12 August 2010

A sad day,. in as much as both  families, the Schneider’s and the Irish  are leaving today.   I have heard about both families for so many years from Michael that it was a great pleasure to spend a week in their company. I know that Irish family were not complete as there were three other brothers who did not come — one of whom, Cathal (Carl) is in Australia but the one brother who did come, Eammon., although quietly, going about his business most of the time, was extremely kind and helpful whenever I needed something fetched or  done. Father.  Simon was a wag with a dry Irish sense of humour and Nora, his companion, was an absolute poppet.  A beauty in body and  it looks nature; amongst other things she kindly re-sewed my the electric shaver pouch which I clamp to my right hand,  in order to shave gliding down.

The German family turned out to be delightful. Father, Andy, a 45 year old, eminent gynecologist from Coburg, Germany keeping eye on his flock of seven. Delia, whom he married when she was 17 was a lovely 28 year old who manages her five children magnificently. Between them they have  done a great job, up to date, in bringing up  five children, four of their own and one whom they foster. All of whom have different  needs and desires and yet, live and play happily together into one unit.  I shall be fascinated to see how the three eldest turnout.  The eldest is a boy, 10-year-old Adrian, who delights in wearing his hair at shoulder length to confuse people as to his gender.  He is most like my grandson of the same age, Fred. Then we have nine-year Nils, a waggish robust little lad who, as time went on, made great efforts to speak to me in English and did not make a bad shot of it. Nils seemed to me to be very similar in character to my own dear little grandson, Sebastian -coincidentally, they are both mad on drums. Then there was darling seven-year old Anika, most like my own little Lara, a real heart stealer the last  of the Schneider’s natural family was to five year old Nora.  Very shy and I did not really get to know how very well.  Lastly, came the 2 ½.year old foster child, Laura, a little darling, if, understandingly, a little more attention seeking than her adoptive siblings. 

She was a dear little thing and quite often took hold of my gutter frame in an attempt to assist me to walk.. If I had a magic carpet, and a genie I could scoop up any number of these children and happily take them home with me.

 Apart from being a great mum, and immensely helpful member of this combined household, Delia is a very accomplished pianist and has entertained us, from time to time, on the piano in the main farmhouse. Unfortunately we have not been able to enjoy the full impact of her beautiful playing because it was behind closed doors, 20 yards from the guesthouse. She clearly needs these moments of respite from the arduous task of keeping an eye on five healthy and exuberant children.

It was extremely hard to say goodbye to all my new friends but inevitably it had to be. ( For those on you who hate long goodbyes I thoroughly recommend you go to the video section of this blog and look at the one entitled I Hate Long Goodbyes — It is very amusing) .

Michael drove the Schneider’s to Stockholm, 2 ½. hours drive away, arriving back  in the early evening.  That day William was charged with looking after me.  We had a great day together  and  Really enjoyed each others company it gave me a great opportunity to get to know William a the little better,. We spent the best part of the day sitting on the veranda in the afternoon sunshine yawning away about life in general, and our  families in particular. Towards the middle of the afternoon we enjoyed a visit from Moa, (Gunnersson) yet another doctor, who had been a guest at the party the night before but we had not had the opportunity to have a chat and she was keen to do so.  The highlight of her visit was a solo performance of what the Swedish call, Kjula  The nearest thing I can liken it to is yodelling in the Swiss Alps.  Cupping her hands to her mouth, Moa, projected her voice through a series of different messages across the hills beyond.  This is an ancient way of parsing messages on from one person to another and was absolutely fascinating.  We would greatly privilege to have Moa performed just for us..

11 August 2010

As we are nearing end of what has been an absolutely fascinating holiday I thought it appropriate to explain just how such a mixed bunch of people came to find themselves in one place in Sweden. It all started with William, Michael’s eldest son, who from a very small boy had always been fascinated by wildlife. At the age of 17 he found himself at a wildlife conference and met a number of people connected with conservation, photography etc. This personable young man  approached  a number of people there offering to work for nothing if they would take him on. It just happened that a Swede, called Lars Abe, hearing of such offers, advised the young William not to do that but instead suggested that he came back with him to Sweden where he, and his wife Nina, both of whom hadh quite a reputation in wildlife photography, would take him in hand and teach them as much as they knew. How could any young man resist such an offer? He went  and took the train to Lindesberg, some 52 km from a little village called  Loa.  William decided to hitchhike to Loa but no car would stop to pick up a young man in the dark.. He got about 15 km. towards the village when a car pulled up behind him which turned out to be a police car.  William explains that he was trying to get to Loa. Fortunately the police spoke English and offered to take him to a pub in a  town nearby where he was bound to meet some residents of Loa. Here, William  coyly asked the assembled drinkers if there was anyone there from Loa.  He was very fortunate in that Astrid, who the readers will remember I mentioned earlier, was there with a friend and offered to take him to the village. The next day he contacted Lars Abe.

That was in 1985 and he has been there, on and off, ever since. A short while later he met, and fell in love with  the lovely Lena, who I mentioned yesterday, and as a result Leo  was born.

That is the short version as told to me by William but I can do no better than to reproduce the eulogy given by William at Lasse’s funeral.  It is a truly wonderful story.

 

In memory of Lasse

It is seldom one can claim to have had the good fortune of meeting a person that has directly influenced and supported your life in ways that you yourself couldn’t possibly have imagined at the time. I have been doubly blessed because not only has this happened to me, but that person happened to be Lars Åby, known to all simply as, Lasse.

Even with the knowledge that Lasse didn’t have much time left on this earth, his passing came as an incredible shock for me. I simply don’t remember being so sad about anything. An enormous hole has suddenly appeared. And while I can’t fill that hole I would like to share with all of you some of the memories that I have of Lasse.

Jeff and I use to joke about Lasse being the “unofficial lord mayor” of Löa. Of course he was so much more than this. All you had to do was to cast an eye over our little village to see how many people’s lives he has influenced through the years. Indeed, he could have single-handedly opened a local immigration office he was that good at attracting people to Löa. But unlike our immigration offices, integration or making people feel welcome and at home, was his speciality. It is no secret, that if I hadn’t met Lasse I would never have come to Sweden and I probably would not have been a film-maker either!

We first met back in 1985, in Bristol, at a wildlife film symposium. It was the last night of what had been a week long event and I remember that evening scene as if it were yesterday. Indeed, it was like cinema, we had already said our goodbye’s and Lasse had just stepped into the hotel elevator, for he was travelling home early the next day. Standing there in the foyer, with my heart in my mouth, I managed to blurt out “if I work for free, can I come and get some film experience with you?” Lasse calmly turned round and faced me with that wonderful warm smile and that glint in the eye that we all know so well said, “you have my address, if you can find your way to Sweden, you will be very welcome”. The lift doors closed and Lasse was gone!

I remember just standing there in that hotel foyer facing those silver doors and feeling so incredibly happy. What I didn’t realise then, but do now, is that in effect I had just met my “guardian angel!”

Three weeks later I was in Sweden. The train had stopped 50km short of my destination, in Frövi, and didn’t go any further. It was a dark October night and without thinking I decided to hitch-hike!

Optimism, promptly abandoned me at that last street light, and perhaps after 5 kilometres, of what turned out to be a 15 kilometre trek, fear was my only companion. I remember thinking, “Shit! They have wolves and bears in this country!” Of course, no car was mad enough to pick up a man walking along a dark forest road. But in the end, the police did!

I always use to tease Lasse about what a “scrooge” he was with money. I use to feel embarrassed when he would gleefully pocket a receipt for the smallest deduction it might give him. He was definitely from that wise old school of  “look after the small amounts and the large amounts will take care of themselves” In reality, I have never met a more generous man than Lasse. I was so generously taken into his home (and Nina’s!) and given so much more than just lessons in film-making.

One very important moment for me happened early on when I had just had the most fantastic day with him. It was late and he said goodnight and as he turned away he added “tack för idag” (thank you for today). I remember being rooted on the spot by this. With all his generosity, why on earth was he thanking me?! This phrase, more than any other, is the one that I have always connected with Lasse.

His patience with me was of legendary proportions. My incessant questioning must have driven him up the walls at times. To make matters worse, I had never seriously taken a picture in my life. So he had to literally begin from the ground up. My first assignment was when he gave me a still camera and two rolls of film and sent me out to photograph an essay on trees. These were then developed and he went through each one discussing their merit. Quite simply, there was no merit, they were awful! But Lasse, patient as ever, would always explain things and then send me out to do it again. In that first period I probably “destroyed” 50 rolls of his film!

In his athletic days we use to drive up to Klacken every other night where he taught me to cross-country ski. Who would have thought he was so ferociously competitive? I remember flailing after him, dripping in sweat and thinking angrily, “how I wished his fat arse would fall over”. We were also secret watchers of crap-television. Late at night when the house was quiet we would sneak into the tv room to watch Dallas, Falcon Crest (and happily I have forgotten the third one). These were always viewed with bread straight out of the oven and dripping with melted butter. His arctic stories would fill books and obviously can’t fit here. But one, and as he describes it “his most stupid moment”, was the time when he exited an outdoor toilet on Svalbard carrying toilet paper in the right hand, 44 magnum in the left, only to be confronted by a polar bear! Lasse threatened the bear with the toilet paper and then, feeling so ridiculous, ran straight past the bewildered animal back into the hut!

My first film experience was editing Lasse’s “Narwhales & Eskimo” film. On that day, when we were to begin, I could hardly contain my excitement. Now I was going to watch film editing! But Lasse always had the ability to surprise you. With a wicked smile he promptly threw me in the deep end by announcing that I was going to edit the film. Excitement quickly turned to dread but Lasse, calm as always, sat down beside me, with coffee and snus to hand, and quietly said “lets begin”. I managed to complete that project  solely through his skill in directing me on what to do.

Many years later after I had finished the rough cut of our film “Vision Man” I called Lasse in to see the first version. As the last scene rolled off the table I received the biggest film-making compliment I will ever get. He said nothing. He just sat there and looked at the empty screen with the softest of smiles on his face. He was crying.

School was out.

I suppose trying to write how much Lasse meant to me and my family is from the outset a hopeless task. Most of you know how deeply this goes but when I think about it…well, it’s nearly hard to believe. That we are just one example, amongst many, many people is simply remarkable. But then, Lasse was a most remarkable man!

Outside my kitchen window I have planted a little oak tree in memory of Lasse. I find it completely appropriate because, for me, Lasse was “an oak amongst men”.

I like the idea of it living for a 1000 years but it probably won’t. No matter.

I picture it as this mighty tree in the future long after the memory of Lasse – and all of us – has faded away completely.

But what won’t have faded is that wonderful influence his life has played on countless people that will continue down through future generations in so many different ways.

Of course, they won’t even be aware of it – but we were!

Now that’s what I call a “guardian angel”.

Tack för idag! 

William Long

Tonight, the last day of the Irish and the German family’s holiday, it was decided to give a party..

A number of phone calls were made casually inviting William and Michael’s  many friends to drop in,  which many of them did, some with their instruments, mainly guitars.

The party turned out to be a wonderful affair. A bonfire was built in the drive with a small barbecue but despite the heavy rain from time to time we all managed to feed really well. The promised musical concert was somewhat dissipated by the weather. Delia gave us a short piano recital which we had to listen to from the adjacent guesthouse.. This was followed by some Swedish ballads, lustily played and sung, by Lars and Philip (Wiesslegren). We then had a beautiful Scottish ballad from Lasse (Larsson) -the local vet -  interspersed with beautiful songs from Leonard -the retired schoolteacher – playing his guitar and occasionally accompanied by Lillimor, who has a fine powerful voice. The three eldest Schneider children stayed up late and joyfully joined in the singing and waving, entirely impromptu.

Obviously. I cannot possibly mention every guest by name, apart from  the fact I probably couldn’t remember who they all were.  However, I must just mention that I had the great pleasure and privilege of meeting the famous Swedish Treasure, Nina Hedenieus, the internationally renowned filmmaker who was responsible,together with her equally famous popular partner, Lars Abe, who sadly died recently, for bringing with William to Lo. This was the crowning glory to what was, for me, a very memorable night.  Incidentally, I understand that the title Swedish Treasure is one confirmed, very rarely, on persons who have made a very special contribution to Swedish society and, I gather, carries with it modest stipend.   That shows you how very important Nina is considered to be

10 August 2010

Another, a quiet day, just me and Michael  at home. He working on his extraordinary complex travel arrangements and  some outstanding legal medical reports and me battling with the crippled laptop. I tried every trick in the book and by dint of perseverance managed to recover a substantial element of the laptops performance. I even cleverly managed to find an earlier version of Dragon which I trained from scratch and managed these last few days of the holiday. The point being that contemporaneous reports are far more reliable and, indeed interesting, than recollection. This was a lesson I learned when sitting as an arbitrator.

I had an even more pressing reason  today and that was because Michael had given  me some water tablets to try to help with my swollen legs. Unfortunately the effect of this was to make me go to the loo almost hourly for most of the morning.

Unfortunately this day had a rather sad end.  The Schneider is had received a telephone call from Andy’s mother informing them that their much loved little dog had died.  The family was devastated.  When they arrived home they went straight up to their rooms, without eating,  from whence heartrending sobbing were heard for some time.  They all knew that the dog was terribly ill but had hoped that he would have survived until their return.  Clearly this little terrier was an important  part of all of their lives and his loss will be sorely felt for some time.  I know only too well how they feel.  When I loss my own black Labrador, Woody, it took me about six months before I could accept that I would never see him again.

9 August 2010

Today was the first really miserable weather that we have had since we arrived. It is not for the fir tee fringed lake  in front of the farmhouse you could believes that you were in Ireland, or so the Irish family agreed.

However it did not deter either family from setting out for the various expeditions. The Irish to Stockholm  to some museums and the Schneider’s to some play area nearby so the children could expend some of their seemingly limitless energy.

I had little to do during the day so, at one stage, looked at a video entitled Lost in Translation, slightly sad but delightful story which I would recommend to any reader. However, the point of referring to it was because of a comment made at the supper table. I was talking to William when we heard half a dozen people, on the other side of the table erupting in the laughter.. Curious to know why, we were surprised that they were rather coy about explaining the joke but, having decided that it would not offend me, told us that Delia  had suggested to Michael that he would miss me when I had gone.. Michael, completely misunderstanding the context of the comment, laughed and said , “who knows I might go first.”  . “No, no”, said the horrified Delia, “I meant when he goes back to London”. Certainly lost in translation between Swedish and Australian.!

8 August 2010

Another day dawned and with a  prearrangement made the night before, the good doctor and Andy rose at  5 a.m to go kayaking on the lake and were lucky  enough to share the experience with a beaver who, it appears was totally unperturbed by this strange yellow beast elsewhere on the late. After the thrill of the dawn experience, the adventurous kayakers returned to their beds. The Irish, on the other hand, at least Simon and Nora, emulating Uno’s Caroline, took an early-morning plunge in the icy lake with, I suspect, more on their Uno’s lover!

Later that morning, Michael, who had been in town to refuel the car, returned  exultant having achieved what most of us take for granted in our own  backyard.. However, in Sweden it is all done with credit cards at the pump with the instructions written in Swedish  Somehow, Michael got through this arduous process without too long a queue of cars behind hooting impatiently and as a result returned here triumphant,

Today, the morning was spent by the Irish family collecting a huge bowl of raspberries from William’s garden in his  main house (Kallhagen) and the German family messed about in boats on the lake.

I spent the morning doing my blog and catching up on e-mails etc. In  the afternoon we went off to look at the little house owned by William (Akroken) which Michael is hoping to purchase. He had some ideas about extending it and it needed to look in situ, so to speak.

In the late afternoon our numbers swelled to 18. William came with his son Leo, 13, and Leo’s mother, Lena; by Kent, our nearest farmer neighbour and by Timi, a Finnish naval captain who was convalescing from a rather nasty operation. All seven nationalities sat down to a splendid meal, in the garden, rustled  up  from odds and ends but nevertheless very palatable.

Unfortunately, I had an accident with my laptop and managed to knock a cup of tea over the keyboard. As a result  for a while the whole thing would not work at all. In desperation Michael cooked it in the oven, at a fairly low temperature, and this seemed to a have salutary effect on most of the functions except that one corner of the keyboard still  refused to work and went into a noisy complaint whenever I pressed any of those particular keys. The biggest loss was my Dragon voice recognition. It kept telling me that what I was trying to access was incompatible or invalid, which of course is complete nonsense but nevertheless it meant that I would not be able to continue writing this blog whilst in Sweden, certainly not using that particular version 

 

7 August 2010

I wake up with an air of anticipation this morning Michael had managed, last evening to acquire the last five tickets for La Boheme, for this late afternoon performance. I have fond memories of this particular opera. Almost 60 years ago, I found myself playing one of the urchins in Act 2, at Sadler’s Wells, , when it was substituted for a performance of The Pearl Fishers which had to be cancelled, at the last minute, due to the  indisposition of the tenor. Of course, my colleague and I were far too big to be to playing street urchins but, at such short notice, the director had no option. So two 6 foot high youths, in short pants and ragged shirts, were sent skipping onto the stage holding hands in the street scene. (See Treading the Boards at Sadler’s Wells, in the Anecdote section of the blog)

A quiet morning with all the families dispersed in different directions. Even Michael  left for another measuring expedition with Leonard. Poor young Eammon, with his nose buried, as usual, in a book, was been left to guard over me, in case of emergencies.

We left around 3.00 to pick up Astrid’s mother’s wheelchair, which had been kindly loaned to us for use at the Theatre as it was thought it would be more convenient  than my gutter frame. So it proved. It was the right decision. Not only was the access reasonable for the wheelchair but  I was given a position in the front row and therefore had a wonderful view of the stage. The theatre  itself is an enormous high wooden  barn that had previously been used as a sawmill. It has a capacity of 800  and was completely filled. As I mentioned previously, its  acoustics have the reputation of being the best in Sweden and having heard this opera I can believe that this might  be true. They have achieved this by a number of cleverly placed acoustic baffle  boards, under roof level, using a similar technique to that which they used to resolve, a similar problem in the Albert Hall in England, which,when   completed, proved to have very poor acoustics. A magnificent architectural feat, in memory of Queen Victoria’s beloved  Albert, but a poor music hall. Here they solved the problem by the use a great number of large upside down mushroom shaped baffles which were lowered or raised, to varying levels, to achieve pretty good reception in all parts of the hall.

Incidentally, I got it wrong about the cast, they are all professionals  who take the opera to other parts of the country and also give concerts etc, here and there, in order to make ends meet. Most of the orchestra were very young and play perfectly adequately . I thought the Rudolfo and Mimi were both superb although Delia, whose businesses is music, rated Mimi the best for various technical reasons. I loved the whole experience, Quite apart from the performance itself, was the location of the theatre, situated as it as in such a beautiful lakeside setting.  the like of which you are unlikely to  see anywhere else in the world. The enclosed cosiness of this  large theatre combined with the soothing music often has a soporific effect causing me to  nod off, momentarily, from time to time, however I’m glad to say, I did not disgrace my host in this manner. However, my own little weakness prompts me to recount a tale recounted  to me by Nora. Apparently, she took a gentleman friend Robert to see this same opera in Cork opera house,, some years ago.

This friend was clearly not one jot interested in what was going on on, stage as he spent the  the first half of the performance fiddling with his iPhone, texting  or whatever, hidden from Nora, by his side. to Nora’s great annoyance and embarrassment in case. the people behind were distracted by the brightness of the light from the iPhone. Fortunately this young man ran out of people to communicate with and by the time the second half began had fallen asleep, only waking to the thunderous applause as the curtain fell. He turned to Nora and asked “what happened”. Nora smiled sweetly, and replied “Mimi died”. Needless to say. Nora never made the mistake of inviting Robert to an opera again!.

As it was we had been fortunate enough to  purchase the last five tickets for this performance. And so it was that five foreigners, one Irish one German, one Danish, one Australian and one British, travelling in a French car, set off leaving Simon and Andy with strict instruction to prepare a bumper feast for our return,. The girls did not display a great deal of confidence in the outcome suspecting, we might return and  find these two would-be gourmet chefs  comfortably ensconced in the chairs in the garden having consumed the best part of a bottle of whisky and waving vaguely towards the kitchen,  mumbling  something vague about supper being ready very shortly. Not a bit of it. We were greeted with the sight of a long table, in the garden, well out laid with the accoutrements necessary for a good meal –  is my memory deceiving me but did I also see a small bunch of wild flowers on the table? . We were not disappointed. The boys had done us proud. Fortunately, Ruth had joined us for the theatre run and stayed for supper otherwise we would have been 13 around the table which would not have suited the superstitious.

The meal over, I was allowed my cigar and we spent the rest of the evening chatting and sipping some excellent whisky before being driven  indoors by the evening chill and the beasties which were beginning to bite and irritate ..

..

6 August 2010

Lars, the neighbour who dropped him last night told us that we were fortunate in being here during, what is fast becoming a famous opera festival in Kopparberg. They are currently performing  La Boheme and I’m very much hoping to go one evening. The performance is in an open sided ancient barn, which is said to have the best acoustics in Sweden, The cast is, I understand,  largely amateur but the principal roles are played by first-class professionals.. It smacks of the early days of the now world-famous Glyndebourne  in the UK, which had a similar humble beginnings. Although Sweden has something similar to the UK Arts Council, Lars told us that the grants are very limited and tend to be dealt with by the municipality and this particular group is having difficulty surviving. However, its reputation grows year by year and there are even afternoons  when special trains run from  Stockholm,  stop for the opera and then transports the opera goers back to Stockholm serving  a first-class three course meal on a journey.. It sounds like a good night out.

The number of people was swollen even more today with the arrival of Michael’s oldest son William, who was looking very sparky. He came with Astrid, Michael’s amanuensis, in Sweden. The Irish and Schneider families went off to explore the historic town of Nora and in their absence Ruth arrived to spend the afternoon quietly, with me listening to music on my iPod, in the sunshine, and Michael reading Martin Gilbert’s massive tome on Churchill.

From snippets I have heard from various people I have been able piece together, what I can call, Uno’s story. Apparently. some 40 years ago, 60-year-old Caroline came to stay at the farm guesthouse with a friend of hers and the chemistry spontaneously sparked between her and the 20 year younger, Uno. Two more different people from different backgrounds,  you could not imagine. Caroline, was a well travelled, sophisticated San Franciscon and a talented musician. Uno was a rugged, back woodsman type, local farmer, who had scarcely travelled beyond the nearest town of  Kopparberg.. They fell madly in love with despite neither speaking the others language. In the early days of their courtship, in order to demonstrate her love for the young Uno, Caroline cast off all her clothes and plunged into the icy lake in front of his farm, erroneously believing that this was the sort of thing that all Swedes did (apparently we, in  the rest of Europe, have been grossly misled over the years about the Swedish propensity for nudity) Despite the language difficulties, Uno persevered and soon learned enough English to enable the relationship to blossom. Although they never married they remained lovers until Caroline’s death in her 90s. Uno survived another six or seven years before falling from a defective loft ladder in his barn,  the injuries from which he never recovered. A true love story. I’m sure that Puccini could have written an opera using this love story or one of the Swedish songwriters have embodied it in a ballad.

5 August 2010

We managed to stay in bed until a little after 7.00 today – later than usual — as the children were pretty exhausted from their journey and exertions the day before and, as a result, slept in. Shortly after breakfast they decamped for a swimming expedition, and lunch at Anna’s cafe, while Michael went off to see Leonard to discuss possible alterations to William’s little house. He left me, working at my desk, in the very capable hands of Vallerian, a Polish  builder working on the house outside. Does anyone know the Polish Word for HELP1?

It is the most glorious summers day, but cooler than it would be in England and with gentle but chilly breeze, nevertheless, if I can find a sheltered spot and I will spend some of the day sitting out in the sunshine. A quiet, peaceful day culminating with a delicious Norwegian salmon, en famille, prepared by Delia and Andy, after which I read some Chekov on my laptop,and  contemplated a relatively early night.

But then the activity started. Lars (Larsson), a neighbour, who works for the  municipality as controller of recreational facilities,  called in as he was out walking his dog. The whisky flowed and we sat outside, three of those still in shorts, until the dew began to fall and we were driven in. More  whisky, and just as I thought I could escape and go to bed the Irish, turned up, a little later than expected as they got lost on the drive here from the airport,, although they have been here many times before. However, it is not surprising as this place really is tucked away down a long winding lane. Anyway, having come all the way from Dublin that day they were a little weary. Simon, the father and son Eamonn, (who, incidentally shares a birthday with me — 58 years apart) with a friend, Nora. Nora was a  friend of  Simon’s wife, Mary who was a nurse who worked  with Michael , in Benalla, Australia – Ned Kelly territory, over a number of years.Michael tells me that she was incredibly popular and caring nurse.

Ultimately, Simon and Mary returned with their children to Ireland where, sadly, she discovered she was dying  from incurable cancer,  but Mary did not survive very long .Eammon’s brother Cathal (Carl in English)  stays in Michael flat in Melbourne, between his various trips around Australia..

4 August 2010

The Schneider family arrived late last night, after I had gone to bed. The little ones, like most other children over the world, were excited at being in a new, but familiar, place -they have been there on several previous occasions – and were up early. Each of them, in turn looking shyly around the door at the funny old man still in bed. However, with a smile and a few faltering words of German I will hope to win them over, one by one. Anyway, in any event, they all learn English at school and over breakfast tried out the odd word or two. I’m sure over the next few days we will all become friends. Andy, the father, explained briefly, to the children, what are my problems, and once their curiosity has been satisfied I’m sure they will treat me like anyone else.

I have a dilemma. It started last evening when I tried to ring ‘my lovely’, as I have done every day, or at least tried every day, since we were married almost 48years ago. The entire area telephone system has now been out of order for the past three days and no one is  able to explain why. The odd thing is that it has not affected the broadband. E-mails continue to come in daily and I’m also able, each day to update this blog. Yet, the weird thing is I cannot send any e-mails. How can that be, when I can send the update for this blog but not ordinary e-mails. It’s as if there is a blockage in the outbox but being away from home I do not have my ISP’s contact details (Orange) to telephone them and ask how to resolve the problem. If any of my readers know what I can do before I get home I would be obliged to hear from them either by e-mail or by way of commenting on the blog item.

The children played happily around the farmyard in the morning and then we all drove to William’s (Michael’s eldest) little house that Michael is  toying with the idea of buying.) Frankly, I think he needs another house like a hole in the head butt his restless spirit means that he probably will end their  start extending it and in converting what is there already. It has one thing going for it and that is  a superb setting if perhaps a little isolated

I think Michael has visions of handing over the farm and adjacent buildings to the family and then living in this smaller house in his retirement, whenever that will be!

After lunch  the Schneider family went berry picking, with a view to making some jam, but came back with empty bowls and full tummies having consumed all of what they picked. They did however bring back a large bag of dubious looking funghi, which after a careful study of the book of edible and poisonous mushrooms, it was decided prudent your not to eat This sensible decision was confirmd by Lasse Larsson, the local vet (Penny -Michael’s eldest daughter’s – recently wedded husband) who ordered by in the early evening, not to drink, as he was on duty, for a chat.

The children then spent the rest of the afternoon playing in Uno’s – the owner former;s – old hay loft, which, I suspect, still has the same straw as was there when the old boy died, some years ago. Andy he tells me that the children are planning to put on some sort of play. Why does this so remind me of my own grandchildren who always do some sort of nativity play for us at Christmas. We sat out in the afternoon sun and even had our supper out there but by 7.30 it was getting a little chilly..

3 August 2010

Today did not start as well as yesterday finished.. I received an e-mail from  Guy at Coventry University, informing me that the reviewing committee of Proctor and Gamble, disappointingly were not interested in marketing the health product, which I recently had patented, on the grounds that they had lately reviewed similar concepts.  I must admit I was surprised, to learn this, as there does not appear to be anything similar available in the shops but maybe there are others already in the process of preparing their product to come to the market. We will see. In any event, Guy is now pursuing an appointment with Lloyds Pharmacy, who appear to be keen for new products.

Whilst sit updating this blog I can hear hammering from the Polish workmen who are building a ground level platform, or verandah,. on the side of the house, from which, when it’s finished. will get a magnificent view of the lake in front of farmhouse itself..

Swedish buildings ,certainly, in the village type communities, in this part of the world, are predominantly made from timber with external weather boarding, which almost invariably is stained with a dark browny red, water-based, preservative.. Michael has had this guest building, adjacent to the farmhouse, beautifully converted into a dwelling.

The timber walls have around a foot of insulation between the weather boarding and the plasterboard  internally.. The underfloors are similarly insulated and I believe there is something in the order of 1 m of insulation in the roof space. Compare this with the average of 4 inches in most UK homes.

Admittedly, it does get a lot colder here in the winter, in fact, as low as -30 – 35C.. The  floors and ceilings are made of lightly limed pine boarding ,supported on small pine beams. In common with other houses in Sweden this one has under floor heating (shades of the Roman hypocaust) provided  by geo-thermal bore which penetrates, into the ground, to a  depth of around 150 m. This system also provides all the hot water required in the house. The heat of the earth is transferred through a heat exchanger and circulated throughout the house. This, with the double glazing the summer and winter temperatures remained fairly constant .

A quiet day for both of us accept that Michael worked like a slave preparing the grounds of the house itself to receive his guests whom, I am told, will arrive after I had gone to bed.