy but hey, balmy summer evening, steam punks, talk of houses in Sweden, and importantly we had stuck to our diets and not drank beer. Job done. Except...........

........"isn't that the pub where we finished on Irish coffees on our winter night out months ago?"

"OH YEH!That was neat."

"Wanna do it again?"

"Why not". Two Irish coffees on order and we were peckish no surprise.

"Do you suppose potato crisps go with Irish coffee?

"Dunno, less find out". It took two Irish coffees and two boxes of crisps to work out they didn't go, and actually we had been very naughty and should definitely go home NOW.

Sitting in the warm night air on the balcony of Paul's 21st century pad on its clifftop looking out over the city's night scape below. WOW. We were now talking complete bollocks as we sipped apricot liquor he had found at the back of a cupboard. Rather nice. A lot nicer than the sherry that followed. WTF!!! At some point I climbed into the futon next to the dogs bowls containing water in one and very dry biscuits in the other. So dry that after eating them my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.   

We ate our bacon baguettes in silence at around 11 in the morning which was surprising considering our delicate conditions. Actually the bacon tasted very good indeed. It revived us somewhat, but not enough to move us from the couches and the television. Very naughty indeed, and worrying. What had we been up to? Any clues laying around? I think we got away with it. Nope. The teenagers saw it all and considered dads night out on the tiles with his insane, ageing biker buddy an absolute hoot. 

Before I left we made a pact never to do that again. Next time, no apricot liquor!

  

    

 

The Superhumans

Meet The Superhumans

Taken from a TV advert', got me thinking.

The London 2012 Paralympic games open today Wednesday 29th August. It all started in 1948 at the then London games, with an archery contest for wheelchair athletes. If I understand correctly Stoke Manderville hospital had many soldiers with spinal injuries from the Western front campaign of world war 2. These young men were otherwise fit and healthy. Strong actually, and resilient. What a wonderful thing they started. Today there are paralympians too good to compete with "able bodied" athletes because their blades allow them to run so fast. They have a mechanical advantage.

What if we get as enthusiastic about the Paralymics as we did the warm up event? In the future will para sports get lottery funding and television money? Better prosthetics, more technology? Would it become mainstream? They may be about to. Regular Sunday afternoon sport maybe. What benefits? Leaps forward in cybernetic limb technology sounds reasonable. In fiction cyborgs are usually portrayed as machines. The truth may be very human indeed. Bring on the blade runners.

Team GB is fielding 8 ex soldiers amongst it's numbers. Veterans of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I bet the US team also has its share of ex military. I saw the lone Afghani athlete, wounded in the same conflict, doing what he does with just an ordinary plastic leg. This looks likely to be very interesting indeed. More time glued to the telly coming up.   

   



Anders Breivik

A dark one this time. Current affairs still has my attention and I care.

The sun was shining between showers as we took the little ferry between islands in the Stockholm archipelago. We were stood talking to the Norwegian riding the Spider on the car deck when the woman in the camper van started to cry. Her husband was also clearly upset. Their license plate marked them as Norwegians on holiday. Kirsi had known something was wrong earlier when we saw the Swedish flag flying at half mast over the royal palace. A fellow passenger approached the crying woman's open window and they exchanged words. This passengers eyes filled with tears also. Concerned expressions now stole onto everyones faces. Such is human empathy. The Spider rider went over and after a short but emotional exchange, returned. A mad man had blown up the offices of the Oslo government, and gone on to massacre another 69 youngsters on an island. They were youth members of the Norwegian Labour Party at a summer camp. 77 were dead in total. That was 22nd July 2011.

Friday August 24th 2012. The Norwegian high court has found Anders Breivik to be sane. His guilt was never in doubt since he confessed on numerous occasions. They sentenced him to 21 years with a minimum of 10. That a man who murders 77 people because he doesn't like their politics, can be adjudged sane took some getting my head around. It also took some getting my head around that a 10 year minimum sentence was appropriate. 21 years for each individual premeditated murder seems a better fit to the crime. It actually crossed my mind that by a different standard the legal system involved is insane, and that brought me to the subject I mulled over during a long walk around the lakes. If Breivik can be considered sane, so are the Islamist terrorists? After one and a half hours I concluded that sanity is subjective depending upon your culture and experience. Am I sane? No! Are the religiously devout? Maybe not. It entirely depends upon your point of view. I look at the way cats look at us and wonder if the cats know the truth. Humans are all fundamentally insane.

So what is important here? Protect the greater population from those who would gun us down surely. Anders Breivik apologised in response to the court ruling, for not being able to kill more. This morning I heard a Christian argument for forgiveness of mass murderers. Fine, just as long as the authorities exercise common sense to protect the rest of us from these monsters. My liberal values have been severely tested and I come down on the side of pragmatism. With dangerous dogs we don't take the chance of them repeating their bloody behaviour. The same thing? I'll let you decide.

One Small Step.....

I lost my hero! I was just a boy when he stepped out onto the moon. Dad got me up gone 3 in the morning. My sister Karen 2 years younger slept on. Mum, Dad and I sat silent and spell bound at the smudgy black and white Images coming from the moon. Mum and Dad held hands and the emotion of the moment was clear. A mild manoured American from Iowa, the perfect man for that momentous moment. Younger than my dad by just 5 years I think.

The rivalry beween the US and Russia was impossible for a boy to understand. That it was a race I got. The Russians put Yuri Gagarin into space first and with out him Neil Armstrong would not have walked on the moon. I'll raise a glass to Yuri while I'm at it, and the Russians. What a wonderful childhood they contributed towards. I took it all for granted. Grandma had followed the Wright brothers progress towards powered flight just a few decades earlier, and she enthusiastically followed the exploits of the Russians and Americans into space on her television (also arriving in her long lifetime). You know, for a while it felt these guys did it for all of us. Their adventures belonged to all of us. British, Swedish, German, Swiss, we all felt part of it I think. Little boys the world over, sitting with their Dads, watching open mouthed.   

I grew up thinking that the world had changed forever. Like most men of my age I expected we would have colonies on Mars by now. Instead we played with our gadgets and toys. Consumerism took the moon from us. So dumb. Right now I hope there is a boy watching, and dreaming of setting foot on Mars. Who ever you are, do it son! Do for those of us that regret that a generation have squandered the opportunity. Carry the torch for those of us too old to go. The world still needs its Neil Armstrongs to literally look up to.

Can't believe your gone. RIP Neil Armstrong.


Next time you look at a full moon, give Neil a wink.

Uncle Eric

Life is what hits you around the back of the head while you are busy making plans.

Just five days ago his ears should have been burning as Mark (myself and many others) worried about life ahead for an increasingly frail 91 year old.

It happened quickly. Mark had to work hard to keep up. Trying to support my friend/cousin I was always slightly behind the wave as Eric succumbed to pneumonia. This great old man, much loved by many, left us peacefully surrounded by his family.

Note for Uncle Eric: Thank you for your patience with two squabbling little boys. I sincerely hope that we repay your efforts with our enduring friendship.

My blog is about life. Death is part of life. We know that, but it is still hugely hard to say goodbye to those who were the adults in our lives as children. We remain their children is the lesson.

The best way to honour them I think is to remember them with love, square our shoulders and live life the best we know how. They leave a hole that cannot be filled though.

All energy is borrowed. We have to give it back, or pass it on.

Lyme Regis

Robi asked to come over from Zurich and visit Cornwall, but not in the awful English rain please. Err? Steve, Heather and I are due to catch up and if the Cornwall trip comes off (unlikely), Robi and I pass their front door, sort of. I think we invited ourselves but Steve and Heather were up for it. Nope,  the weather is horrible so Robi decided to just come for 3 days. Hang on? Friday evening Steve has a fine fish restaurant booked. Lyme Regis in the rain or Wood End in the rain. We thought it was a no brainer. Making our way to Lyme Regis on a Friday in August in torrential rain didn't feel to good, but we have all had so much rain across Northern Europe this Summer, we are all past caring.

The sun came out and eventually we arrived. Late and stressed we never the less embraced the walking tour Steve had sorted out for us.

If it had rained of course, we would have had a sound reason for three pints in the Volunteer. It didn't, so it had to be a mini cultural event for Robi.

Heather joined us in the evening for dinner. Fish and chips is as close as Steve gets to sea food. Robi got stuck into scallops and prawns on tagliatelle. For me it was lobster, crab and prawn sald. If you have to lose weight, do it in style. Unfortunately the tools supplied wouldn't touch the lobster claw. Solution? Take it outside onto the cobbles and jump on it! Steve and Heather coped well with Robi and I speaking Engmanish. Mainly English but shifting randomly into German. Vorsprung durch verwirrung verursacht! Actually, my German is lousy, so I was glad of the practise. I notice Heather joined in a little also.

Saturday the M5 was a car park due to an accident at Bristol (no surprise). We got off at the Severn bridge and crossed into wales complete with our hangovers. Any hope of an afternoon schnoozle was lost somewhere around Gloucester. We settled for a carnivore grill at my place, followed by a merlot grappa and early bed. Visits with Robi are always fun. Apart from trying to fit a 6'8" Swiss guy into a VW Polo!

  

Catching Up

Dodging the rain to progress my garden landscaping project. Slow going and frustrating.

Time to catch up with relatives, my sister in particular. She threw herself into house purchases and subsequent make overs. She is a brave girl and what she does usually works out. Aunts and Uncles to see also. The last of the senior generation are precious. They have wisdom if we can be bothered to listen. Especially with Mum and Dad gone, I want the company of their brothers and sisters. Rainy days particularly are meant for listening to your wise old uncle.

I intended to catch up with Ernie (aged 87. Tail gunner in a Liberator bomber during the 2nd world war). Not possible. He had taken himself off to South Africa to his daughters for a few weeks. Lots of birthday parties to go to apparently. Good for you Ernie!  

The sun came out so lunch in a pub garden with Ian, and again with Brian and Jeanette. Time on our hands and knees, weeding our vegetable plot, for Allen, Sue and I, and more catching up over al fresco cups of tea. The pace is busy but nowhere near the break neck long hours insanity employed friends have to endure. Wage slaves until we each find our own trap door and escape tunnel.

A long walk in the sunshine with Mark and Andy. Plans for a house purchase in Sweden swapped for concerns about Uncle Eric at 91, and Andy moving forward with his music. Saffy wanting to go in the water, but not at the same time. Is this lovely girlie puppy dog a Pisces like me?

Eight weeks away and missing Swedish friends, at the same time being so pleased to be with English ones. I guess this is how it will always be if I follow the path that is now obvious before me. Just catching up for now. Soon enough we have to move on.

Pictures

I look at my pictures and it reminds me, the sun did shine sometimes. What a wonderful summer it was despite the rain.

Bielefeld Germany



Midsommerfest. Note the barrel of beer. Well done Janne.

Alastaro Circuit Finland. Aki in the Background. Elsa and I in front (about to be lapped!)

Naantali, Finland

Absolute Bliss. Thanks Aki and family. I loved it.

Finnish recreation. I get it. Absolutely loved sauna and swimming in the lake.



On the Gota Canal

"Following the Smiley". Anders, Maria, Andreas, Teresa and Per. Fabulous day out on the bikes along the coast from Goteburg. We can do this every summer as far as I'm concerned. Change nothing.

Last Evening.

Tea and sunset in Bankeryd. See you again soon.

Bad History

The human soul is a gem stone. Each facet a life. Each life an opportunity to shape and polish the stone, to move it towards the best it can possibly be. To hold up the gem to the light and see it almost complete...........


Casparian was having a bad day. He'd had a bad week, month and year. Many bad years actually. Welcome to the 5th century. What an utter disappointment. So far it was much the same as the 4th century, but crappier. Nero was older and madder, that was about it really. He hadn't been able to attend the match at the Colosseum and was honestly satisfied that his money was still in his purse, such as it was. His pay had been sporadic this year to say the least. Two of their sporting hero's had received the thumbs down from this dreadful toad of an emperor. Careers cut short, bets lost, and sporting morale on the floor for months to come. He had the night shift again atop the walls, and frankly he'd had enough. The gasps of the crowd reached the ears of the sentries on the wall. He said he didn't do politics, but it was as plain as the nose on his suntanned face that the city had gone to the dogs. It was past 5 on a hot August afternoon when the German hoard arrived at the gates. He remembered glancing at the big sundial. The Colosseum was emptying and miserable sports fans were spilling into the hot dusty streets from the various gates. Kebab sellers called out attracting meagre business. The surly crowd had no appetite. The Germans at the gates were Roman trained and employed. Auxillary troops unpaid for months demanding access. Casparian looked down, and considered. "What the hell, bugger it, OPEN THE GATES". It was a hell of a resignation speech.

One life, one facet of the gem stone.



If this rain keeps up many more days, I'll start writing any old rubbish.

Thanks to Morecombe and Wise for inspiring me to write history like what I remember it.

London 2012

Could the heart of any red blooded Englishman not be moved by the sight of our wonderful posh lanky gals taking so many of the medals in the rowing? Absolutely stunning ladies. I'm not a big sports fan, and honestly, generally the coverage gets a bit much for me late into the evening, but even so HOORAGH!

The marathon will bring the runners to Buckingham palace. London has on it's Sunday best. It's not my city, but you know? I am a Brit so today I'll wave the union jack (quietly) and be proud.

A few days of catching up with relatives and friends, My brave little sister is working flat out on the houses she has bought. Good on yer sis. Mark and I took a walk around the park at Kingsbury with his 5 month old puppy, Saffy. She doesn't really get the whole lead thing. Mark is safely tethered to one end, and she to the other, therefore there is only one person left who can get tripped up. There is no prediciting how and when she will wind the rope around my ankles. Didn't the pup do well with her first thunder storm? The rain came down like stair rods packed solid and vertical, and we were stranded out in the open. The way she looked to Mark, and since he wasn't concerned, she accepted the situation OK. No drama from her. The yard outside the tearooms was 2 inches deep it rained so hard. An English summer is after all three sunny days followed by a thunder storm. We picked our way through the new lagoon towards the village and tea. Same again next week? You bet

It's comforting being among my own, but I'm missing Swedish friends, the forest and the big lake. Over there the gang will be attending Limatraffen, dancing, drinking, sleeping it off. Wish I was with you guys. Next year hopefully. An unintended consequence of my new situation may be that where ever I am, there will be people I am missing.

Strike While The Iron is Hot

"Travelling will change you son". "Perhaps that's what I want Dad".



So far I've started enquiries towards opening a Swedish Kronor savings account with a British bank. I have also looked for Swedish language lessons near to my home address, to no avail. It's going to have to be an Internet package. I have every incentive to work at this. I have a job to do next spring. In the mean time...

..water to fetch and fire wood to chop.

Modernisation of my UK house is going to take 8 months more. No slacking. I need to finish that project before taking on a Swedish one.

I'm not sure how heavy I was when I left for Sweden, but the news my scales give me today is not good. I have 6 kilo's to loose. The diet and exercise regime starts this weekend. When I had dinner with Linus and Monica she showed the way with a wonderful "grill lite, for 2 fat boys". I actually looked around for who she was talking about. Chubby is a look I hate on myself.

I knew this blog would record a journey of a different kind, but I didn't know what it would be. Right now it feels good. Watch this space.

PS: Roland called from Fagerhult this morning. The puppy couldn't lift the 'phone.

Old Blighty

Grey, cold, windy, miserable. Home! Into wet weather gear for the 150 mile slog to Warwickshire. I put my watch back 1 hour and 30 years. Passport control takes twenty minutes queueing in the saddle. They aren't taking chances during the olympics. Drive on the left! Yep, mostly. A text to Allan and Sue to put the pot on. Homecoming requires tea.

Looking forward to seeing friends and family has pulled me along towards my destination, but honestly, this time I was reluctant to return. Something changed. I'm slow. I'll figure it out.

The 8 week pile of post is mostly junk. My bank cheerfully inform me that they are going to reduce interest on my savings to 1%. They are definitely on the list to meet the red knight. My new red beardy scowl looks scary and crazy. I slept most of the afternoon, exhausted and chilled. I have some thinking to do, but not today.

The Hook

Only 250 English miles to the port. More cold and rain. More autobahn service stations and the invisible Dutch border. It takes time but it gets done, safely and without incident today. 11 kilometres to go and Jane wants me to go past the exit signposted Hook van Hollens. Nope. I disagree and take the slip road. Jane switches herself off in a huff which is not helpfull when I have to find my way into the port. With now where to stop I do it the old fashioned way. Follow the sign posts! Then I recognise the road along the top of the dyke. Windmills. I could only bee in Holland. Those and the acres of glass houses full of tomato plants. The road drops off the dyke to a railway crossing, and then I'm at the Europort complete with it's fish n chip shop. I wouldn't would I? You bet I would. Even served with mayo battered cod and chips take very fine indeed to a homeward bound Englishman (Apparently I'm not a Dane any more).

A German motorcycling couple join me for the fish and chip experience. Company for the cruise home.   

Bremen

South from Aarhus on a cold Sunday  morning. I can see the wall of rain ahead and push the button that deploys Elsa's big wind shield all the way forward. It goes quiet as the shield cuts off the wind turbulence. I sit upright to get my eyes above the upper edge of the screen, and switch on the heaters. It's going to be a long and grim ride. Refuelling problems again. Visa cards don't work.

The sun came out as I drifted into highway filling station over the German border. I moved the bike once due to unsavoury looking types rummaging through the waste bins. The place looked OK but I felt uneasy all the same. Four minibus' full of youths bracketed me and spieled their hordes all around me. They were immediately larking around. 16 years old maybe, but 40 or more of them. I felt a sense of deja vous. They packed in close to myself and Elsa, beginning to jostle me. One started pratting around with one of Elsa's mirrors and called to a friend some way off (Translated from German) "Hey come over here, we are playing with the Englishman". No hesitation, I dared not. I shoved him hard shocking him and said in English "You may be playing. I'm not!" A quick swivel doing the Belfast walk and I spotted two adults supposed to be supervising the lads. I made eye contact and shouted "GET THEM OFF MY MOTORCYCLE!" The two guys intervened and moved the surly youths enough for me to reverse the BMW out, mount and ride away. What is it with teenage boys?

Crossing Hamburg North to South is worse than East to West. The tailback to get through the tunnel under the river is massive, even on a Sunday afternoon. Remind me not to use this route. More autobahn and into Bremen's city centre. Finally Satnav Jane got me to my digs on the riverside. Parking Elsa on the Pavement (sidewalk) as suggested at reception, I made my way to my room and a very welcome hot shower. Once clean and changed into civvies, I set off along the riverside promenade to explore the beer gardens, bars and restaurants. Alone is not great but I'm used to it. To early to eat I returned to my digs. The tramp was going through my gear as I rounded the corner. He actually looked at me and disregarded me. Then it dawned on me. I am not in motorcycle gear. He doesn't know the bike he is robbing is mine. He turned his back on me and carried on, until I hauled him off and spun him around. The poor old bugger nearly wet himself. What he had taken was my bottle of mineral water secured under the cargo net. I let him keep it. He scampered away. I check all else was secure and decided I was ready for bratworst, bread and beer after all, and an early night. You know what? There is a lot to be said for boring days.
    

Only Human

The little dog was whimpering as I continued to empty my bedroom and load Elsa. She was so upset that she was shaking. She was trying frantically to get on to my lap. She's only a puppy really. Her mother looked on with sad eyes. They know! I relented and let her climb onto my lap where she curled up and pretended to sleep. I tried to put her down which started her whimpering. Please don't do this Lizzy. Your putting a lump in my throat. As I insisted on continuing my preperations the dogs took themselves off to their bed. To my human eyes what they seem to be reacting to is rejection. I'm leaving therefore I don't like them any more. Is that right? Dogs have that much?

Stephan got up early to catch me before this difficult departure. As I left Fagerhult along the highway with views of mighty Vattern iluminated with bright summer sunshine, the lake has never looked so impressive. Just a glimpse she gives me of what I will be missing. My leaving is reluctant but I have business in the UK to attend to. I will buy the summer house here, but that is 8 months away. I suspect I will return for a flying visit before then. People to see.

My journey today is one of those iron britches occasions. South all the way to Malmo and the 17 mile bridge to Copenhagen, remembering to fill my tank for Swedish cash expensive to convert into £s. Lunch also with the last remaining Kronor. The afternoon takes care of Zealand and Funen, finally crossing the causeway onto Jutland. Turn right (it sounds so easy) and head north to Henrik, Anne and family fir the last weekend of this trip. Once into Denmark I have further trouble with bank cards and petrol pumps. I started trying to refuel at half a tank which would get me to my destination. Second attempt I got a tankful and pressed on. How to eat an Elephant? You do it one plateful at a time.

One thing that put a wry smile on my face was that somewhere along the road I seem to have become a Dane! At least to those I make transactions with. I speak Swedish with an accent no surprise, but an Englishman doing it is unexpected. Brits out here are rarer than hens teeth. On two occasions when they went conversational I had to put my hand up and switch to English. I was shocked that that was a shock, but there you go. The one young guy's mouth dropped open "holy shit, you're English!". "I am". He thought I was a Dane. They get by fine in Swedish. It happened in the shop in Fagerhult as well for the same reasons.

Arrival at Henrik's place never disappoints. The house seems to cry "home" from a distance of two miles out (UK). It was a shame that our planned Saturday out on the bikes was rained off, like so much more of this dreadful summers events. Good company and a warm house, so no complaints. It was a nice visit.

I have had enough of getting a soaking though.

Following the Smiley

It's a year since I rode with the Goteburg guys, and we are on the behuslan coast north of the city again. Anders is a natural leader with an eidetic memory. Carefully study the map for twisty lanes to have fun in, and he commits them to memory. Today the women are with us. A wife and a girlfriend. Per changed his bike and now sits astride a monster 2.3 litre Triumph Rocket Three. As last year it's a sunny day on this beautiful coast. Fish lunch at a harbour could not be better. The guys swap motorcycles and women (or should I say the women swap pillion seats and drivers) often. Elsa and I are content not to be involved in the swapping. Last night these two pleasant and sensible young women kept us sober ready for today. Good work ladies. They had permission to do so before we started on the beer. Actually how sensible? They are bikers wives.

On the registration plate of Anders Yamaha there is a space just big enough for a fluorescent smiley face. I'm riding number two herring bone pattern to his right and rear. The others follow on left and right zigzag. I am honestly happy to follow. My leading days are done, unless I absolutely have to. Am I still talking about riding motorbikes on a sunny day. No, not exactly.

Thanks to the gang for a wonderful weekend. I'll see the guys for the motorcycle show in Birmingham in November.

Acrobats

Sunset on a warm summer evening. We looked out over the fields to the sunset above the forest on the hill, sipping earl grey tea. Inevitably we had to come inside, as we lost the warmth of the sun, but left the door open. The house was still hot. The bat just flew in. Once in the confined space and speed of the bat made for a frenetic, spine tingling display. My friend screamed "bird" in English. "Nej. Fledermuss", my bad Swedish for bat. Then the cat acted and that was really spectacular. He launched himself not at the bat but at the sofa, using it as a springboard to run up the wall, summer salting backwards over the bat. Twisting he tried to snag the bat, missing by a foot or so (30cm). His immediate second attempt up the other wall, over, sumersalting, two paws working indepenantly, narowly missed this time. The cat was impressive. The bat had now mapped the space including the two of us as bollards in the centre. It's 90% turns in the horizontal and vertical breathtaking. There is something other about bats. Also cats now that I think about it. Did anyone ever see this before? It seems unique. The bat did the only sensible thing. Using it's wonderful sonar. It left.   

A Busy Knight

"You two, arm yourselves and come with me. We have an arrest to make". The men at arms were reluctant as they buckled their sword belts. It was going to be a busy night.

Supper was cheese and shrimp paste on rye, with a soft boiled egg on top.

The knight stood on the little wooden pier looking out over the pristine lake in the forest. His mail shirt and undergarments lay neatly folded next to the tree behind him. Naked  beneath the cool midsummer night sky he breathed in deeply of the birch scented air. He opened his shoulders and flexed his long arms before diving into the cold, sweet water. He had the moment. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

The knight did not have a gut. He was not in his fifties, and at no time did he say to a damsel in distress, "be with you in five minutes, I need a pee!" 

A New Chapter Begins

I will not tackle the immigration office without advise from friends. I cannot do what I need to do here without a place of my own. I have to go onto the government radar soon. I need to manage that. The balance finally tipped. More reasons to stay than to go. Bless you all.

Have my cake and eat it? You bet. A house in England to be with friends and family. A summer house in Sweden to enjoy the journey I have begun. Thanks to Mum and Dad posthumously. If you are watching you know I am doing OK, but please overt your eyes occasionally.

This weekend I will spend in Denmark with friends, before starting the journey home via Germany and Holland. Elsa and I are still travelling well. Better than ever actually. Munching the miles. Eating the elephant one plateful at a time.

The trajectory I am on will return me here next April to find the summer house. I need Swedish language lessons this winter also.

Dear friends in the UK that I miss and look forward to spending time on. Put the tea pot on please.

Jonkopings Lan

"What do you do when you find yourself single in middle age? Dust off your motorbike and go a find people you want to see".

The sun came out finally. I have three weeks here at base. People to see, dinners to eat and beers to share. Country lanes and forest highways to ride (between the showers). So many friends to see before I leave (am I leaving?) To the coast with Roland to Soderkoping and Gryt. Stunning coastal scenery. A new area discovered. A day cruise on the Karlsberg canal With Ernst. Smoked salmon was the on board lunch not to be missed, and long conversations. What ifs, maybes, dreams hopes and fears. Ernst is a good guy and very patient.

If I start listing my social engagements I will miss someone out and offend. Not only that, it is impolite and stupid to blog everything a guy does. We have a farewell pub crawl in town tonight, but I don't want to get trashed. Tomorrow is precious. I don't want to waste an hour.

Elk Recipe

Potatis Moose is mashed potatoes. That is not what we had, just my bad Swedish. Elk with potatoes I wanted to say. I lost the word for Elk.

The Elk joint was provided by Aki frozen, and transported by motorcycle, by me, all the way back to Roland's place in Habo Lan. Roland cooked. He has done moose before. I watched, learnt, and ate. It was surprisingly similar to my Roast Reindeer recipe last week.

Take a joint of Elk(this was maybe 0.8 kilos) meat and sear on all sides in a heavy hot pan with butter. When deeply coloured all over add 0.1L of beer, and 0.1L of water, salt and pepper and some whole onions to soften in the juices. The Elk cooks over a low heat for 2 hours. If you like it pink, take a little time off. Soak fresh chanterelle mushrooms in water then fry gently in butter. Ready boiled new potatoes are also cooked in butter. Take out the meat and carve. Add a little flour to the beery juices to thicken. Then add cream. Plate up the sliced meat with chanterelles on top, cream and beer saucee and finally butter potatoes on the side.

A bottle of Tempranillo reserve from Catalonia and the job is done. We live well in the forest!

To Russia With Love

I'm stuck inside still because of the rain which starts me thinking. Not usually a good idea.

Aki and I looked at the Russian border and turned away again (as intended). I have no visa. I find myself wondering about this huge country I know so little about. What do I know? Cold war stuff? President Putin? Outside of the current western financial meltdown, a member of the BRIC economies? What do I know of her people and culture? I am ashamed to say little. Stories of corruption a crime. True? Hard to travel for a lone motorcyclist? I also hear stories of a warm and friendly people, hospitable and helpful. I also hear that the girls are the prettiest in the world.

Is there a future trip for Elsa and I? Are we going to Russia one day? I wish I knew more.

The Banrock Blues

The storm is an absolute howler
so I take a long afternoon snooze
Outside the road is a river
so I absolutely nothing to lose
I have all of my books and my music
and several bottles of booze
but all of my bottles are Banrock
I've got the Banrock Station Blues!

The Estonian Tourist

"Excuse me, do you speak English?"

The poor guys was just trying tog get lunch. He had chosen a Swedish Chinese grill. The Chinese girl only spoke Swednese. The Estonian tourist had reasonable English and had tried for menu in English. He got a menu, in Swedish.

"Yes I do" He was very pleased indeed as I translated the whole menu from Swedish to English, then because he was still in trouble, ordered for him in my bad Swedish. He thanked me, and as he walked away turned and added, "Your English is very good". "Tack", I replied with a smile that was getting broader as I walked away.

A drop of rain hit the window pane at an oblique angle leaving a tiny diagonal slash of water. It is the first of many. I only notice it's detail because I am lying on the bed watching. This soggy summer continues. It was sunny when I met the Estonian Tourist in Granna, but that was two weeks ago. Local friends are buying tickets for hot destinations, and leaving. Time to regroup. Who stayed home? Let's see.

Gunillaberg

Gunillaberg palace, Bottnaryd.

Thank you dear lady for lunch in a very romantic setting. It was truly perfect. I will not spoil it with my own words, preferring to let people check out the website to see for themselves. Let the pictures tell the story.

http://tage-andersen.com/Images/galleries/7/gallery.html

Today I am a little taller and stronger, and I thank you for that. My thoughts and prayers go with you as you do what you must do next.

Until another day.

Blessed be.

Departure Lounge

I slept in again. My energy levels are so low this trip. Is it the Domsand cold that won't let me go, or bloodsucking Fagin vampires at the banks, draining my energy through my credit cards? Bitter? You bet!
 Either way I skipped breakfast and sat relaxing with a cup of tea in front of the cage fighting middle weight title fight. Lazy days. Bliss. I don't need to set off until 3, so no panic. We had Elk stew for lunch, as you do! Aki enquired about my route back to the bout. "Highway I guess". Wrong answer. I'm a wimp today. He had other ideas. A cross coutry route with lots more bends to play in, then coffee and he can refuel my bike to make sure I actually make it to the ferry. If anyone at the UK banks was reading this would they get it? Dolts.

Soon enough tank full, and a final coffee with Aki, and it is time to head West. We will have other trips and adventures I am sure. I still didn't cross into Russia and St Peterburg is special (and full of beautiful women).

It never happened before, but statistically it has to happen sometime. They loaded the whole damned bout before me. I sat to one side for two hours, and when the last truck was on, they waved me up the ramp and into the tight little space at the very back of the boat, next to the ruddy great ramp, now a wall. Dinner was what was left when the truckers had hoovered up everything else. Still with so many already gone to their beds, I got a window seat to watch the islets slipping by with a beer in my hand. There isn't much really open water between Finland and Sweden. It is utterly beautiful.

5 hours sleep, skip 4:30 breakfast and hit the road south. Stockholm rush hour then onwards down the highway, 300 miles back to base. Old aircraft are artistically suspended alongside the road at Linkoping. It breaks the monotony. Into the forest at Fagerhult in torrential rain. Welcome home. Washing on. I'm out of clothes, then bed for an afternoon nap totally exhausted.