Still in Stavanger. Or, rather, back in Stavanger, as I’ve been in Oslo for the weekend. A bit of an all outer, with people from work meeting up at BarBeint on Friday and Ingun and Øystein having a housewarming on Saturday. Alchohol was consumed, and not just by me, either. It struck me, yet again, how my tendency to try to avoid making assumptions leaves me out of the gossip-mill. At least, there might be gossip about me, but I’ll be the last person to catch on to any gossip about other people. Take Ingun and Øystein – colleagues of mine, met at work and obviously somehow got it together to the extent that they have now moved in and are having a housewarming. And did I have an inkling? Nope. Not even when the invite landed in my mailbox. “Oh, so they’re having a party together. How nice. Well, since they’re both leaving at about the same time I suppose it makes sense…” Not a smidget of an inkling. Until someone said something about it that was completely unambiguous. And a lot of things suddenly clicked into place. Not the first time that sort of thing has happened either. So, a bit of advice to y’all: I don’t mind being on a need to know basis, but please don’t assume that I have guessed at what’s going on. Odds are I haven’t.
Anyway, back to Stavanger. Nice town. The centre is nice and compact, so it’s a nice short walk from the hotel to the harbour where there are loads of restaurants and places to have a pint or two in the sun. My colleagues do not approve of the local beer (Tou), which is served almost everywhere and sometimes exclusively, but I don’t care, because A. I don’t drink beer and B. Skagen Brygge Hotel has a mile-long list of single malts on the menu. Besides, I’m broke.
Thought I’d get around to going to the gym today – can go to any branch in Norway, theoretically – as I haven’t been for weeks, now, and I really do need some excercise. And my the front wheel on my bike’s been flat for weeks, too (ok, so I should’ve fixed it, but I only got round to it this weekend), so I haven’t even been cycling to work (or back, which is more to the point, as that’s all up-hill).
On a different note: I hate interviews. I realise the necessity, but I do wish I could be let off. Especially for jobs that I really want, and I’m sure I could do well. Couldn’t they just take my word for it? Ok, maybe not. I’ll probably be so sick of interviews so quickly that I’ll just jump at the first job that offers, even if it’s the check-out at the local supermarket. I will try to restrain myself, though, as this whole situation is really something I ought to view as an opportunity to search for “the perfect job”. Unless the present prospect actually comes through (which seems unlikely from the sheer point of Too Good To Be True), I think I’ll get a paper round. I could do with the excercise. Maybe it’d take away the tension from all these interviews.
Music in my head: Head over Feet – Alanis Morisette (v.g. compared to yesterday when I managed to get the “Slå på ring” stuck in my head for hours, I nearly went mad – or at least madder)