Ponchos all round

I blinked at the weekend, and missed Bergen's Gay Pride march. Bergen is not conducive to such outdoor activities, it rains all the time. Some people are probably aroused by the thought of ranting, wet lesbians, but I can take them or leave them myself. Bergen is not particularly large and neither are its gay and lesbian residents particularly radical, relatively speaking, meaning that from the photos I saw, it looked rather more like a bus queue then some sort of resounding declaration of one's sexuality and the edge was rather taken off some of the leather hotpants and feather boas what with the inclement weather. Someone had given out those disposable water-resistant hooded ponchos that Americans wear when caught unawares by the British weather. Most unfortunate. I have never really felt the need to become involved in such things, although I certainly think they're very important. I, as you know, am not one to make sweeping generalisations or place too much emphasis on physical appearance, but really, why are radical gays always as ugly as sin? One has an image to protect.

The tourists have arrived in Bergen in the last couple of weeks. It is most bizarre seeing one's own countrymen almost as a foreigner sees them. The number of middle-aged British couples who wear identical waterproof jackets is terrifying. I can spot British people from 1oo paces and in Britain I can spot Norwegians at 200. I'm not sure what it is. Something about their facial expression. Bergen is absolutely chock full of Spaniards all summer long. It doesn't seem like an obvious choice, really. They certainly look cold and never have the appropriate clothing with them. It's water-resistant ponchos all round. They're all on cruises. Who, in their right mind, would go on a cruise? It's like Bognor Regis afloat. 1500 couples from the Midlands called Carol and Steve with matching waterproof jackets? I'd throw myself off the poop deck before you could say "Bon voyage".

My italics have stopped working. I can no longer communicate. This is major.

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Eurovision Blues

Well, nothing but another year of endless waiting ahead of me. Ever-shortening days, those cold, empty feelings inside, the deep yearning for my favourite night of the year to approach once more - yes, Eurovision 2011 is over.

I endured an evening of terrible picture quality and a drunken friend from Woking in order to stream it online from the BBC just to get Graham Norton's commentary. He was, as always, hilarious.

I didn't only go for the English coverage to see Graham ripping everything and everyone to shreds, but also because I am off Norwegian commentary after their coverage of Wills's and Kate's wedding. I can't remember the names of the commentators, so I'll improvise. It went something like this.

Archbishop of Canterbury "Dearly beloved...."

Bjørn Olsen: "Well, Hilde, the crowd are scintillated, aren't they?"

Hilde Larssen: "They are indeed, Bjørn - but then they have to grasp at this seldom opportunity to be happy, being that they're British.

Wills: "I, William Archibald Godfrey Plantagenet Tollemach-Tollemach James Harold Fortinbras..."

Bjørn Olsen: "You're right there, Hilde. I mean, a glimpse of a white frock and a trumpet fanfare is probably all they have to hope for as a respite from their bleak, debt-ridden, indigent credit-crunch-ravaged existence, I would imagine.

Kate: "I, Kate Sharon Kylie T'quesha Paris Britney..."

Hilde Larssen: "Indeed, Bjørn. Of course, I suppose Kate might have had to run up her own dress -I mean, I wouldn't have thought anyone in Britain could stretch to a whole dress right now, would you?"

Bjørn Olsen: "I wouldn't have thought, so, Hilde, what with all that money being spent in Afghanistan whilst the economy nosedives and the whole country languishes in a pit of destitute pestilence. Still, it seems as if she has managed to cobble a half-decent frock together, doesn't it?"

Hilde Larssen: "Well, it's reasonable. I think perhaps if she'd lived somewhere, like, say, Norway, she'd probably have managed to jazz it up a little - look how thin she is, I imagine she's had to eat gruel for the best part of three months to pay for it. She even had to borrow a tiara."

Bjørn Olsen: "My, what a big cathedral."

I, of course, loved every moment of both the wedding and Eurovision. The Eurovision presenters were actually rather less embarassing than the norm. I mean, still buttock-clenchingly awful, but not quite chewing your own arm off behind the sofa because you can't bear to watch any longer as per usual. I loved the Hungarian song, I thought she should've done much better.

I was, however, hugely underwhelmed by the interval act. Never, in my many years of near-constant underwhelmment, have I been less whelmed, now I come to think of it. As Graham said, it would've been alright for a wedding, but for an audience of 120 million I think they could have managed more than a man in a sequin suit with a kazoo and a ukelele. It was like something from Great Yarmouth's Got Talent. To be fair, he did have rather a lot to live up to, what with the Norwegian flash mob affair of last year. I mean, I found it so moving just to think of it makes come over a little queer from the knees upwards. Here it is, if you haven't seen it. (Try to ignore the crap Alfaz del Pi bit and move on).

http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsuPqiCjyag

I mean, all of Europe (practically) dancing to the same song? A video link to a homely Eurovision party in every participating country (including that of Crown Princess Mette-Marit of Norway). Crown Princess Mette-Marit! I mean, it was as if all of my gay Christmasses had come at once! You wouldn't get Beatrice and Eugenie doing that, would you? Whilst I think of it, what were they wearing to the wedding? Eugenie looked like she'd just inexplicably woken up in the excess fabric bin in the BHS upholstery department. It was as if she'd been planning to run up her own dress but hadn't actually got around to running it up.

Speaking of upholstery, I can't say I'd have liked to have been at the Albanian party (look at that three-piece suite) but otherwise I think it is one of the most heartwarming pieces of television I have ever seen and I don't care how naff anyone thinks it is (or I am) for that matter.

Well, that blog entry wasn't really about anything, was it? Still, I'm just getting back into it and it's half past one in the morning and I have just finished watching an online lecture about Common Principles of Primary and Secondary Share Issues. And nobody is reading this anyway. Throw me a f***ing rope here.

A-carb-adabra!

Not one slice of bread has passed my lips in two weeks. I have given up carbs. This is partially in order to develop the body of hopes and dreams, and partially to cure the hideous bowel disease of hell and death which has plagued me recently. I am glad to say that the disease of hell and death has all but gone, but sadly the body of hopes and dreams is yet to appear.

I now work for a company called Attack! Actually there's no exclamation mark per se but I think it adds a little spice. Anyway, Attack! is a Norwegian marketing company and we have a collection of holiday properties of which we organise the letting out. The company is rather taking off (I like to think that this is my influence) so unfortunately we have neither the data management nor telecommunications systems needed in order to support such an influx of enquiries. Whenever my colleague is away from her desk I have to answer her telephone within three rings. This happens quite often. She sits in another room. This means I have to fling myself across the office and answer the telephone whilst in mid-flight. It's almost balletic. My Norwegian skills on the telephone are not quite tip top, meaning that half of the time I can't deal with the query being presented anyway.

Not everyone knows that Norwegians, Swedes and Danes can more or less understand one another in speech when speaking their respective languages. Not only this, but Norwegians are better at understanding Danes and Swedes than Danes and Swedes are at understanding Norwegians. This means that Danes and Swedes know that they can be understood but that they don't know what is being said in reply. This in turn means that they generally just launch into conversation assuming that the person on the other end will get the gist of what is being said. It also means that they don't know that I am not Norwegian, they just think I am from the mountains and have an odd accent. Well, when there is a British person on the end of the phone I can categorically advise that they do not get the gist of what is being said. Usually, such conversations ensue.

Robert: "Good morning, welcome to holidayhomes.no, this is Robert speaking"

Danish Customer: "Akjd aius sifn holiday property dkfjw#$ Crete dasfij#$# towels!"

Robert: (with sense of rising panic) "Sorry, I'm afraid my Danish is a little hit and miss, could you possible speak more slowly? Thanks awfully"

Danish Customer: "Asigu adi#$( towels SDifu wife injured sfijs chafing soifss unhelpful Cypriot holiday reps akfuwe9erf "#$#Js gsjjs!"

Robert: (while gesturing in order to attract attention of colleagues) "Gosh, I'm sorry to hear that. Could I possibly take your number and get my colleague to call you back?"

Danish Customer: "#($ snf now! AKFjdi hideous scarring #)$fFj little hideaway in the Cotswolds FFJEr348 deathtrap dFK948#$(#$ on your head be it!!!

Robert: (flails widely at colleagues, mouthing Help me! For the love of god help me!) "Yes, I've taken that down, the person responsible for towel-related injuries will be in touch with you shortly."

Danish Customer: "#$$djskj absolutely unacceptable! D434FFIdf 98 Cheryl Cole fdjfd#($ hostage situation *æøfddfer#$ how dare you say that about my mother! #$(44 bloody yokels why don't you piss off back up the mountains where you belong???

Robert: "Thanks for calling, then! Bye!"

Nine times out of ten it turns out it was someone wondering when they can expect their deposit back. Sometimes I wonder if I'm offering the best level of customer service.

All of this on no carbs.