Hot Dogs are a national delicacy in Norway. They can be purchased in every paper shop, confectionary and gas station throughout the country. On many an inbound flight, Norwegians jostle to get off of the plane and charge to the 7 Eleven in the airport lounge for their hot dog fix.
Of course, they are the best hot dogs in the world.
This is of little comfort as I sit in the airport lounge at 6:30 AM, drinking my double espresso while hoards of Norwegians chow down on hot dogs washed down with a pint of beer awaiting their charter flights to the Costa del Chav.
My stomach, robust in most situations, bar road accidents or train wrecks, is feeling a little sensitive. This is an unpleasant sight. My mother would be disgusted.
I read the analysis of the Irish referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. This is the last ditch effort for the European Union to seize greater federal power, and it requires unanimous approval by the remaining countries.
Most importantly for the treaty, it will put into law that future treaties will not require country referenda. Ratification will be left to the sovereign authorities, not the people. After the Rome treaty, Lisbon’s predecessor which was rejected in referenda by France and Denmark, the politicians have learned!
The Irish, whom have benefited greatly for 30 years of European Union membership have spoken, and spoken for many Europeans. They are the only country to hold a referendum on the Lisbon treaty. The NO vote means the treaty now looks dead in the water. Back to the drawing board for the EU centralists.
So why NO?
Most Irish claimed they did not understand what the treaty meant, so felt compelled to reject it. This is a great insight into democracy where a referendum is concerned.
Power to the people. It is a timely slap in the face to European leaders.
Few would argue that the free movement of people, capital, goods and services have not been beneficial to all members of the European community. However, when membership translates into ceding further sovereign powers to Brussels, it is a sensitive subject with the vox pop!
Bravo Ireland!
Norway is not a Member of the European Union, but participates as a member of the European Economic Area which is essentially a trade agreement. The people of Norway were twice asked in referenda to join, on both counts the majority said NO.
Bravo Norway!
It would have more than likely meant giving away most of its precious oil revenues to poorer member states. Worse, the EU may have legislated to prevent the consumption of hot dogs and lager before 10 AM.
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 27, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Midnight Sun
Summer solstice is upon on us. I look forward to frenzying with the Scando pagans around a bonfire in the sacred forest. Witches were traditionally the first choice for the blaze. With the way the economy is going, I fear this year it may be foreigners. I make preparations to peroxide my body hair and hone my Norwegian accent. From today, I call myself Bevermunn!
It is light here all day in Oslo. The sun disappears just before midnight but a permanent dusk remains until sunrise at 4. 10 pm can feel like the late afternoon. There is a tinge of madness in the air. Six months ago, you were lucky to see the sun for a few hours. The hoards on the streets at midnight look a little wild eyed!
I awake to find an industrial team with drilling apparatus on my front lawn. The noise of the drilling fractures my peaceful sleep and reminds me I should have passed on that last glass of wine. I know there is an oil crisis, but urban drilling rigs? They leave a small but very deep hole in the garden and disappear quickly. Dry I guess. I prepare myself for a visit from the corn planters.
It is swim suit season. I notice that a small but perfectly formed love handle has pierced the side seam of my golf shirt. Back to the gym I am afraid. I try on my fashionable swim suit in anticipation of a weekend at the beach. I secure it just below my tits. That will keep the feisty little mound in place.
I have also noticed my penis is frequently getting more chubby. I fear this has nothing to do with the gym and more with the nubile peaches out in full summer dress. At this time of year I must wear dark sunglasses for fear of embarrassing myself. It is of little help as they are usually steamed up and I cannot see a thing. I have run into more breasts than you can shake a thing at.
In preparation for summer holidays, people are in a festive mood and the restaurants and bars in town are heaving until the early hours of the morning. In Norway as in many parts of Scandinavia, most office workers take the full month of July off and head to their summer houses on the fjord. As most people in Norway work for the government in some capacity, Oslo will be vacated by 1 July, save the daily cruise ships, and the prostitutes.
No rest for the wicked, I am off to London and will work my way through most of the holiday period! Some of us must try to keep the economy going through this mad period!
Beaverboosh
It is light here all day in Oslo. The sun disappears just before midnight but a permanent dusk remains until sunrise at 4. 10 pm can feel like the late afternoon. There is a tinge of madness in the air. Six months ago, you were lucky to see the sun for a few hours. The hoards on the streets at midnight look a little wild eyed!
I awake to find an industrial team with drilling apparatus on my front lawn. The noise of the drilling fractures my peaceful sleep and reminds me I should have passed on that last glass of wine. I know there is an oil crisis, but urban drilling rigs? They leave a small but very deep hole in the garden and disappear quickly. Dry I guess. I prepare myself for a visit from the corn planters.
It is swim suit season. I notice that a small but perfectly formed love handle has pierced the side seam of my golf shirt. Back to the gym I am afraid. I try on my fashionable swim suit in anticipation of a weekend at the beach. I secure it just below my tits. That will keep the feisty little mound in place.
I have also noticed my penis is frequently getting more chubby. I fear this has nothing to do with the gym and more with the nubile peaches out in full summer dress. At this time of year I must wear dark sunglasses for fear of embarrassing myself. It is of little help as they are usually steamed up and I cannot see a thing. I have run into more breasts than you can shake a thing at.
In preparation for summer holidays, people are in a festive mood and the restaurants and bars in town are heaving until the early hours of the morning. In Norway as in many parts of Scandinavia, most office workers take the full month of July off and head to their summer houses on the fjord. As most people in Norway work for the government in some capacity, Oslo will be vacated by 1 July, save the daily cruise ships, and the prostitutes.
No rest for the wicked, I am off to London and will work my way through most of the holiday period! Some of us must try to keep the economy going through this mad period!
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 13, 2008
Feet In Mouth
I am on business in deepest darkest Norway, the Christian bible belt. I have an important meeting with a new banker. My associate introduces me to the new banker and his colleague. A conversation ensues, in Norwegian, which I do not understand fully. My associate chuckles.
The new banker says, ‘they are laughing because I come from a small island that is famous because we do not drink alcohol and sex before marriage is not permitted.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I quip, ‘ where I come from we have as much sex before marriage as we can because once we get married we don’t get any so we drink a lot.’
He does not find this funny. My associate tries to keep a straight face and snorts an occasional chunk.
During pre dinner drinks with business associates a couple of weeks ago, I meet a lovely American who has been working in London for many years. His professional pedigree is world class. He is a grand old gentleman of the old school.
‘I just don’t get this online chat thing,’ he says, ‘I am ok with email and texting, but why would you not just phone someone to have a conversation instead of chatting online?’
‘I agree,’ and add, ‘except when I am in a sex chat room chatting online with some dirty little bitch from the suburbs.’
The whole room instantly goes silent and all eyes are fixed on me. I casually sip my whisky and move the conversation on to the commodity markets. An associate shakes his head and waggles the finger at me.
In a former life, I was in a colleague’s office for a morning coffee chat. She was gorgeous and talented and we were quite fond of each other, professionally of course. She stepped out of her office just as her phone rang. I answered it. It was her boss, a man whom she despised. A sexist mcp who was always making inappropriate remarks and salivating over her.
‘I am sorry Bill,’ I said, ‘she can't come to the phone right now, my cock is in her mouth,’ just as she walked back into the office.
My mouth is big enough to accommodate both feet. Unfortunately, like a pool ball, I cannot get them back out with medical help. Thankfully I went private many years ago.
Beaverboosh
The new banker says, ‘they are laughing because I come from a small island that is famous because we do not drink alcohol and sex before marriage is not permitted.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I quip, ‘ where I come from we have as much sex before marriage as we can because once we get married we don’t get any so we drink a lot.’
He does not find this funny. My associate tries to keep a straight face and snorts an occasional chunk.
During pre dinner drinks with business associates a couple of weeks ago, I meet a lovely American who has been working in London for many years. His professional pedigree is world class. He is a grand old gentleman of the old school.
‘I just don’t get this online chat thing,’ he says, ‘I am ok with email and texting, but why would you not just phone someone to have a conversation instead of chatting online?’
‘I agree,’ and add, ‘except when I am in a sex chat room chatting online with some dirty little bitch from the suburbs.’
The whole room instantly goes silent and all eyes are fixed on me. I casually sip my whisky and move the conversation on to the commodity markets. An associate shakes his head and waggles the finger at me.
In a former life, I was in a colleague’s office for a morning coffee chat. She was gorgeous and talented and we were quite fond of each other, professionally of course. She stepped out of her office just as her phone rang. I answered it. It was her boss, a man whom she despised. A sexist mcp who was always making inappropriate remarks and salivating over her.
‘I am sorry Bill,’ I said, ‘she can't come to the phone right now, my cock is in her mouth,’ just as she walked back into the office.
My mouth is big enough to accommodate both feet. Unfortunately, like a pool ball, I cannot get them back out with medical help. Thankfully I went private many years ago.
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 6, 2008
Sex In The Cinema
Mrs. BB and her girlfriends are moist with anticipation awaiting the premier of Sex in the City in Norway. 4 of them have planned to dress to the nines, don their Manolos, outdo each other’s handbags, and sip Cosmos prior to the big preview. I am sure this is a scene being played out by women around the world.
Not since the village got a new gynaecologist that looked like George Clooney have I seen so many women queuing in anticipation.
What the girls talk about over Cosmos does not merit consideration for men folk, for the most part. However, hidden deeply in the bouffant of dialogue lie many a great insight to what grooves the truffles of the fairer sex. It is a bit like the DaVinci code – it takes patience and perseverance to decode, but what you finally get is a pleasant surprise.
Many heterosexual men I know have never seen the series, and laugh at the idea. They are a bit too macho for this sort of girly thing! I disagree. I have seen but a few of the programmes which have provided a cornucopia of helpful insights to better understanding women.
Let me share a few with you:
Not since the village got a new gynaecologist that looked like George Clooney have I seen so many women queuing in anticipation.
What the girls talk about over Cosmos does not merit consideration for men folk, for the most part. However, hidden deeply in the bouffant of dialogue lie many a great insight to what grooves the truffles of the fairer sex. It is a bit like the DaVinci code – it takes patience and perseverance to decode, but what you finally get is a pleasant surprise.
Many heterosexual men I know have never seen the series, and laugh at the idea. They are a bit too macho for this sort of girly thing! I disagree. I have seen but a few of the programmes which have provided a cornucopia of helpful insights to better understanding women.
Let me share a few with you:
- All women want to be seen as beautiful and desirable by their suitors. To furnish this desire they shop. Men do not appreciate the extent of this effort and cannot tell a Prada from DKNY. Women immediately asses each other and rank themselves on the suitor hierarchy based on this appearance. It is nice when a man comments on a woman’s appearance, but much nicer when women in the know comment
- Professional women want it all – the high profile job, the wardrobe, the social life, the trappings, the dream husband, and the family. More than often, they have gone to a good university, get good jobs, have careered, are single in their 30s, and are critical of men. This is often because they have dedicated so much time to their pursuits that they have little experience with men and by the time they are in their 30s have had few meaningful relationships
- Women are more sexually adventurous than men think. Using the programme as a barometer, 1 in every 4 women are into tea bagging, 2 in every 4 are into A levels, and 4 of 4 orgasm regularly during passion. Most men would dream of this but not believe this to be statistically reliable, even discounting the Samantha factor
- All women want a prince and believe there is one out there for them. They are delusional and sailing down a big river called ‘de nile’. 1 in every 1000 men are princes, the rest are frogs. 999 men make no pretence about being princes, the belching should be evidence of this.
I have not seen the movie, but read of the ending on a blog this week. For those that have not seen the film and do not wish to know the ending, link away now:
http://www.hbo.com/city/.Charlotte is happy with Harry and finally conceives their child, Amanda and Steve are happier than ever and he constantly dotes on her, Samantha and Smith take loving making to new levels and commit to each other for an eternity and Big softens, marries Carrie, and they live happily ever after in a castle in the Hamptons.
Beaverboosh
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