Day:315, Words:315

This fine Saturday in our quaint little town on the fjord brings the annual Christmas market to the town hall. Each year, a few tables are filled with mostly hand knitted goodies. The most popular item appears to be the thick woolen socks that sell for between 100 and 250 kroner, depending on the complexity of the patterns and the thickness of the wool. The other items that were popular included the festival woolen mitten. Confused? Well the mitten has a cup shape and the end of it, allowing the hand to be kept cosy while holding a can of something during those often chilly summer music festivals. The other item that caught my eye was the knitted wine cask bag holder in the shape of a chicken. This will come in handy during those B.Y.O events at the town hall.

The mild weather has ended and the chill has come into play. When it rains, the snows turns a bit mushy and when the temperature drops, the mush becomes a dangerous layer of slipperyness that will attack vulnerable pedestrians.

The conditions make supreme athletes look like toddlers trying to make the journey from one chair to the other without hitting the deck. Each day there are seemingly medial tasks that, as a result of the ice, become Everesteque challenges. Collecting the mail from the letterbox should be a standard, pain free event, yet today it was not. There is a slight incline between the car door and the letterbox. I must have looked an absolute idiot, or drunk or both as I moved my arms in a panicked windmill motion in an attempt to reach the neighbours driveway. Once there, I stood only metres from my goal, although there was a skating rink blocking my path. I decided to use the lunge technique only to perform an unrehearsed backward inward pike into the ice.

 

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