Alles neu...

Every week that I've been living in Norway, I've written down two new things I've done. From the mundane to the life changing, the list makes for a pretty comprehensive account of the six months, so here goes:
  • Move to a foreign country.


  • Try bacon in a tube.


  • Go to Dampsaga Bad.


  • Take responsibility for looking after a cat.


  • Attend a nachspille.


  • Drink Norwegian moonshine.


  • Visit Oslo.


  • Judge a talent contest.


  • Visit Namsos.


  • Eat sodd.


  • Jump into snow from a first floor balcony.


  • Be understood when ordering a beer in Norwegian.


  • Learn how to find cheap long-distance train tickets.


  • Eat Norwegian drunken takeaways (at £5 - £9 a burger, this is an expensive habit).


  • Learn how to make waffles.


  • Speak to people at work about problems.


  • Join a theatre group.


  • Visit Levanger.


  • Eat food from the Congo.


  • See the Lion King in Norwegian.


  • Understand Norwegian subtitles.


  • Celebrate a birthday in Norway.


  • Judge a film festival.


  • Attend a regional UKM.


  • Take (an incrediby beautiful) long-distance Norwegian train.


  • Go inside an organ.


  • Get engaged.


  • Take a boat trip around Cardiff Bay.


  • Go down the slide at Dampsaga Bad.


  • Organise an Internasjonal Kveld.


  • Go to Paradis Bukta.


  • Get a sofa for Huze.


  • Go ski-ing.


  • Experience the Rus time.


  • Be on Norwegian radio.


  • Perform at the Norske Teatet in Oslo.


  • Experience 17. mai.


  • Perform on the stage at Huze.


  • Enjoy eating kaviar in a tube.


  • See 'Ash Lad'.


  • Deliver PowerPoint presentations in Norwegian.


  • Visit Trondheim.


  • Visit Bergen.


  • Go to a black metal gig.


  • Visit Lierne.


  • Visit Stiklestad (aber schnell).


  • Drive all night.


  • Get incredibly drunk in Steinkjer.


  • See Steinkjer Festival.

Piggy in the Middle

What do you do when mutual friends argue? When you're a gang of three it's a bit shitty when the other two aren't getting on. There haven't been any massive fireworks yet. A 'heated debate' in the shopping centre earlier resulted in a 'fuck you', a 'piss off' and a 'shut up', but they both have potty mouth so this isn't as dramatic as it may sound.

The problem is that they both have personalities that occasionally require a bit of tongue-biting and a lot of patience. And it's worth it; we have a lot of fun together and I love talking to both of them. They just seem to have tired of tolerating each other. That's the way the cookie crumbles I guess. As long as I don't have to start passing messages between them.

One more problem: I'm going on holiday with both of them tomorrow.

Get you love drunk off my hump?

I was watching MTV the other day (not something I'm in the habit of doing) when I saw the video for 'My Humps'. Having never listened properly to the lyrics before this was an somewhat bizarre experience. However, if I can analyse Milton I can analyse, well, this:

I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, Get you love drunk off my hump.
I'm going to assume that Fergie is not literally inviting her man to drink from her ass. That would be a step too far. No. I think here she is trying to say that her ass is so intoxicating that it makes men literally unable to stand, speak properly and drive safely. Lucky her.

They say they love my ass ‘n,Seven Jeans, True Religion's, I say no, but they keep givin' So I keep on takin'
Ah, Fergie, it's all very well getting the nice new clothes, but men nearly always expect something in return...

And no I ain't taken We can keep on datin' I keep on demonstrating.
...which you are clearly quite happy to give. Come on, money isn't everything. What about a man who makes you laugh? Who loves you for more than just your 'lovely lady lumps'?

What you gon' do with all that ass? All that ass inside them jeans? I'm a make, make, make, make you scream Make you scream, make you scream.
Oh god, she's going to sit on him.

I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,Milky, milky cocoa,Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.
I can only assume this is a reference to inter-racial sexy time. Hopefully the results won't be as soggy as the aforementioned cocoa puffs.

You can look but you can't touch it, If you touch it I'ma start some drama
Go Fergie, this is practically feminist. It's just a shame that only two verses ago you admitted to giving out sexual favours in return for expensive jeans. Still, it's a start.

My lovely lady lumps (lumps) In the back and in the front (lumps)
WHAT?! I hope to God she's referring to her breasts.

What you gon' do wit all that breast? All that breast inside that shirt? I'ma make, make, make, make you work
As a mammogram operator?

On a more positive note, at least it promotes a healthy body image. Sort of.




Go on, you know you want me...

is not a sentence that I would write in a job application. Although, quite frankly, I'm tempted. I've spent that last three days trying to apply for a teaching job. Easy, right? Wrong. First came the application form. It started off easy enough: name, date of birth, address... Address. Ah. If I put the Norwegian one they'll get confused and won't bother to write to me. So I have to put my fiance's Mum's address. Which I don't know. A quick e-mail sorted that one out. Ok. Teacher number. I don't have my documents here. Another quick e-mail. Two more quick e-mails because my fiance was looking in the wrong folder. National Insurance number. You know the story. And this was just the first page.

Having completed the form and successfully (I hope) negotiated the pitfalls of the 'hobbies and interests' section, I moved onto my 'Statement of Application'. Don't ask; I've spent three days writing it and I'm still not sure exactly what it is.

I thought it was all ok, until my fiance (also a teacher) read it and told me six more points I had to mention, and asked the dreaded question, "Where's your covering letter?"
"But they don't ask for a covering letter."
"You have to do a covering letter."
"But what do I put in it?"
"Say why you're good and why you want to work at the school."
"But I've already done that in the statement thingy."
"Say it in a different way..."
Actually, there were more expletives on my part but I think you can sense my frustration. It never ends...

The silver lining is that writing all this crap has finally made me realise how much I want this job and how capable I am of doing it well. Hopefully I've communicated that in writing.

Of course, that they'll probably decide to hold the interviews in June, before I'm back in the UK. Still it's all a 'valuable learning experience'...