Biding time

Biding time  28.07.16

An hours bus journey going nowhere. I wanted to take a ferry, Ternan for Nolsoy was waiting but i wanted a long journey, at least two hours in either direction, a lostness in time, writing frenzy. Instead, i take a bus, heading, i think, for the Nordic centre where i can use wifi with coffee. i still dont seem to have grasped the implications of driving on the right hand side though and the bus heads out into the suburbs instead. I dont jump off, itll go full circle. For a moment i think it might be interesting just to sit and watch as people in national costume get on but then get off again, today is the beginning of national day celebrations, the killing of norwegian king olaf.  nobody else in full kit gets on.

Im unsure how i feel about national costume, i wouldnt want to wear anything that announced my nationality, would i? What is there to be proud of? It always feels to me as though it might portray a narrow, insular attitude. the pride with which pople wear it surprises me. In some respects it makes for an easy life though. What shall i wear for a wedding, oh yeah, national costume. What about a party? Oh yeah, national costume. What shall i wear for work today, ah shucks, yeah, national costume. Does it serve as a normalisation process, make people all the same, I wonder. No, im sure the degrees of ornamentation put people neatly in categories even though im told this is no longer so.
Red-black finely woven wool pleated into a long skirt, with apron, a red jacquard, bodiced jacket, fastened with ornamental chains and an individual shawl. The wearing of national costume has had recent resurgance i understand, had nearly died out but the last twenty years have seen it worn with renewed pride and habit. People frequently make their own, even weaving the fine cloth. This was what the women i met inTvøroyri were weaving.

Boy, if i thought i felt trapped on nolsoy, how much more trapped did i feel in Midvagur this morning. Its like being in a museum at the end of nowhere with a very limited bus service and nowhere to go. At least Nolsoy was homely and close to Tórshavn when the world then opened up and i could go anywhere, do anything.
Tasked with giving breakfast to all the guests who stayed over from the wedding, ive just run away after doing so. Sod it. The place is, day after wedding reception mess, all rooms need servicing but im out and away. For the whole day.
I start hitching, it is spitting slightly, but the first vehicle to come along is a bus, running late! It is not due to stop in midvagur, and im not at a bus stop but i try to hail it and it stops for me. Magic. It was as I realised that i was too late to catch the only bus until four this afternoon that prompted me to say, fuck it I’m off. People had been straggling down for breakfast. i had hoped i might be able to jump on the 10.30 but as the time came and went, i resolved to hitch anyway, and once that decision had been made, timing was imperative. I left quickly knowing i must escape before marit arrived. Snidey cow.
There, i think im finally done with trying to make allowances for her. Yesterday she was playing hierachical games with me being given nice jobs. Cissy was set to do the hoovering, i was sent to pick wild flowers to make ten small arrangements for the wedding. I was ‘privileged’ to hear her tutting about Cissys timekeeping. Divide and rule tactics serve to warm me to Cissy not rail against her.
Having been awake since 4.30 am in the morning, i was so tired mid evening, that when the wedding guests descended into the bar, i decided to go to bed. I knew that sleeping with a noisy wedding party going to bed between midnight and four am, if at all, would not be easy, so thought id try to get a few hours in. Wrong. Children were crying, the walls wafer thin and people standing outside under my window, talking and smoking. I figured if you cant beat them then join them. marit had made it clear earlier that Cissy and i would be welcome to join the dancing.
The room is packed, a man plays guitar and sings, Cissy and i prop up a corner, taking a second beer from Marits office, as agreed. The groom spots me and waves. Cissy has gone for the time being, she prances, throwing her mane like a stallion on heat as she bounces around the room. She has many attitudes that i do not warm too, i think we would not make good playmates. The groom formally invites me to the wedding and says i must help myself to beer. So i do. And another.
The singer goes, disco music starts, tables are moved to clear a space and it looks as though there will be dancing. The couple get up and dance a slowish dance while the crowd gather, getting closer and closer, squeezing them together before retreating. The groom is manhandled outside and one of his shoes is removed, his sock is pulled and the toe cut off. This apparently symbolises being married. He will not be allowed to go anywhere now because he has no socks to wear.
A few moments later a large, very matronly woman in national costume, comes to me and snaps aggressively at Cissy and i, says we should be working, the bride is unhappy and has complained that we are not working. She says Marit said we would be helping. Stunned, this being the first we have heard of it, we both ask what would you like us to do? The woman spits, well cant you see what im doing? She is carrying plates and glasses, has been clearing all evening. It would make total sense if Cissy and i had known. Im sure we would both have been pleased to have a role, be involved. I dont know what Cissy did. i feel angry with Marit, regret that my presence has upset the bride, but dont like the womans aggressive approach so i help myself to two more bottles of marits beer, leave and go to my room.
The beer ensured i slept through whatever noises others made. Hence not giving a fig this morning about leaving the place in a tip. Cissy has gone off for a couple of days so ill have the rest of the day off too.

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