I am half way through a picnic with The Finn Called Axel (see post Spanish Omelette) who has just produced the most enormous knife I have ever seen. Petrified, I think back to an earlier conversation with former Norwegian boyfriend;
The Norwegian boyfriend in question is called Anders and we date briefly during our mutual time as students at Surrey University just last year. I am Mathematics and Anders is Mechanical Engineering, so I guess that on paper we are a good match. But that is just paper. We also live in the same Student Halls of Residence called Battersea Court so Anders often collects my mail along with his and brings it over. One morning I am handed a letter and curiously asked, 'Why is someone writing to you from Finland?' I patiently explain the story of meeting a Finn called Axel on a ferry crossing a few years ago and our resulting correspondence. Assuming a tone of measured concern, Anders looks at me and shakes his head, ’Be very careful. Finns have a reputation for carrying knives and heavy drinking, so whatever you do, do not get on the wrong side of one', he solemnly advises me. I look at him and burst into laughter. What does he know about Finland all the way from Norway? He is clearly jealous, so I do not dignify this silly comment with a response.
After a while I am no longer dating gorgeous Norwegian boyfriend. I have been replaced with Jonathan from Metallurgy. Why did I not see that coming? How could I have been so innocent? It's the Bromance of the century and I am powerless to impede its stealthy advance. Anders and Jonathan soon become inseparable and after a while everyone on campus knows they are an item. The new couple look genuinely happy together, while I am left inconsolable; my only comfort is the knowledge that I have been passed over in favor of a man and not another woman. That would have been even worse. But Anders is long-gone history, and as I sit on the banks of the river awkwardly eating my sawdust-tasting Spanish omelette with knife-wielding Axel all I can think of is, ‘drat Norwegian boyfriends and their uncanny knowledge of all things Finnish’. How on the earth am I going to get through this ordeal? A big part of me wishes that I had never met Axel in the first place. He is exhaustingly unpredictable, you never quite know what outrageous thing he is going to do next. As if from nowhere, a wave of nostalgia suddenly washes over me and with it materializes ex Norwegian boyfriend, Anders. In spite of differing backgrounds our meal times together were relaxed and predictable affairs, and on a day such as today I miss him.
After a while, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and Axel and I resume our conversation. There is not a drop of alcohol in sight, and my appetite gradually returns as I realize to my immense relief that the knife is really only to be used as a kitchen utensil; Axel is not a crazed maniac after all. If I were still in touch with former Norwegian boyfriend, which I am not, I would inform him with an air of superiority that he has got it all wrong. Despite his enormous shortcomings, there is still something comfortable about Axel; he is in possession of a deep maturity which I find surprising and is one of the most intelligent persons that I have ever met. Once the annoyance with his searching questions subsides, I am actually beginning to enjoy his company.
As the train finally pulls into the platform, along with it arrives my guest. Axel is now in my territory. I am determined that this weekend will go smoothly and I have accordingly planned a program full of marvelous cultural activities - none of them involving hunting knives; a day trip into London's West End to watch its longest running play, The Mouse Trap, lunch at some cozy countryside English pub, as well as a visit to Greenstead Church, Britain's oldest wooden church in nearby Ongar. But before we can do anything I must drive to the nearest fuel station to fill the car with fuel. Still all-knowing, Axel studies the car in detail from all angles as I hold the fuel nozzle and then asks with an air of expertise, ‘when did you last have the tire pressure checked?’ I look at him in bewilderment. What on the earth is he talking about? The vehicle in question has been mine all of four weeks, so it cannot be unreasonable of me to assume that the used car dealer has supplied me with a ready-to-drive roadworthy specimen; Besides all this, I am technically incompetent and driving the car and filling it up with fuel is about as much as I can take in at the current moment; having the tire pressure checked can go down on the to-do list as something way in the future along with the oil. Of course, I do not share this information with Axel, and in response to his irritating question I simply kick the tire nearest to the fuel cap as hard as possible with my foot and drily respond, ‘Done’.
Axel rolls his eyes in disbelief. ‘You can’t do that! You must take it to a gas station and have it properly checked'. I am having none of this and tell him so, ‘It's my car and not yours, so stop telling me what to do. Besides, fuel stations charge for this service and right now I cannot be bothered‘. Axel then shows a gallant side incompatible with the oaf who made me sleep on the floor of his hotel room just the weekend before. Out of his wallet he produces a crisp five-pound note which he then hands to me saying, ‘here, take this and promise to have the tire pressure checked next time you go to a large fuel station'. I do not really want Axel's charity and tell him so, but he is most insistent so I eventually capitulate and accept this generous gesture making a make a mental note to spend the money on make-up; I am in need of a new lipstick and the fiver will cover that nicely. Axel will never find out from Finland. How wrong could I be.
As I continue to fill the tank, I casually ask Axel if all people in Finland speak as good English as he does. ‘Mostly’, he replies, but he lived in Canada as a child so his English is also good from there. His younger brother was born in Toronto and the family only moved back to Finland from Toronto when he was older. Axel’s words stun me, and in an instant the fuel station and everything else around me recedes to the immediate past as my thoughts return to the fortune teller who called at my door just one year earlier; as she read my palm, she confidently informed me that I would meet a handsome stranger from Canada and move away with him (see post Canada). Can it be possible that this person is indeed Axel? That the person I have been searching for has been right here all the time? This impertinent twenty-one-year-old who thinks that he knows virtually everything? Impossible thought! Or is it?
Axel rolls his eyes in disbelief. ‘You can’t do that! You must take it to a gas station and have it properly checked'. I am having none of this and tell him so, ‘It's my car and not yours, so stop telling me what to do. Besides, fuel stations charge for this service and right now I cannot be bothered‘. Axel then shows a gallant side incompatible with the oaf who made me sleep on the floor of his hotel room just the weekend before. Out of his wallet he produces a crisp five-pound note which he then hands to me saying, ‘here, take this and promise to have the tire pressure checked next time you go to a large fuel station'. I do not really want Axel's charity and tell him so, but he is most insistent so I eventually capitulate and accept this generous gesture making a make a mental note to spend the money on make-up; I am in need of a new lipstick and the fiver will cover that nicely. Axel will never find out from Finland. How wrong could I be.
As I continue to fill the tank, I casually ask Axel if all people in Finland speak as good English as he does. ‘Mostly’, he replies, but he lived in Canada as a child so his English is also good from there. His younger brother was born in Toronto and the family only moved back to Finland from Toronto when he was older. Axel’s words stun me, and in an instant the fuel station and everything else around me recedes to the immediate past as my thoughts return to the fortune teller who called at my door just one year earlier; as she read my palm, she confidently informed me that I would meet a handsome stranger from Canada and move away with him (see post Canada). Can it be possible that this person is indeed Axel? That the person I have been searching for has been right here all the time? This impertinent twenty-one-year-old who thinks that he knows virtually everything? Impossible thought! Or is it?
Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some additions from private family archives.
