Ah, the long sunny evenings and endless social diary of June. Summer Fest season is here.
Caught Jamie Cullum at Oslo Sentrum Scene last Saturday night with a mob of pals. Outstanding! He was electric, bobbing, weaving and bouncing around the stage. His young band dudes are wholly accomplished. The young sweeties standing behind me sang the words to all of his songs. Jamie loves Norway and Norway loves him back. I caught sight of Sophie at the side of the stage jumping around smiling and supporting her man. I wonder if he requires a foot stool to kiss her.
On the flight to London Monday morning I meet a good friend. I apologise we did not make it to his wife’s big birthday party Saturday night, Jamie was running very late and we did not dare show up after 1 am, we were shattered. Working lunch followed by drinks with friends at my Soho haunt. We haven’t seen each other for yonks and still joke about how much we hated the firm we both used to work for... we tried everything to get whacked including running up 10s of thousands of pounds of client entertainment expenses at sporting events and lap dancing bars... think I got an outstanding performance rating that year!
Important biz goes well Tuesday. Get pissed with Goldenbollocks on the flight home. We solve many of the world’s problems, but unfortunately create many more than we have solved.
Off to Nodee for Mrs BBs birthday dinner Wednesday evening, her favourite restaurant in Oslo. It is an Asian affair and is always packed, lunch or dinner. It is a family dinner and the ambiance is comforting as we catch up over the din. Everyone is busy and we have not seen each other for weeks. One of our extended family friends has moved back to Oslo from London... it is great to have her home. While out with my MiL for a cheeky Marly, I hear my name being called, it is Renny, the spiritual leader of Norwegian bloggers with his pal Tor – we are planning to meet the following night. Renny is like the bus, wait for months to see him and then catch him twice in two days!
Thursday evening at the First Millennium in the city centre with Renny and the gang. Renny has invited the world to Oslo for a Blog Gathering 19 – 21 August and we are helping him finalise plans. The Mayor of Oslo is opening the event with a champagne reception on the evening of the 19th. There are loads of local activities on offer for the posse of visitors rocking up. We are finalising the plans for a grand finale piss up for all visitors and expat blogger on Saturday the 21st. Make sure you have the date(s) in your diary!
It is late Friday evening as I pen this at the summer house. It is peaceful but unfortunately raining buckets. I glance out the window at the fleet of sail boats on the fjord going nowhere quickly. It is the annual race, Ferderseilasen, and to add insult to the injury of rain, there is no wind. I could swim faster than they are moving. They have taken hours to get 30 kilometres down the fjord! I would be beating myself with the tiller in these conditions, but then I am a fair-weather everything, except for friend of course!
The next couple of weeks delivers a raft of work dos, birthday parties, the theatre, golf competitions, and family visitors. It is Summer Fest season. I am slightly exhausted already, but it is a very nice problem to have.
Beaverboosh
Showing posts with label Summerfest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Summerfest. Show all posts
Friday, June 11, 2010
Friday, June 19, 2009
Well Hung
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.
Beaverboosh
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.
Beaverboosh
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