I wandered out to buy a few things yesterday. I'm writing full time at the moment which means that I go stir-crazy quite frequently.
A neighbour was sitting on his front porch. I think that he is about my age. He is a full time carer who looks after a severely disabled girl forced to spend her time in a wheel chair.
"I'm Danish", he said. I was curious, so wandered closer, leaning against the fence. "Really? My eldest daughter is living in Copenhagen".
We chatted about Denmark in general and Copenhagen in particular. I told him the story about Mary on a run with security guard behind. One of H's Australian friends was visiting and also out getting some exercise. Danes are exercise freaks and it seems to infect visitors, me included. Seeing Mary quite made the friend's day.
"My father used to drink with Frederick nine", he said. "Really?" I said from my perch on the fence. "Yes, he was covered with tattoos".
Fascinated, I said "Didn't he used to ride through the streets of Denmark during the German occupation to raise morale?" Now here I was actually getting confused with Frederick's father, Christian X. Perhaps my neighbour was too.
"Yes" he said. "He used to say at the end of drinks, my horse knows the way home!"
I have no idea of the literal truth of all this, although on investigation it does appear that Frederick had tattoos. But I ended thinking that it was all very Danish!
Tuesday, May 02, 2017
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment