Summer Island

The summer Island On the island in the fjord where we use to go bathing there is now a bridge over, a parking lot and you have to pay. There are toilets- no peeing behind a bush- and kiosk selling soft drinks and cigarettes, asphalted lanes to walk on and signs, plenty of them, telling you what you cannot do Last time I was here with my aunt and her lover the island had bunkers and rusty iron bits from a long bitterly cold war. A marina had been built and had a restaurant but you needed to be a member and wear a blazer with golden buttons and a white sailor cap; they resented local bathers it was no longer a place for us workers, they strive to make life better but end up privatising what used to be free