Another morning of dehydrated brain pulsing numbness. This is the fourth this week. My tongue has swollen to twice its normal size. I have a bad case of the zaklys. You know, where your mouth tastes zakly like your ass. I am truly well hung. I am definitely maybe not going to drink tonight.
Monday night saw a return visit of AC/DC to Oslo at Valle Hovin stadium, an outdoor venue with a 40K capacity. That’s ten percent of the city’s population. I am always telling foreigners that Norwegians are a most beautiful and fit people. Walking into the stadium was the exception – it was one of the largest collections of ugliness I have ever witnessed. It was a freakin freak show.
My pals and I drowned ourselves in ale, played air guitar, and sang at the top of our lungs as an antidote to the gaggle of disfigurement. The show was outstanding, but left me both half deaf and ready to self induce vomiting as my alarm penetrated a deep barley haze at 5 am the next morning. I had a flight to catch. I had visions of my head hanging out of the window of the airport train laying large patches of elephant snot all of the way to the airport.
Tuesday night and it is Bolgen & Moi in Kristiansand. A long day of business continues and we decide on the 5 course tasting menu with wine accompaniment. I am desperate for a drink to smooth the edges. It is a warm summer night. I order a double G&T to start. I temporarily spiral into oblivion when the waiter tells me they have run out of gin. What kind of freakin restaurant runs out of gin in the middle of the summer?
The starter of scallops in pea pure with pancetta accompanied by a 2005 Montrachet takes me to heaven. Unfortunately 2 hours later and no main course, the endless banal business conversation, and I am jabbing a fork in my leg just to stay alert. I am back in hell. By the time the selection of cheese arrives I am ready to call in a code blue. There is one piece of cheese on my plate and I query the waiter about the selection. He reliably informs me there is a cheese selection and this is what he has selected for me. Right.
Wednesday night and I am back in Oslo having drinks with some new business associates. It is almost midnight and light out. It never gets dark here at this time of year and there are no obvious signals to stop drinking and go home, barring not being able to stand up, urinating down your leg, or passing out.
The restaurants and bars are heaving for summerfest. Everyone gets together with friends and parties in June before the country shuts down for the month of national holidays in July. If you include all of the partying people do before they take their holidays, where they continue partying, there are only two months of the year any work gets done in Norway. I still haven’t discovered when this is. Blink and you’ll miss it.
Thursday night is dinner with my old team of all star delivery bitches. We are at Aker Brygge, right next to the sea in the city centre. My energy levels are very low but rising quickly with the third bottle of Rose and all of the smutty girly talk at the table. Good girls can be so naughty some times.
I tell them of my week’s journey and that I have been well hung all week. They giggle. One of them looks at me provocatively and says that she always thought I was intellectually well hung. Tease! It is great to see them! They have all moved onto important well paying positions and I am delighted to have contributed to shaping their young graduate minds, mostly with invaluable advice on how to lose friends and alienate people.
I am looking forward to catching up with Mrs. BB tonight. She has been away on business this week and we shall reunite over a family dinner. It is seafood and champagne, one of our favourites. Mrs. BB is a champagne monster, so I do not think I am going to get off as lightly tonight as I plan. Oh well, she doesn’t mind when I am well hung. Boys are horniest when hung over.