Livtag med Provinsen

Det har sin charme at forlade Århus (sorry, AArhus. Det føles altsaa som et tilbageskridt. Hvorfor ikke bare tage konsekvensen og gaa all in - Aros?) til fordel for smalltown Denmark.


Således har jeg i dag været på handletur i naboby og fra min plads i vognen (måtte lide den tort at blive bedt om at vente i bilen, thi min moder ville ikke ses med mig offentligt. Bør muligvis genoverveje maler-outfit. Samt længden af indskudte sætninger ;-) beskuet De Lokale i deres naturlige habitat.


Herude er der stadig tid til at man kan sætte sig på de paller, der står ude foran med plantejord og den slags, og lige ryge en pibe tobak mens man ordner - ja, jeg ved ikke. Den lokale verdenssituation, velsagtens?  Der er tid til, at ældre damer med ankler så svulstige som valgløfter kan svinge sig op til hvad jeg mistænker var en flirt med en endnu ældre, helt utrolig vandkæmmet herre - så han muligvis fik røde kinder (kan også have været bivirkning fra receptmedicinen, han nys havde afhentet i Brugsen).  Og tilliden til andre mennesker er stadig så stor, at man efterlader rollatoren i vognskjulet, når man sadler om til indkøbsvogn. Ulåst, altså. Den var næppe gået i Bilka.


@ N ~ ahhh, le weekend. Everything is better on Saturdays - especially when the weather is nice, and would you believe it: just as I welcome Autumn, the temperature soars to the low seventies (yes, I wrote "soars". Friday morning when I stepped off the train, it was in the forties).


The best thing about moving back home is spending more time with my sister (who does not live with my mum&dad, but only about 30 mins drive from here). I get to see her a lot more, and I hope (when I find a nice steady rhythm with my commute and all that, zzzzz) that we can take a sports class or something together, so I can whip my lazy ass into shape.  Said body part is in dire need of into-shape-whipping.  At the moment, the only exercise I get is running for the train and strrrrreeeeeetchiiiing when I'm painting. (Walls, not art).


When I'm painting walls, there's always an element of body paint involved. Which, when done by me, takes on a new and not very sexy meaning.  I just get splashes of paint everywhere; don't ask me how. I have no idea how I managed to get paint between my toes when I was in fact wearing socks and shoes. But there you go.  For this reason, my painting outfit leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to chic-ness.  And for that  reason, my mother requested I wait in the car when we went shopping in a near-by town earlier today.  I did not mind. I love to sit and watch people go about their business.  See two old men take a makeshift seat on the sacks of grain or compost that are neatly piled up outside the store, and have a little chinwag about the State Of The World.  Watch how an elderly lady with ankles the size and shape of breadloaves actually seemed to make an old man blush (I swear, she was definitely flirting with him).  And it was good to see that some people still abandon their zimmerframes unlocked when they switch to shopping carts. Now that would never have happened in Arhus.