It’s that time of year (take 4, or something)

Continuing the tradition of, well, it’s been a few years now:

Dear Santa,

once again I think I’ve been reasonably good. I’ve only been nasty to people who were nasty to me first, and sometimes I haven’t even bothered being nasty back (I mean, why bother with people who are nasty at all?). I gave to charity. Regularly, even, and though I’m not even close to the prescribed tenth I think I’m doing ok. I read No Logo again and have therefore developed a fear of ordinary shops as I keep seeing kids chained to sewing machines in my head when I look at the goods they sell, and it’s harder to ignore this time around – must be the hormones. Fairtrade shops are now my friends. Anyway, if you can find your way to providing one or more of the following (wrapped up underneath the tree where appropriate), I’d be grateful, and the season would be jolly:

1. Peace on earth (I know I keep harping on about it, but see what you can do, ok?)
2. A smooth entry to this world for the alien currently residing in my big belly.
3. While we wait for world peace and joy to all mankind: More fairtrade shops and more fairtrade goods in ordinary shops.
4. A tumble dryer
5. Some time for J.K. Rowling to sit down and finish writing The Last Book (and for the publishers to get it out there!).
6. The following books: Pondus: 0-6 – Frode

This is just to say

…I’ve eaten the plums…

Uh, sorry, wrong poem.

I’ve uploaded some pictures to Flickr – the rest of the ones from our trip to Islay in July, for example. About time?

And while you’re looking at pictures, Tonbel‘s much more active than I am, so go make her happy by giving her more views (and comments. I’m guessing comments are nice too, huh?).

48 Things You Could Care Less About.*

1. First name? Ragnhild (or Robin, I’ll answer to both or either)
2. Were you named after anyone? Nope
3. When did you last cry? Last week, I think. It seems this stuff about hormones making you more sensitive in pregnancy is correct.
4. Do you like your handwriting? It’s ok. I can read it.
5. What is your favorite lunchmeat? Pork liver pat

Top Gear, top show

It occurs to me that I have probably not really expressed myself on the joy that is Top Gear previously. I will now remedy that by explaining why it is one of the best tv-shows ever. No, this has not been brought on by Richard Hammond’s rather unfortunate work-related accident (though I am, of course, hoping that he’ll be up and about and driving ridiculously fast again – in reasonably controlled conditions – as soon as may be), but by my finally reading I Know You Got Soul, which we purchased in Kingston this summer. I somehow feel I owe you an explanation of how come I enjoy a show about cars when, normally, a conversation about cars could quite possibly be one of the few things that would bore me to tears.

Well, you see, it’s not cars so much. It’s Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond. Yes, it involves them talking about cars a lot (in fact for most of the show), but it involves them talking about cars in a way that is witty in that uniquely British way. And of course you know I do love British wit. So.

Does that explain it? Possibly not. I also, on the whole, love watching people do things that they obviously enjoy doing. And the three Top Gear presenters are so frequently the picture of joyful glee when they get their hands on a new car that it is very hard not to be smitten.

Another thing is the competitive spirit. Well, I have it, and they’ve got it in bundles. In an episode I saw recently, Jeremy Clarkson was out in Germany trying to get a car round the world’s longest race-track (at least, I think it was – see, I can’t remember the track or the car, that’s not what I watch Top Gear for) in less than… uhm… I think it was ten minutes, but don’t hold me to that. (I suppose I could google this, but the details are beside the point, really.) He struggled manfully for days and finally just made it. He blamed the car for his failure to do better sooner. Then he let his guide to the track, a local girl about my own age who probably had motor oil instead of mother’s milk, have a go. Her first try at the car, but her ten thousanth something try at the track. Anyway, she beat him, obviously. To Hammond and May’s delight. Oh, and she had blond hair, too.

Whatever. It’s one of the best shows on television (and before you ask, I haven’t even seen the Norwegian version, and I have no intention of ever doing so – it’s that anglophile thing again, you see). And one of the funniest episodes ever can be found on YouTube in three parts. Do yourself the favour: Part 1, part 2 and part 3.

Spam, spam, not-so-wonderful spam

According to the papers, Norway has its first case of sentencing someone for sending out spam. While this is to be applauded, we still have a long way to go. Firstly, while the person in question apparently sent unsolicited emails to 650000 addresses, only 500 of them were “Norwegian” (which I assume means only 500 had the .no suffix), and the law that prohibits spam (or “utsendelse av e-postreklame med mindre det er et etablert kundeforhold mellom avsender og mottaker” – “the sending of advertisements through email unless there is an established customer relationship between sender and recipient” – meaning people you have once shopped with may spam you to their hearts’ content, though I think there is a section dealing with your right to refuse such advertisements as well) is only meant to protect Norwegians, so the guy in question was only charged with breaching the protection of privacy laws.

Also, I find this part interesting:

22-

Aha

I noen dager har det hengt en lapp på sjefens kontordør. “Mæsjmæsjefæra?” står det med store bokstaver. Hver gang jeg har gått forbi har jeg kastet et blikk på den og lurt vagt på hva i alle dager det skulle bety. I dag gikk det plutselig et lys opp for meg. Hahahahaha…

Ah, the power of f***ed up IDs

A comment left this morning had me scratching my head, it obviously refers to the same thing as the previous two comments, but what they refer to has nothing to do with the entry. Then I remembered that in the process of reimporting all the entries a while back I messed up the entry IDs somewhat, and that the first two comments were probably made on a different entry entirely. Turns out the original comments have puzzled me before – and that you can still leave comments on the old parts of the site, except they may end up on entirely the wrong entry. The usual snafu stuff, in other words. I’d still like to know why the first commenter refers to the Wendy Cope poem as a painting, though. And I’m beginning to wish I could hear the piece of music…

But I guess I had better try to do something about that whole ID-not-quite-matching-thing soonish…