Til ære for søndagen

Hvis jeg skulle velge meg et kirkesamfunn måtte det være den anglikanske kirken. Nå er vel neppe preknene deres noe bedre enn preknene i den norske statskirken, men de har evensong – og evensong er uten preken. Når jeg får behov for å gå i kirken er det det formelle mønsteret og det seremonielle jeg er ute etter, ikke teksttolkning. Det er kanskje arrogant, men det får så være, jeg vet hva jeg tror på. Men det seremonielle “spørsmål og svar” mønsteret til evensong er bra for sjela.

Oppvasken unnagjort

Om en time eller to tror jeg jeg skal støvsuge. Tror kanskje naboene ville sette pris på at jeg ventet til etter tolv. Lurer på om det er noen flere sånne rydde-/vaskejobber jeg kan gjøre for å holde meg våken. Hvorfor ikke slå to fluer i ett smekk, mener jeg? Når jeg er normalt våken gidder jeg jo sjelden å rydde noe særlig.

Topical

Reading the paper this morning I found a story which exemplifies something of Norwegian rural life. Norway’s an odd country geaographically. Long and narrow, with fjords and mountains galore dividing one valley from the other. Not to mention large areas being pretty much uninhabitable. This has meant that a lot of communities ‘on the edge’ have, historically, but also currently, been pretty isolated. Hence the relevance of the story. Apparently, in the little village of Hellemobotn in Nordland, the 150 inhabitants have thus far had one phone booth between them – as in: That’s the only phone in the village. When it rings, whoever’s nearest has to go pick it up and locate whoever the call is for. As one of the inhabitants says, luckily the children enjoy doing the running to pick it up…

But now the village will be put on the mobile network map, a new transmitter or two going up, I assume, so all 150 will now be able to get a mobile phone.

På den kronglete måten

Jeg elsker Britisk kollektivtransport. Dette er selvfølgelig nok et bevis på at jeg er fullstendig gal, men det får så være. De Britiske togene er kanskje ikke hva de var (men jeg vet ikke om de noengang har vært det) etter privatiseringen, men lokaltransporten er helt utrolig. Du kan komme deg til de minste små landsbyer med buss. Ok, så det tar litt tid, og dersom formålet ditt er å komme fram fort er det kanskje bedre å leie bil, men som regel når jeg er ute på tur er reisen målet, som det heter, og det at det tar 4 timer å tilbakelegge en strekning du kunne dekket i bil på en halvtime eller deromkring er liksom ikke så farlig.

More css

I’ve finally managed to get some work done on the css for nmwl.no. Almost there now, just a few more tweaks and I’ll be ready to start sending the links to a select few – and possibly post it here ;)

But now I’m going to do the dishes. I need to move about a bit to loosen my back up again. It’s muttering.

Not logical, perhaps

Good thing about Life in Norway: Holidays in Sweden…

We went to Sweden a lot for holidays when I was a kid. Almost every year, in fact. A few years we went to Denmark instead. That was good too.

I know this doesn’t sound like it’s a benefit of being Norwegian, but believe me there is a logic here. Sweden – or at least Värmland – is a good place to spend your childhood summers. It’s familiar because it’s a lot like Norway, on the other hand it’s sufficiently different to be exciting – and it is, after all, a different country. They speak a language you can understand – and they understand you – very reassuring when you’re off exploring in case you get lost and need to ask for help. In addition, most Norwegians have been reared on Swedish tv-series based on Astrid Lindgren’s books, and they all have an atmosphere of summer, holidays and fun. This, combined with all those long summer days of doing nothing, makes it very weird nowadays when I have to deal with Swedes at work, as I unconsciously associate Swedish with holidays and dealing with it in a work-context is all wrong.

Søndagsaviser

Og så jeg som ikke leser aviser engang, skal jeg plutselig begynne å klage over hvor kjedelige de norske søndagsavisene er nå da? Ja for tenk at det skal jeg. Jeg savner å rusle bort til Newsagenten søndag morgen (gjerne fremdeles iført pysjbukse, det var jo rett borti gata – dette er faktisk ikke noe uvanlig syn i England, heller) og kjøpe melk og The Sunday Times. Så hadde man noe å gjøre resten av dagen.