SOWWY

I am going to take a little break from this blog as i have made a new one.. A Norwegian one... I apologize to English readers, but i seriously need to focus on my Norwegian writing skills now, they have just been going downhill lately..

I will update this blog too, but not so often.


My new blog is: www.karusellmusikk.blogspot.com

Flowers, Sweat and Ganja (part 2)

I woke up in a strangers house this morning, on a sofa in a filthy living room. My mouth was dry.

There were at least thirty big boxes of cat food stacked on top of the fridge there, and if i hadn't been overtaken by a strong and sudden urge to watch 'Camp rock', then i might have found it a bit strange.

But i am supposed to tell stories from Africa now.. Um, OK.

THE DANCING AMERICAN

Big chunks of this tragic story is made up. Not by me, but by everyone who's ever told and listened to it, everyone who's ever met him, the dancing American.
He always stands outside of Choosan, a nice little bar/restaurant in Senegambia. Every night, and always dressed up, like he is on his way to a wedding, or to a really good party.
In the beginning he just stands there, looking completely normal, just like the other hustlers the security guards won't let in, they all just stand there outside of the restaurants and bars, waiting for someone who will fall madly in love with them and take them to Europe.

But not the dancing American, no. He has other plans. Every time the band starts playing, and it doesn't matter what they're playing, he starts dancing.
And this is where i get a problem. I cannot for the life of me describe his moves with words.
Think... Michael Jackson on speed... Think... Saturday night fever, only more extreme... Facial expressions like a mix between complete bliss and agony, and a strangely fascinating personal style.

He is weird, but completely harmless and a bit sad. I asked about him and they told me he used to live in the US (he is African, i think, i think). He had children and a wife, he had money. Some say he was rich, but that might be exaggerating to make the story even more tragic.
Anyway, rumor says that he lost it all. His family, his fortune and finally his mind. He moved to Gambia, and now the dance is all that he have. Every night, with body and soul he dances to the rhythm of whoever or whatever playing around him.
I remember once, we came out of a meeting with a night club owner and walked through the garden in his club before opening hours. A band was warming up on stage, preparing for this evenings performance.
And who did i see, standing in front of the stage, dancing his heart out? Yes, the dancing American. How he got past the super strict VIP security guards when we, both expected and invited, hardly got past them is beyond me.
But it made my day.



Oh, look i found a picture of him! One of the few days where they actually let him come inside the restaurant.
The man in the background speaks fluent Norwegian and cheat tourists. He's a bastard and you don't like him either.
Now I'm gonna watch High School Musical 1. Don't judge me and i won't judge you.


(We're all in this together?)

Flowers, Sweat and Ganja (part 1)

I am not sure if i spelled ganja correctly, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's the strongest weed i have ever, well, not me, someone i know. Really, i never smoked it, i was warned beforehand. But a.. Lets call her an acquaintance of me tried and found her self paralyzed on a hotel bed for the entire night, hearing voices and seeing strange animals.

I have decided to break the Africa post into three or four pieces, it's just too much to write it all at once, and i don't want to leave anything out. It's a shame i couldn't blog while i was there, the images were more vivid then. I did take some notes, but you'd be surprised of how many interruptions you have to go through before the rest of the people in the restaurant/pub will leave you alone and stop asking what you are writing on the napkin.

Some people might have noticed a new picture on the blog, you might wonder who it is sitting there beside me? Yes? No? I'll tell you anyway.
It's my boyfriend, we're engaged. And no, i won't tell more here, not really. I know it sounds like a contradiction to write this in ones blog, but i actually don't want to share everything with everyone.
Besides, I'm sick of telling the story now, it's quite long and it gets boring to repeat it after a while, no matter how romantic it is.

I think i will stop there for now, I'm tired after spending a night at a friends house. We didn't sleep much, but we had a writing work shop, which was fun and so worth losing a good nights sleep over.
And i watched season two of the 4400, i am now officially hooked. Why did he kill him? And why is the baby lying? WHY I ASK YOU, WHY?

Odd socks and sweet tea.

I do recall having a conversation with my mom before we went to Africa, and it went something like this:

'Mother dear?'
'Yes my precious firstborn female?'
'Will The Interweb be accessible for me and my fellow lodgers when we go to this far away place they call The Gambia?'
'Why yes it will be, ye shall have a room filled to the brim with all the Interweb you could ever desire!'
'Oh mama, i am so, so happy and pleased!'

Well, we didn't speak quite like that, but it's the gist of it. And it brings me to the point. My mother is such a unintentional liar! We had no Interweb, and there was no pie. There should ALWAYS be pie.

Sorry, i don't make any sense. Have been awake since the 22 of February now, so don't expect me to write down my entire holiday tonight, or today is the more correct term.


After i wake up from the coma i am slowly surrendering into, i promise to write about all the crazy stuff that happened. The Dancing American, the Night of the Dusty Curtains, My Engagement and much more!

I just wanted you all to know that i am still here, the blog was only temporarily abandoned, and i didn't mean to do it.


Well, good day/night or whatever, I'll write more when i wake up.


Promise.

Insomnia.

It's in the middle of the night now, i am leaving in four hours. I just finished packing after i realized that now matter how many different ways you put your shoes into your suitcase it's still not going to weigh any less.
So two kilos overweight, it shouldn't be too much to pay. Mehopes..

I would love to entertain you with a witty, sharp and wise entry, but that's just not going to happen tonight. I am going to eat chocolate, watch a film (not Mamma mia it was horrible) and try to nap for an hour maybe.

It's raining and soon i'll be on a bus for five hours, going to the airport.

My time in England is over for now, but i shall return.

I had a good time and will miss people. And English. And Eastenders.

Bah humbug.

How to kill a wife.

The post title this time comes from yesterdays late night pondering. I had, for some unexplainable reason, the song 'How to save a life' on my brain, in my brain, in my head, seriously it was everywhere except for maybe in the fridge (cold places are often silent places, i don't know why). But instead of hearing the original lyrics i heard... well, the post title. So i didn't get much sleep last night as i was slightly worried about the morbid way my head works.

Me blogging now is just an excuse really, i should pack. I should prepare, i should, i should. But i don't want to! I mean, i want to go to Africa, don't get me wrong, but why does it have to be so much preparation involved? The cleaning I'm alright with, i don't mind making things look nice and tidy. But the sorting out what to keep and what to throw away or give to charity is hell on earth for a sentimental person.
Everytime i pick something up from the ridiculously huge pile of things i own, i get these vivid flashbacks of summers past and old dreams, and i just want to keep it all. But i shan't (is that a word? It is now), i shall throw it all away never to see it again. How dramatic.

The only sentimental treasures i allow myself to keep are my diaries and notebooks, and the jewelry given to me by old friends, lovers and relatives. One of those pieces is a homemade sheep tooth necklace given to me by a friend just to mock my vegetarianism, i feel like Luna Lovegood everytime i wear it, but i refuse to depart from it.

I have 17 notebooks, some of them over ten years old, and i love them all to bits. Reading all the bad poetry and silly short story ideas is like watching my imagination and creativity growing up, like i am two people at once. My diaries tells a completely different story, they tell about boyfriends, arguments, alienation, all the regular teenage rants. I do have some disturbing 'what's so bad about suicide' pages in there, but i guess that's just part of the whole diary thing.
I mean, who haven't thought about suicide at least once while growing up? Or thinking that they might be gay or religious? Or both? I even went through a period where i refused to step on grass, convinced that it must be excruciatingly painful to be stepped on all the time.

I must say thank the birds for Neil Gaiman (just a stray thought really) if it weren't for him my favourite author would be a dead, gay man. And if you do not know who i am referring to, you are not worthy of reading my blog. So there.

Merry christmas?

OK, this is the first post ever written while drunk. By me anyway, i don't know about anyone else, but my keyboard tends to look a bit like brain surgery after i've had a couple of drinks. I cannot understand how some authors drink wine while they write, i can't press the right keys after one drink... I has to be a myth.

Maybe before the time of computers, when you had to write on a pieces of paper, parchment or walls. With blood. (i saw it on a film once, so it must be true).
I find it easier to write on paper when drunk, but i don't know why. Must be something with the eye/hand coordination.

A very drunk woman just licked my friends foot, apparently she spilled wine on it. I really don't want to know. I'm just sitting here in my chair, trying not to think. It's harder then it sounds. You cannot NOT think, because you just end up thinking very hard about not thinking.

I am wearing odd socks.


Ah, i really hould be get going to bed and that soon, but i just can't be bothered. And i am waiting for my brother to Skype me from Norway, i haven't spoken with him for a while now, and i actually miss him. And my sister(s). That must be the onlt good thing about going back to Norway, i get to see my family. I really love them (had to say it, i'm drunk you know).

I don't really have anyhting else to say except for that i have grown quite fond of the cobwebs in my room, so i am not going to clean it.
Someone else is taking it over soon anyway, a... Latvian girl? I can't remember, but she sounded nice on the phone.


I can't really decide if i like mince pies or not.


Anyway, HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! (or, happy christmas people that i like, people that i don't like... bugger off).

Chocolate angst.

I am trying to watch Love Actually, but the adverts keeps on interrupting it. It is really very annoying as it is one of my favorite films. There is just something about it that makes me think that everything will be alright in the end. In life that is, not in the film. That goes without saying.

And it has Colin Firth in it.

It is that time of the year again, time to start thinking about my weight, my hair, my skin... The whole package you know. There is never a pattern, but the urge comes at least twice a year, the 'i really need to reinvent myself to be happy' thing, i'm sure you've had it yourself, don't deny it.

And i have a feeling that if i didn't get this urge i would almost certainly have been a unattractive person with a lot of too small clothes and a pile of sensible underthings. And i would definitely have been one of those round people.

So i am on a diet. Again. It is utterly boring, especially considering the festive eating mayhem that Christmas is. But i shall be a good girl so i can be skinny and fit into all my nice dresses soon.

Oh, and skinny people don't sweat so much. I therefore think it is very clever of me to lose weight before going to Africa. Africa is supposed to be quite hot, or so i've heard.

I wonder if they have nice yogurt there, i love a good yogurt.


Yesterday night i couldn't sleep, so i read through some old notebooks, six years old they are. I was a funny little fucker when i was fifteen! I actually found the predraft to the first-first draft to my book, back when it was more of an idea then an actual story. Some good stuff, some bad and some of it just stuff i will, at some point, bring out into the woods during a vaning moon on a Thursday night and burn.

And now back to watching the film, hoping that, somewhere out there...

Rockin' the suburbs.

Bad blogger, bad, BAD blogger. I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm not. i have been awfully busy lately, what with that whole Yule thing (see, i used the right name like a good Pagan girl). All the gifts, all the decorations.. Our living room looks like a magpies wet dream.

I will try to blog more often, i promise, but i have so many other things i need to work on. Like my hair. Or not. But I've sort of started writing my next book now because my first book is sort of finished except for the one chapter i have yet to write.

I hate that chapter.

I tried to read Gregory Maguires 'Wicked', but i don't think i like his writing style, it's just too elaborate for me right now. I need something easy to read now, like a cereal box or something, my attention span is getting worse.

A couple of my readers (why yes, you do belong to me) have already heard about the dancing Christmas tree incident, but I'll write it down anyway since it's the only exciting thing that has happened to me in weeks now.

I was attacked by a battery operated, dancing Christmas tree the other day. It fell down on my legs while it screamed 'i pine for you!' Something it's never said before. It still freaks me out, and the way it's eyes keeps following me around wherever i go... Brrr.

Oh, it's early and I'm not really awake yet, so this isn't the most entertaining post I've written, but i just thought I'd let you know that I'm still alive.

Still rockin' the suburbs (great song BTW).

My head in the clouds, the clouds in my head.

I have to take the yellow fever vaccine. I do not do vaccinations, at least not very well. I tend to faint, but not until a couple of minutes after, so that's twice in the hallway and once in front of the secretary's desk in the doctors office.

And that was just blood samples.

This is a full on, hardcore thou-shalt-not-die-by-the-"hand"-of-a bad-piece-of-fruit needle. Sorry about that, that was really annoying to read, wasn't it? I am terrified though, but not for the reasons one might think.
I am so poor, there's probably five year olds out there who could make me jealous waving their weekly allowance in my face.

So, naturally I'm going to Africa.. Because that is not expensive at all, nooo.
Malaria pills, i have to take malaria pills, because apparently the mosquito's are really taking over Banjul right now.
And my mom told me that her doctor told her that if you take the strong, most effective ones (pills, not mosquito's) you might end up feeling severely depressed or very aggressive.
And once again all i can think about is how bloody expensive it's going to be.

And also, i hate having to make important phone calls and walk out the door to complete useful and very necessary tasks.
So here i am, blogging, when i should really focus on scheming my way into more money instead.

Santa Lucia this was a very boring entry, i do apologize and promise that the next time i blog it will be about something useful, nice and intellectually challenging.

No, really.

And also, the garden gnome heist must be completed soon, and it hasn't even begun yet! I am still trying to think of a way to walk unnoticed through the entire pub with a one foot tall, very heavy statue under my jacket.
Not very easy when the average number of customers are three men, all of them staaaring at you aaall the time.

Will have to work on that plan.

Dying to feel alive.

Today i shall write about three things, all of them hopelessly unimportant.

First of all:
Sticky sweets. I quite like them because you don't have to hold on to them, they will hold on to you, and there is no demand of sharing them either since most people will assume that you have already licked them.
I also like the fact that long after they are gone you can still savour the sweet taste of rhubarb/strawberry/pear by sucking on your fingers. It's simply delightful!

Secondly:
My armpits. They smell of cucumber, it's a new marketing scheme I've come up with. I am nervously awaiting the hoards of guinea pigs (undoubtedly already moving towards my general direction from all over the country) to come and gnaw of my arms all the way to the sockets.
Ten year old girls all over the world will worship me if this works, it will the the ultimate way of attracting a new pet. If this works, this entry might very well also be my last as i have heard that it is hard to blog when you don't have arms.

The last of my late night pondering is this:

The difference between a habit and a tradition. Lets say you like to have a shower every evening. This is a habit. It is a good thing, by all means, but i have somehow always thought of a habit as a bad thing, even when you don't put the word 'bad' in front of it.
If you have one shower every year, lets say around Christmas time, then all of a sudden it is a tradition, and no longer a habit.
When i hear the word 'tradition' it always makes me think of mistletoe and hot cocoa in the snow. Nice things, in fact lovely things (if you ignore the fact that some obscure cults have traditions that includes the brutal slaughter of bright eyed, innocent children. That is not a very nice tradition).

So, my conclusion (at 4am this morning, so bear with me) is that if our belief in words were stronger then actual physical comfort, people would rarely wash. And if people rarely washed they would stink.

Shopping centres all over the world would be deserted, the smell would be too overwhelming. So, to put it simply: I am clearly in need of some therapy, and if people ever start to take this blog literally you will sooner or later find me dead somewhere, mutilated by minging, bankrupt retailers.

Now, if you will excuse me i am going for a shower.

Oh dear, was that your treehouse?

Just a quick update to mention the floor boards. I know this might seem insignificant to you, but to other people (not me) this is in fact a great source of grief, trouble and sleepless nights.

The dog peed on the floor, and, having a scary, abnormally big and smelly, half hellhound/half beast from the early Cretaceous period with a tiny sprinkle of fluffy kitten living in the house, we shouldn't really expect any less now, should we?

But honestly, the wooden floor boards are sort of.. curling up around the edges, like they're trying to get away from something acidic. I so do not want to be the patch of dead or dying grass in our garden, as i can practically hear the silent screams every time our lovely old beast trots out to empty her bladder.

And i swear, i only give her water to drink. She's like a magical beast, something out of the Arthurian legends. Give her water and she will pee 98% pure alcohol for you. On your floor when you are not looking.



You've got to love Molson <3

Oh, and you might have noticed that my blog titles rarely has anything to do with the post itself. That is because the titles are small reminders to me and myself only, about something ongoing but unbloggable in my life.
So, go on and guess, but knowing how my brain works you'll probably never be able to see the logic behind the titles.
If you do i shall be immensely impressed and give you my firstborn as a token of respect, general insanity and a tribute to the brothers Grimm.

So there.

The smiles of young men.

I just found a half empty mug of not-exactly-hot chocolate under my bed. It stopped me in my tracks for a while, simply because i cannot remember the last time i had one of those (hot chocolates, not bed. I've always had a bed except for that one time with the post it note and the kitchen floor).
Then it hit me, the day i tried a healthy alternative to Cadbury creme eggs, nearly three weeks ago. Now you might ask, what kind of pig is this girl? Leaving half empty mugs of non preservable liquid in her room for three weeks without even noticing.
Well, first of all, thank you for asking, and secondly i would just like to say that i am a very creative pig. I'd left one of my oil paintings to dry on top of the mug, and the mug itself was standing on a discarded piece of paper describing the polite Japanese word 'desu' in excruciating detail.

So what if i sometimes have new, exciting and slightly green lifeforms hibernating, waiting for people to accept the inexorable inevitability of evolution, in my bedroom? I still change my socks every day, sometimes i actually change them several times a day, but that's more down to the incontinent dog i live with then extreme hygiene.

Anyhow, i was going to talk about yesterday. Yesterday was Thursday, party night here in the village. In other words, the pub was cramped, we were nearly fifteen people in there altogether! I didn't even know that many people existed in Bulford, lately i have suspected the British Army for building empty houses, hiring a tiny, slightly intelligence challenged theater troupe to play the inhabitants, and then just left them here to breed for a few generations. All this to keep curious, enlightened people away so that the army could continue doing all their secret experiments without being asked annoyingly relevant questions about the abnormal feeling of eerie nothingness that seems to surround this area.

Back to my big night out, i spotted through the coaster filled air (you'd have to be there to understand what i mean) a face. It belonged to a boy and was somehow different from all the other faces. So i naturally assumed that this was the one i had been waiting for all along, this was the person to come and whisk me away from dead end 'suburbia' and show me the world from a different angle.
I was only half wrong. He was different then the others, he was south African and quite well traveled. This is always a good thing, but i shouldn't have gotten my hopes up to early.

'What are you reading?' he said and pointed at the book i had lying on the table in front of me.
'Orwell, Down and out in Paris and London.' He gave me a blank stare before he got a dead proud look on his face.
'I never read, I've only ever read one book in my life.' And that's where the fairytale ended on my part (i blame Disney for my romantic nature). I must admit i am getting quite used to this sentence, an alarmingly big part of the population use it regularly around me. I put them into two categories.

1. The people who only read the one, obligatory book you had to read in school.

2. The people who add, after the dreaded statement of non literate preferences, the words: 'And that is the Holy book, the bible, the only book worth reading etc'. It makes my soul itch.

But there is little one can do about such things, people have to make their own choices.

Which brings me back to my mug of moldy not-hot-chocolate, because it wasn't moldy, not green at all! A bit rough around the edges maybe (looked a little rough, i didn't taste it, i am not THAT curious), but no green stuff.

It's strange how some things just rot and decay when you leave it alone (pets, fruit, babies) whilst other things seem to develop a independent and unique lifestyle without any help or encouragement at all (pets, parents, the occasional wet towel).

It's so random how things and people end up, i find uniqueness very fascinating and quite terrifying at times.

Oh, and i can now play Yann Tiersens 'song title i cannot remember or even find online' on my Melodica. It's nice, i like it!

The cat is fine too.

For once in my life i am trying to do a bit of preparation. I am fully aware of the fact that my upcoming months in Norway will be quite boring, with the sparkling exception of my family and the few friends who still lives reasonably nearby.
So, naturally, i am forming a band with my brother. We had a brainstorming on Skype today, just to pick a name, and being who we are (a part of the Alberts clan) it kind of went out of hand a bit. Here are some of the best ones:

*A Cat Is Fine Too(something that turned out to be a quote from a sick porn comic,we ditched it)

*Laundry lovers (mine)

*A Box Of Fish With Tartar Sauce (Alex's of course)

*A Cat Born In An Oven Isn't A Cake (his again, he likes the long names)

*Albino Toilet People (Alex)

*Made In Norway (then we realized this might not be the truth)

*May Contain Nuts (me)

*Spice Girls (dumped for obvious reasons) (i mean, it's a horrible name)

*Big White Undies (Alex)

*The Dead Babies (me) (sorry)

*The Undead Babies (this somehow sounds better..)

*Blue Weed (Alex)

*Rainbow Kittens (me) (hey, I'm a girl, what can i say)

*Facepalm (Alex)

*The Bestefar Band (the granddad band) (me, i love my granddad)

*Ragnarokk Boogie (me) (my brother didn't even dignify it with an answer)

*Longcat Hallelujah (Alex)

*Box Full Of AIDS (Alex) (and, sorry)

*The Hat Invasion (me, i love hats)

*Basement Dwellers (Alex)

*Made Of Win (Alex)

*The Strongest Daddy (me) (after a quarrel with a friend about the subject)

*Cool Creatures (a name so obvious there isn't any point using it really) (i mean, it's us!)

So yeah, i think that's were we stranded and went on to other things, like this:

http://video.nettavisen.no/video/11525

My sisters audition tape for 'Norway's got talent'. Not top notch quality, but she has a lovely voice and got invited to the next audition round! If she get further then that, vote for her. I will post updates, she is going to Oslo for the next audition on November the 15th.

And i found a lovely scarf today, it was lying in the bushes, all wet and dirty. I picked it up because I'm a very disgusting person, and it turned out to be a very nice scarf, all stripy and grey and purple. I'm going to wash it tomorrow.

Don't patronize me.

Sunday blues and pumpkin sweets.

People ought to look up more, and i mean that in every way possible. Look up things they read and don't understand, look up interesting things they always wanted to learn, but never had the time to. Also, i think people should physically look more up, but maybe not when they walk around. I did that the other day and walked into a lamppost again. It really hurts you know, my cheek's still a bit sore. But the view was beautiful, and that is my whole point. The world is so breathtakingly beautiful right now, and most of the time it feels like i am the only person (around here at least) who can see it. I find that sad and annoying, and a little bit odd.

But that's enough 'deep' thoughts for today.

I bought a new lighter, it has a picture of a clown on it. I got this familiar, tingly feeling when i saw it. It was a nice little market stall with lighters of all shapes and colours, and i got the feeling again. Do you know what feeling i am talking about? No?

Of course you don't, you're not a borderline eccentric, are you?

Well, it's my 'pretty-shiny-simply-must-start-collecting-it' feeling. So now i collect lighters in addition to frogs, which means that if someone gives me a frog lighter i will probably offer to sleep with them or give them all my shoes out of sheer gratitude and giddiness.

Lately i am very emotional, strange things make me tear up, like fabric softener adverts and tiny, tiny baby mittens. It's probably just down to hormones or sugar levels or something.
But i must admit, if there was even the slightest chance in Jotunheimen that i was pregnant, i wouldn't have doubted it for a second, i even crave pumpkin lollipops!

Things are complicated, i don't feel like people appreciate complicated like they used to do. Or did they? Hell i don't know, i'm just rambling on because i'm bored. But i'm not going to write anything private in here though, i can just write stuff that only make sense to me.
I think a lot of people forget that a blog isn't really a diary, but more of a work-in-progress biography and for all of the world to read.

OK, i really need to go now, this is pointless, i am not even funny, just very close to falling asleep with my socks on. And i hate sleeping with my socks on.

Help Adam find his Eve (See, i can be cheesy!)

If you live in Norway you probably haven't heard about this guy:




His name is Adam Pacitti and he is looking for the girl of his dreams. Well, who isnt.. But this is different because Adam had in fact a dream where he saw the girl, and now he is trying to find her. This is a mediocre summary, you can get the whole story here:

http://www.thegirlofmydreams.co.uk



Seriously people, help him, spread the word! He is going to travel the world to look for her, so he might be coming your way. OK, it might sound mad, i agree, but i have spoken with him, and he seems completely sane. Just a devoted romantic, i think it's sweet really^^

So if everyone could just link to his site from their blog it might help!

Oh, and here is a bigger picture of the girl he drew... Not a very good picture one might add, but it shows the basics. Glasses, hair and such. If you know anyone looking like her, or if you look like her then send him an email with a picture and some words about yourself:



Ok, that's about it i think. If you want to help Adam in any way or have a suggestion, just email him, you find all contact info on the site.

Oh, and about my exciting day: Three people walked by outside the window today, and i made tea. Ah, the village life, never a dull moment.

R.

ADVERTISEMENT

Just to say that i now have a blog for all my short stories and poems. This far i only have three or four things posted there, but I'll try to get more stuff typed in and posted as soon as i can be bothered to do so.
Go and check it out:

http://www.cartepebus.blogspot.com/

OK, bye then!

Blame it on the Dijon mustard.

Well i just made a sauce that is so hot i can't feel my face and my nose and ears are bleeding.

It's very nice with pasta.

I don't know why or how it ended up that hot, i just put a lot of stuff in it, like almost everything from the fridge except for jam and those easter eggs that nobody wants to eat.
I am easy to please as i will eat everything put in front of me except for broccoli, Marmite and those funny looking easter eggs of course.
But enough about my dietary versatility, lets talk about something interesting!

Like the weather, it is dreary.

I also have some nice pictures to put out here on the interweb today, here is four from The New Inn in Amesbury this weekend:

Ladies and gentlemen, my friend Jake:




My other friend Phoebe:




And my other other friend Ben:




Oh, and here's one of me where it looks like i have a beak instead of lips, but it's just a bad writing habit i have. I suck and bite my lips and end up looking like one of those weird people:



Yes. I also have some costume pictures from Halloween, but i think I'll post them later. Adding pictures is a tedious and time consuming job.

I bought sushi from CoOp the other day and ate it sitting in a doorway while the rain was pouring down one foot away from me. It was like sitting in a little bubble, very nice. But then again, i always find pleasure doing the strangest things (mind out of gutter please).

I have an idea though, i am thinking about creating another blog where i can post all my short stories and poems. I don't know what to call it yet, but you will be able to find it on my blogger profile.
Thing is, i have lots of stuff to put up, but so much of it is handwritten, and since i am fundamentally lazy it might take a while before i get it all typed in.


And lastly, i don't really know how to react on the whole Ross/Brand incident. It was wrong what they did, but why should i have to pay for it? I like Late night with Jonathan Ross, it is a nice show. Ah well, six months isn't that long, and in the end i think it's the BBC who will suffer the most, not Ross.

By the way, i just found out that i love Elliot Minor! I think they're brilliant!


Ps. Edit to add, i noticed the pictures are looking a bit weird. No, I'm not gonna change it because i have no idea how to.

Good day to you sir.

Knitting is NOT a satisfying substitute for smoking.

I quit smoking today, but i am fine. Really, that squirrel deserved to die anyway. Sorry that was a horrible joke, but i am as of today not responsible for my actions for the next few days. I know i will get fat, i know i will bite the head off anyone who as much as try to make a joke at my expense, but i also know that i will save money. Lots of money, maybe even enough for me to move back to London soon.
Anyway, here are some of the pictures from London this weekend:


I have tried for a while now to find something fitting, something nice and funny to write as a caption for this picture. But sometimes it is impossible to find the right words and to put them down in a way that will make you understand the mixture of nervousness and giddiness i felt when i met the author i admire the most in the whole world. So i won't do it, I'll just leave the picture to fend for itself.



This one is quite nice, it is the view from the lawn where the Free Hugs event happened. Not the most exciting picture of the year, but i like the colours.




A blue guitar player. Do i really need to explain?



Me, Sarah and Jean-Marc trying to make the world a better place. I think it works, i really do.



Amos looking very... cheap? Heehee^^


Well, that's it for now folks. I have some more pictures, but nothing interesting. Am waiting to get a few better ones from Couchsurfing.org


Holy kangaroo poop i need a cigarette! But no, i shall be strong and resist. I shall go to bed and dream about Russell Brand, nothing PG rated of course.

Lets not talk about cannibalism.

As the self appointed Village Idiot i sometimes find it hard to describe things that are larger than life, but i will give it a go.


* I met a horse (or as some people like to call it, 'a ferret').

* I saw a blue man playing the guitar.

* I almost participated in a very bad rap music video.

* I hugged more people then the entire cast from the Harry Potter movies has ever hugged (i think).

* A minibus load of very intensely cheerful Christians tried to save my soul. It didn't work, but i accepted the tea and just hope it didn't secretly baptize me.

* I lent my scarf to a German girl and very nearly forgot about it.

* I found out that i love sushi.

* I got lost.

* Twice.

* I walked so much that my feet looks funny now. The color is all wrong.

* I accidentally ended up bringing only purple clothes with me. Different shades of purple. Urgh.

* I broke my nail and it really hurts, so that's not just an urban legend. It really is quite traumatic.

* I Couchsurfed with a guy who tried to pole dance with a loaf of bread on the train, it is still a mystery to me how the owner of the bread didn't notice it being raped.

* I found out that asking for directions makes you even more late because everyone really wants to help you. Especially the people who have no idea of where you are going love to make suggestions and give personal opinions.

* The London Eye is really quite big.

* Apparently i look Irish.

* And like a student.

* And sometimes even German.

* I might have landed myself a volunteer job as a Norwegian translator with the Open Right group in London. If they ever need one.

* Oh, and i had a brief conversation with Neil Gaiman. (see, did you notice how indifferent i managed to sound about it? I am really quite the actress. Truth be told i am still walking on sunshine and parents who never listen to their children).

More will be written about all this, right now i need to rest, digest and watch 'Merlin'. But tomorrow, tomorrow i shall present you with magnificent descriptions, pictures, vivid images will haunt your brain after you hungrily devour and cherish my artistic superiority and creative skills, like a thirsty fish, a caged bird with pantaloons, a dyslectic raccoon in a stationary shop in Machu Picchu suddenly realizing that he wants to fight crime for a living!

Tomorrow i shall change your life forever. (or maybe just add some pictures and captions).