This morning marked the end of our residence on Dragarbrunnsgatan. It was actually a little sooner then we had anticipated—we were thinking we had the room through the night of 31 March, but it turned out we had to check out by noon that day. So Sunday night saw a little more frantic shuttling back and forth from Flogsta than originally planned, with the result that we set a new personal best: it usually takes us about five minutes after we move into a hotel room to completely trash the place, and this time the disaster zone was well under way a good twelve hours prior to our actual arrival. Yay, us.
I already miss the view of the castle and the cathedral, but honestly it was probably time to get out of Dodge anyway. The weather has started to turn this week, not to what you would call warm, but that wintery edge is gone, and the people are feeling it. Despite having a bedroom window which faced a Karaoke bar for the past two months, up until this past weekend we had never really noticed any late night whooping and hollering; with the change in the weather, though, the kids are definitely staying out more, a situation which I'm sure will only get more pronounced over the next few weeks. So, between the 2 am Bon Jovi sing-alongs and the 5 am sunrise, there was starting to be a little hindrance of the blessed state that is somnolence (not so much on my part, mind you—my somnolence has never really trucked with hindrance—but there is another, less doughty sleeper to be considered).
And so we find ourselves in the bucolic fastness that is Flogsta. If our apartment but faced a little further west, we would in fact have an unhindered view from the bedroom of fallow fields rolling off towards the distant trees, which is in no way to belittle the commanding view of the Enköpingsvägen expressway that we actually possess. Certainly no danger of karaoke here.
With apologies to Francis Strand, the Swedish word for today is ankdamm.
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