On top of the world...
Thursday, 3. April 2008, 15:20:57
Well, around the top half of the world, followed by a break over easter...
Posts tagged with "winter"
Brrr. Boston.
Tuesday, 30. January 2007, 20:08:01
I spent a week in Boston, where it got really cold. Like the last time I did that. Without luggage. Like the last time I did that. At meetings, like the ...
The storm breaks
Thursday, 27. July 2006, 02:09:09
This afternoon I thought maybe the black dog was coming back. I could feel him, more than see him, know that he had been walking the streets and sniffing in places I might have been.
It has been hot in Oslo for at least two weeks. Hot in the sun, hot in the shade. In the early evening the sun comes in my window and lies along my arm, until I can feel it burning me like a truckie. Moving is melting.
But this evening, the lightning started to flash as I got home. I parked my bike, and the thunder was rolling. I had a shower, caught a bus downtown, and ordered a beer before the rain started - at first great heavy drops, but so few of them. And then a steady medium rain, a couple of times slanting in a little, and then getting heavier.
It may have rained as long as an hour and a half - no more. A few hours later the skies are clear. But it washed the streets clean, and it washed away some of the pressure that had been building.
It seems I like the rain.
It has been hot in Oslo for at least two weeks. Hot in the sun, hot in the shade. In the early evening the sun comes in my window and lies along my arm, until I can feel it burning me like a truckie. Moving is melting.
But this evening, the lightning started to flash as I got home. I parked my bike, and the thunder was rolling. I had a shower, caught a bus downtown, and ordered a beer before the rain started - at first great heavy drops, but so few of them. And then a steady medium rain, a couple of times slanting in a little, and then getting heavier.
It may have rained as long as an hour and a half - no more. A few hours later the skies are clear. But it washed the streets clean, and it washed away some of the pressure that had been building.
It seems I like the rain.
Summer in Oslo
Friday, 14. July 2006, 04:44:45
There is a song that gets stuck in my head from time to time (even when I haven't been to Ireland) called "Summer in Dublin". The bit I remember of it (and so the bit that plays on endless loop for an hour or three) is
Apparently it is by Liam Reilly and Bagatelle, and was a huge hit in 1980. I learned it from the Irish Hooligans (also called the Hooligang and some other stuff, a band set up by Ben Flood and friends in Melbourne in the mid to late 90s)
It is summer in Oslo. The nights are short, and not really night - a sort of dark twilight that goes away again. The parks and beaches are filled with people and engangsgriller (one-time barbecues), being used to cook the inevitable grillpølser (barbecue sausages).
(I would post a photo of one, but it seems to have been eaten by a flaky blog system I used to use)
Although it is technically illegal to drink in public in Norway, there are often people enjoying a quiet beer or wine with their barbecue.
People go out at night, although it means they leave a bar as the day is coming, or before it gets "dark". The streets are full of people. The women generally dress up in Oslo. The boys don't, so much - and I don't in apparent male solidarity or something.
It's something I never quite got the hang of. I can dress up for real in a nice suit and tie, and brush my hair and clean my nails and look perfectly presentable. It is when people dress nicely but not really formally that I am often left feeling either overdressed or underdressed. Admittedly summer isn't the right weather for me to get it right - sitting around quietly in shirtsleeves my melting point is probably not far above 20˚. Besides, by nature I tend to be very casual about appearance. Or is it that I just do that to cover the uneasy feeling I get that I will somehow manage to look a little out of place?
But if I can't get the hang of the clothing thing, I can take my guitar to the park and play it. I've never seriously done that before before this summer. I realise, too, that I still have quite a way to go before people actually ask me to play (although now some especially polite people don't ask me to stop, which is something
). And yet it is a pleasure that I have never really known before, to play music for people. As my singing improves ever so slowly, even that becomes more fun and less tinged with fear. (At least for me, since I am always optimistic about how the next song will turn out. I guess the audience might have a different perspective...)
I'm still more likely to impress them by cooking, and that is something that makes me happy. I am not a big fan of the engangsgrill staple sausages, ketchup, mustard, and airy bread (although I don't mind lømper). So I managed to cook some pretty decent food on the engangsgrill, and discovered that it is even possible to make an espresso, albeit with a lot of effort and "encouragement". I suspect I still have a way to go before I am a master of the little tinfoil tray of charcoal (and a small bellows would be handy on occasion). So maybe by the time I am 40 I will be able to make a presentable effort of offering people a decent grill with music.
It's a nice little dream, anyway. Little enough to be allowed out to play, even.
If you've got any tips, let fly. (Same with fashion hints, although I still like my orange shirt and will probably still wear it from time to time). Otherwise, come join me on a summer evening or two when I am there. It's still nice out...
[For those of you who were looking for the sex in here, it's my tag and it's for things where I note that there are differences between boys and girls...]
I remember that summer in Dublin
The Liffey how it stank like hell
The young people walking down Grafton street
and everyone looking so well
I was singing a song I heard somewhere
called Rock 'n Roll never forgets
When my humming was smothered by the 46A
And the scream of a low-flying jet
So I jumped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire
Stopping off to pick up my guitar
When a drunk on the bus told me how to get rich
I was glad we weren't going too far
Apparently it is by Liam Reilly and Bagatelle, and was a huge hit in 1980. I learned it from the Irish Hooligans (also called the Hooligang and some other stuff, a band set up by Ben Flood and friends in Melbourne in the mid to late 90s)
It is summer in Oslo. The nights are short, and not really night - a sort of dark twilight that goes away again. The parks and beaches are filled with people and engangsgriller (one-time barbecues), being used to cook the inevitable grillpølser (barbecue sausages).
(I would post a photo of one, but it seems to have been eaten by a flaky blog system I used to use)
Although it is technically illegal to drink in public in Norway, there are often people enjoying a quiet beer or wine with their barbecue.
People go out at night, although it means they leave a bar as the day is coming, or before it gets "dark". The streets are full of people. The women generally dress up in Oslo. The boys don't, so much - and I don't in apparent male solidarity or something.
It's something I never quite got the hang of. I can dress up for real in a nice suit and tie, and brush my hair and clean my nails and look perfectly presentable. It is when people dress nicely but not really formally that I am often left feeling either overdressed or underdressed. Admittedly summer isn't the right weather for me to get it right - sitting around quietly in shirtsleeves my melting point is probably not far above 20˚. Besides, by nature I tend to be very casual about appearance. Or is it that I just do that to cover the uneasy feeling I get that I will somehow manage to look a little out of place?
But if I can't get the hang of the clothing thing, I can take my guitar to the park and play it. I've never seriously done that before before this summer. I realise, too, that I still have quite a way to go before people actually ask me to play (although now some especially polite people don't ask me to stop, which is something
). And yet it is a pleasure that I have never really known before, to play music for people. As my singing improves ever so slowly, even that becomes more fun and less tinged with fear. (At least for me, since I am always optimistic about how the next song will turn out. I guess the audience might have a different perspective...)I'm still more likely to impress them by cooking, and that is something that makes me happy. I am not a big fan of the engangsgrill staple sausages, ketchup, mustard, and airy bread (although I don't mind lømper). So I managed to cook some pretty decent food on the engangsgrill, and discovered that it is even possible to make an espresso, albeit with a lot of effort and "encouragement". I suspect I still have a way to go before I am a master of the little tinfoil tray of charcoal (and a small bellows would be handy on occasion). So maybe by the time I am 40 I will be able to make a presentable effort of offering people a decent grill with music.
It's a nice little dream, anyway. Little enough to be allowed out to play, even.
If you've got any tips, let fly. (Same with fashion hints, although I still like my orange shirt and will probably still wear it from time to time). Otherwise, come join me on a summer evening or two when I am there. It's still nice out...
[For those of you who were looking for the sex in here, it's my tag and it's for things where I note that there are differences between boys and girls...]
Into the light...
Saturday, 27. May 2006, 16:56:18
It's been a long month travelling. Lots of fun, lots of hard work, seeing friends and colleagues and meeting people and dealing with both kinds of challenges (the ones that are interesting and the ones that are just frustrating). And now I am back in Oslo for the weekend, before going to Australia.
It's not how it was when I left. There is no snow. The grass is green and thick. It doesn't quite manage to get dark - even when I went out at midnight last night there was clearly blue sky looking north, and only a deep twilight. The sun is shining and it is warm, people seem to be getting back to summer smiles (after a few hours it is hard to really tell).
Next time I come back the days will be getting shorter (although they will still be longer than they are now), and the country will be moving into serious summer holiday mode. Meanwhile I will have been in southern Australia's wet chilly winter, and New York's icky-sticky summer, and have a whole new string of challenges faced.
...life goes on. Maybe I'll get to play cricket tomorrow. That would be fun.
It's not how it was when I left. There is no snow. The grass is green and thick. It doesn't quite manage to get dark - even when I went out at midnight last night there was clearly blue sky looking north, and only a deep twilight. The sun is shining and it is warm, people seem to be getting back to summer smiles (after a few hours it is hard to really tell).
Next time I come back the days will be getting shorter (although they will still be longer than they are now), and the country will be moving into serious summer holiday mode. Meanwhile I will have been in southern Australia's wet chilly winter, and New York's icky-sticky summer, and have a whole new string of challenges faced.
...life goes on. Maybe I'll get to play cricket tomorrow. That would be fun.
Sprung
Thursday, 27. April 2006, 03:46:58
It's really not winter any more in Oslo. The last bits of snow holding out in dark corners seem to have gone. It starts getting light about 4am. It doesn't freeze, and the bits of dirt are growing grass on them.
Spring is here. People seem happy about it, after the winter. Some people were positively pining for it.
I didn't go skiing, I didn't go skating, I didn't see the endless night of the north or even the northern lights. If I am in the north next winter, I hope to do a better job of these things.
Happy spring everyone.
Spring is here. People seem happy about it, after the winter. Some people were positively pining for it.
I didn't go skiing, I didn't go skating, I didn't see the endless night of the north or even the northern lights. If I am in the north next winter, I hope to do a better job of these things.
Happy spring everyone.
White and Blue
Monday, 10. April 2006, 15:56:48
When I was a younger lad, at a critical moment in the development of my first serious Relationship, the TV was playing one of the biggests songs from a band called "Eric Burdon and the Animals". It was the first (and for more than a decade the only 
) song I could play on the guitar
Apparently Eric Burdon gave an interview recently in which he said that he got turned onto the Blues by hearing Muddy Waters play. And according to another story, he said in an interview in the US, when he was a big star there in the 60's, that he was surprised Americans were listening to him when he was really just playing stuff from American Blues greats like Muddy Waters. One of the people who heard this was a kid who had just started playing guitar, named Bob Margolin. He took the advice and started listening to Muddy Waters, and ended up playing with him from the early 70s until Muddy passed away in the early 80s.
In 1994, the XVII Winter Olympic Games took place in Lillehammer. Various infrastructure for winter games, including a ski jump were built.
In 1999, when I had just moved to Boston, I saw Eric Burdon and the New Animals at Cambridge's House of Blues - one of the most fun things I have done in the US.
Last weekend I went to Lillehammer. I saw the ski jump, although I failed in my attempts to find a sensible way to the top of it. At least I know how to get there for next time. I left my skates at home, and didn't bother looking for skis, because the forecast was for rain all weekend. In the end, my first trip into Norway after almost a year of living in Oslo was a weekend when it mostly snowed rather than rained
When it rained, it rained the Blues.
At the Lillehammer Blues Festival, I saw the Blasters, but missed the "Legends of Chicago Blues" - a band including Steady rollin' Bob Margolin.
I heard Jeff Healey and his band blasting out Blues that made my ears ring. I watched Margolin, drummer Willy 'big eyes' Smith (another of the "Legends" members) and other friends jamming with Ian Seigal, a british guitar player of considerable talent - young enough not to be a legend, old enough be an experienced as well as talented performer with a hatfull of stories. As well as their own material Eric Burdon and the Animals played "I put a spell on you", left the stage for the last time after "Ring of fire" with the crowd still singing a riff that had taken on its own life.
I saw local Lillehammer acts like Sidetrack and Vibro Kings, worthy of playing in the company they did. I saw a middle-aged groupie making past-middle-aged legend Bob Stroger a fairly direct and explicit offer to make him *ahem* feel welcome in Norway. (The offer was declined). I got to listen to music, and to people.
The Blues is, of course, about people. About stories, as well as about music. Lillehammer is not a big town, and the festival was concentrated on one venue for Saturday night. So while there was space off-limits to all but the performers, they spent a lot of the time out talking to people. To each other, to members of the public, to journalists, telling stories and meeting people.
Talking about triumphs and disappointments. It isn't the blues if you're living in a Pollyanna world of bliss and TV-announcer fake smiles, so the disappointments they talked about were mostly there own. But the triumphs they would talk about were those of other people - each other, or rising talents, or people who have passed on.
Ian Seigal was described by Otis Redding jr. as "The most soulful light-skinned brother I know". But the first story I heard him tell was of how this was slightly miscopied once, so he was billed as "The most light-skinned brother [Otis knew]". With his classic english looks, maybe it wasn't so far from the truth either. Some of the stories above came from Bob Margolin.
But the best story I heard came from Merete Eide, a music journalist. Almost four decades after hearing Muddy Waters led Eric Burdon toward the Blues, and hearing Eric steered Bob Margolin toward Muddy Waters, the two of them met for the first time, sharing a long ride to the airport where they got to chat, play tunes, and tell stories.
And I got to see The Animals in their latest incarnation, with Eric Burdon singing "House of the Rising Sun" like it was a cool new song he had come across.
I didn't go skiing in the end, but the weekend got me over my blues.
) song I could play on the guitar Apparently Eric Burdon gave an interview recently in which he said that he got turned onto the Blues by hearing Muddy Waters play. And according to another story, he said in an interview in the US, when he was a big star there in the 60's, that he was surprised Americans were listening to him when he was really just playing stuff from American Blues greats like Muddy Waters. One of the people who heard this was a kid who had just started playing guitar, named Bob Margolin. He took the advice and started listening to Muddy Waters, and ended up playing with him from the early 70s until Muddy passed away in the early 80s.
In 1994, the XVII Winter Olympic Games took place in Lillehammer. Various infrastructure for winter games, including a ski jump were built.
In 1999, when I had just moved to Boston, I saw Eric Burdon and the New Animals at Cambridge's House of Blues - one of the most fun things I have done in the US.
Last weekend I went to Lillehammer. I saw the ski jump, although I failed in my attempts to find a sensible way to the top of it. At least I know how to get there for next time. I left my skates at home, and didn't bother looking for skis, because the forecast was for rain all weekend. In the end, my first trip into Norway after almost a year of living in Oslo was a weekend when it mostly snowed rather than rained
When it rained, it rained the Blues.
At the Lillehammer Blues Festival, I saw the Blasters, but missed the "Legends of Chicago Blues" - a band including Steady rollin' Bob Margolin.
I heard Jeff Healey and his band blasting out Blues that made my ears ring. I watched Margolin, drummer Willy 'big eyes' Smith (another of the "Legends" members) and other friends jamming with Ian Seigal, a british guitar player of considerable talent - young enough not to be a legend, old enough be an experienced as well as talented performer with a hatfull of stories. As well as their own material Eric Burdon and the Animals played "I put a spell on you", left the stage for the last time after "Ring of fire" with the crowd still singing a riff that had taken on its own life.
I saw local Lillehammer acts like Sidetrack and Vibro Kings, worthy of playing in the company they did. I saw a middle-aged groupie making past-middle-aged legend Bob Stroger a fairly direct and explicit offer to make him *ahem* feel welcome in Norway. (The offer was declined). I got to listen to music, and to people.
The Blues is, of course, about people. About stories, as well as about music. Lillehammer is not a big town, and the festival was concentrated on one venue for Saturday night. So while there was space off-limits to all but the performers, they spent a lot of the time out talking to people. To each other, to members of the public, to journalists, telling stories and meeting people.
Talking about triumphs and disappointments. It isn't the blues if you're living in a Pollyanna world of bliss and TV-announcer fake smiles, so the disappointments they talked about were mostly there own. But the triumphs they would talk about were those of other people - each other, or rising talents, or people who have passed on.
Ian Seigal was described by Otis Redding jr. as "The most soulful light-skinned brother I know". But the first story I heard him tell was of how this was slightly miscopied once, so he was billed as "The most light-skinned brother [Otis knew]". With his classic english looks, maybe it wasn't so far from the truth either. Some of the stories above came from Bob Margolin.
But the best story I heard came from Merete Eide, a music journalist. Almost four decades after hearing Muddy Waters led Eric Burdon toward the Blues, and hearing Eric steered Bob Margolin toward Muddy Waters, the two of them met for the first time, sharing a long ride to the airport where they got to chat, play tunes, and tell stories.
And I got to see The Animals in their latest incarnation, with Eric Burdon singing "House of the Rising Sun" like it was a cool new song he had come across.
I didn't go skiing in the end, but the weekend got me over my blues.
April Fools...
Sunday, 2. April 2006, 17:13:51
The weekend would be bright and sunny. After days of grey drizzle, we'd get a change. The snow was going, going, gone.
This was what the morning of the 1st of April promised. But then, it was the first of April. Normally very serious companies, desperately uptight about their corporate image, made ridiculous press relases. Normally reliable news organisations came out with the odd report that seemed plausible but somehow didn't ring true - nor was it. Presumably kids played silly jokes on their parents, parents played silly jokes on tehir children, and other people simply though the whole thing was silly and stayed at home doing something sensible. I don't know - watcher of humanity though I am, I am not actually busy surveying everyone.
This morning, April 2, it was snowing. It snowed a respectable amount, turning things white. Happy though that made me, it didn't seem to please the norwegians around.
Oh well, it melted during the day. And now the joke is on me. Welcome to another month.
This was what the morning of the 1st of April promised. But then, it was the first of April. Normally very serious companies, desperately uptight about their corporate image, made ridiculous press relases. Normally reliable news organisations came out with the odd report that seemed plausible but somehow didn't ring true - nor was it. Presumably kids played silly jokes on their parents, parents played silly jokes on tehir children, and other people simply though the whole thing was silly and stayed at home doing something sensible. I don't know - watcher of humanity though I am, I am not actually busy surveying everyone.
This morning, April 2, it was snowing. It snowed a respectable amount, turning things white. Happy though that made me, it didn't seem to please the norwegians around.
Oh well, it melted during the day. And now the joke is on me. Welcome to another month.
Sunrise@home
Thursday, 9. March 2006, 10:51:12
Well, I am not at home. Annd I didn't see the sunrise - when it did I was in a train, head buried in paperwork, and no view of the sky out the windows. I like the sunrise - I am not a morning person, but I love to watch it happen, even indirectly seeing the colours in the sky. I used to work for Sunrise, in the lands of the Laynha, or Sunrise, people.I'm in the land of the rising sun, the vending machine, and the occasionally serious but somewhat idiosyncratic attempt to borrow some supposed european glamour for things that don't really have it. One of the nice things about Japan, when walking around in the small hours of a winter morning, is vending machines that sell hot drinks - mostly green tea and various varieties of coffee. Actually it is nice whenever it's cold, and Japan has proper winters still.
Hot black coffee, milky coffee, coffee that probably has no milk or coffee in it but is the right colour, and various types of green tea ranging from the pale-and-wan compared to water to the bite-your-throat all the way. This of course goes with all kinds of cold drinks. (But, contrary to what I have been told, I have never seen an underwear vending machine of any kind - the closest I have found is normal mens underwear, packaged to within an inch of its life, in 7-eleven, which is called 7-i here now).
But french milk tea? Hey folks, I think that's not quite right. I know french people who make, and like, tea. I know it can be done in france. But it does seems just a little odd. French leave, French food, French fries, there are various things associated with the word (if not actually with the place).
Tea just ain't one...
But hey, it's possible very nice. Anyway, here's cheers
Into the fire
Tuesday, 24. January 2006, 12:22:51
At 4am on Friday morning I was walking through the snow from my office, to get home, pack my bags and get the plane. It was -6ºC, white, and beautiful.
At 10am On Sunday morning I was flying past Gippsland - the forests to the east of Melbourne, the 90-mile beach, looking at the Victorian Alps. A few logging coupes leaving scars on the ground, but forests, sea, beach, Australia. Dry, and hot. At 11am, when I landed, it was 36ºC.
Many trees were lying around torn from the ground, or broken in two, by a storm that had apparently ripped through while I was in the air. The temperature rose, as my brain slowed to a crawl numbed with fatigue and jetlag and the heat shift. It was 43º, and there were fires breaking out.
By the middle of the night, many areas I had flown over, many places I have been, were on fire. 10000 people were out fighting them - paid firefighters and the volunteers who are the backbone of firefighting in any large-scale emergency. I was in the centre of Melbourne, the temperature already falling, listening to the radio, going home from a quiet pint and a sing-along at the Dan.
I was struck by the differences between the radio now, and listening to it on "Ash Wednesday" - 16 February 1983, the last massively murderous fires that killed dozens and dozens of people. That night, a schoolboy, I also sat up and listened to the radio. Earlier that day a smoke cloud had come over the school, plunging it into red-orange near-darkness and setting off every fire alarm. I didn't know it, but friends were losing their houses, as I listened to tales of chaos. Mobile phones were unknown, the last fires so serious had been 40 years eaerlier, and while the firefighters were organising, doing their best, there seemed much less in the way of formal coordination with the ordinary community. The radio was providing information from all over the place, willy-nilly.
The fires this week were much smaller, although they closed many major roads and approached a number of towns. People seemed better prepared. Information was more systematic, clearer.
An adult and a child died, when their car crashed and left them trapped in the way of a forest fire. A volunteer fireman was killed when his truck rolled, halfway across the state from home. People lost houses, stock, fought fires that were detroying their homes, or came back to see ash and destruction trying to take over.
Sometimes life is filled with little annoying inconveniences. Sometimes I am miserable, wailing about the "unfairness" of people who are treating me badly, or the difficulties of doing something important. But life is beautiful really. Mine is filled with luck, with loving friends and happy times. It's surprising how easy it is to forget, to stop thinking of the people around me when I am feeling hard done by and focus on myself and my pain.
It is real. Everybody suffers sometimes, everybody cries. The lucky ones are those who can enjy the other times.
At 10am On Sunday morning I was flying past Gippsland - the forests to the east of Melbourne, the 90-mile beach, looking at the Victorian Alps. A few logging coupes leaving scars on the ground, but forests, sea, beach, Australia. Dry, and hot. At 11am, when I landed, it was 36ºC.
Many trees were lying around torn from the ground, or broken in two, by a storm that had apparently ripped through while I was in the air. The temperature rose, as my brain slowed to a crawl numbed with fatigue and jetlag and the heat shift. It was 43º, and there were fires breaking out.
By the middle of the night, many areas I had flown over, many places I have been, were on fire. 10000 people were out fighting them - paid firefighters and the volunteers who are the backbone of firefighting in any large-scale emergency. I was in the centre of Melbourne, the temperature already falling, listening to the radio, going home from a quiet pint and a sing-along at the Dan.
I was struck by the differences between the radio now, and listening to it on "Ash Wednesday" - 16 February 1983, the last massively murderous fires that killed dozens and dozens of people. That night, a schoolboy, I also sat up and listened to the radio. Earlier that day a smoke cloud had come over the school, plunging it into red-orange near-darkness and setting off every fire alarm. I didn't know it, but friends were losing their houses, as I listened to tales of chaos. Mobile phones were unknown, the last fires so serious had been 40 years eaerlier, and while the firefighters were organising, doing their best, there seemed much less in the way of formal coordination with the ordinary community. The radio was providing information from all over the place, willy-nilly.
The fires this week were much smaller, although they closed many major roads and approached a number of towns. People seemed better prepared. Information was more systematic, clearer.
An adult and a child died, when their car crashed and left them trapped in the way of a forest fire. A volunteer fireman was killed when his truck rolled, halfway across the state from home. People lost houses, stock, fought fires that were detroying their homes, or came back to see ash and destruction trying to take over.
Sometimes life is filled with little annoying inconveniences. Sometimes I am miserable, wailing about the "unfairness" of people who are treating me badly, or the difficulties of doing something important. But life is beautiful really. Mine is filled with luck, with loving friends and happy times. It's surprising how easy it is to forget, to stop thinking of the people around me when I am feeling hard done by and focus on myself and my pain.
It is real. Everybody suffers sometimes, everybody cries. The lucky ones are those who can enjy the other times.
Snø! Yippi!
Tuesday, 17. January 2006, 22:24:21
Yippi. Etter en uke uten snø, er det tilbake. Jeg er glad. I gar, så jeg på TV at vi skal kanske ha det nå, men litt etter middag når jeg var ute var det bare lite, og jeg trodde ikke at vi skal ha nok - som skjera i gar.
Uten snø er vinter mørk og ikke så bra. Det regner nok alerede i Melbourne og andre steder.Hvorfor bor i mørk hvis det er ingen nytt?
Hmmm. Jeg må til norskkurset litt mer, ikke sant?
Uten snø er vinter mørk og ikke så bra. Det regner nok alerede i Melbourne og andre steder.Hvorfor bor i mørk hvis det er ingen nytt?
Hmmm. Jeg må til norskkurset litt mer, ikke sant?
South for the heat
Wednesday, 26. October 2005, 06:13:26
I came to Malmø and Lund today. Oddly enough, it feels genuinely warm outside, at maybe 10 degrees. As in definitely weather for a shirt and no jacket. Even standing out in the pouring rain felt fine with just a hat.
And they tell me that people here are unhappy because the winter has come and they are cold now. Funny how some people adapt to some things and others don't. Although I like cold weather, and the feeling of being alive that a quick burst of cold gives me, I don't actually like being cold. I just don't get cold so easily, most of the time. When I do, it is miserable, and I lose energy like crazy, and start showing all the great warning signs. But I get hot pretty fast, yet I can hold out a long time before I start really suffering from it.
And they tell me that people here are unhappy because the winter has come and they are cold now. Funny how some people adapt to some things and others don't. Although I like cold weather, and the feeling of being alive that a quick burst of cold gives me, I don't actually like being cold. I just don't get cold so easily, most of the time. When I do, it is miserable, and I lose energy like crazy, and start showing all the great warning signs. But I get hot pretty fast, yet I can hold out a long time before I start really suffering from it.
Angels in white
Tuesday, 25. October 2005, 08:59:11
Today I came to work early, about 7h45. For people who know me well, that will seem odd. I was going to try and get my urgent to-do list clered and go swimming. I got the list cleared, but too slowly. It was before dawn, and cold. But at some point I noticed (thanks to Claudio saying so on IRC - my window shutters were down) that it was snowing. So I opened the window shutters to see Oslo turning white.
Like me, Moose is apparently a bit of a kid when it comes to snow. Well, he said it, and it seems true enough. Despite being more used to it than me. So we were outside and he was taking photos of the first October snow he has seen. I did what I generally do when it snows - make a snow angel on the Opera balcony. (Thanks Moose for the photo used here).
And right now I have to get in a bus, and leave Oslo again. I guess it won't be snowing in Copenhagen though :-( Maybe raining instead. Now my shirt is dry...
It's getting to be winter. I closed my window this morning, and changed to a warmer jacket. I even packed my scarf, on the off-chance, and forgot to dig out my gloves.
Like me, Moose is apparently a bit of a kid when it comes to snow. Well, he said it, and it seems true enough. Despite being more used to it than me. So we were outside and he was taking photos of the first October snow he has seen. I did what I generally do when it snows - make a snow angel on the Opera balcony. (Thanks Moose for the photo used here).And right now I have to get in a bus, and leave Oslo again. I guess it won't be snowing in Copenhagen though :-( Maybe raining instead. Now my shirt is dry...
It's getting to be winter. I closed my window this morning, and changed to a warmer jacket. I even packed my scarf, on the off-chance, and forgot to dig out my gloves.
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