Man who Catch Fly with Chopstick Accomplish Anything

Apologies from the start for what will be a short post. Tomorrow morning I'm off for the weekend to the Christian youth festival Impulse. On the subject of youth festivals I was describing the increasing largeness of the Soul Survivor events to a Norwegian today:

"I think they have three weeks back-to-back now, due to all the applicants."
"All the Africans?"

Upon my return from Impulse I'll be pleased to be attending a happy tenth birthday party. It's been a while, what kind of present do they expect? I suppose a bottle of wine's out of the question.

I've been doing a lot of talking lately. Not just the regular kind, but while standing up, to a number of people, about Jesus. The most recent was yesterday: I went into Bergen to talk at the Christian Union of a secondary school that seems to be called Daniel-san. I'm not sure if Mr Miyagi is still the headmaster or if he just founded the place. I was really pleased with how well it went - it was my first talk without a translator. Not that I spoke Norwegian, they were just extra smart kids. Of course they were, look what their school's called.

For Happiness, Try Music

Yesterday, Marthe directed me to a shop that I could purchase brake pads from and then as a sort of bonus took me to what is possibly Bergen's only charity shop. It was an immense Salvation Army joint, that I estimated was roughly big enough to park seventy Ford Escorts. In the music section (which, I probably don't have to explain, was larger than usual) I picked up a copy of Skee-lo's "I Wish" (including a cappella track)and two early Petra albums for next to nothing! Petra were a band that never failed to amuse Tim and I when we used to come across them in the early nineties Christian soft rock scene (primarily due to the frontman's swivelling power-punch dance) but this was an album from 1981! I got to hear a side of them I'd never heard before, most notably in the song "Killing My Old Man", an apparent anthem to patricide.

It's fair to say it's been a time of unexpected musical comedy treats. Tonight, to my surprise and marginal delight, I found out that Kurt Nielsen, winner of World Idol for 2003/2004, is from my very doorstep. Not that he's fallen on hard times and curls up to sleep by the bins, but that he is from Arna, a town with a population of just twelve thousand! On the night of the final, the man described as "a marketing challenge" was addressed by the Australian judge thusly: "You have the voice of an angel and the face of a hobbit. If we were looking for a Middle Earth Idol I think you’d be a hands-down winner." Kurt, a plumber by trade and father of two, is the possessor of the biggest selling Norwegian single of all time, a cover of Tal Bachman’s “She’s So High", which went platinum eleven times over. His album, "I", went platinum the day it was released.

So, naturally, when I sat down to get my first taste of the Norwegian version of Pop Idol I had high expectations of the kind of quality I'd be hearing, especially as I was joining the competition mid-stage; I expected a series of polished performances from the remaining hopefuls. Instead I got an hour of stunning comedy as the potential idols (who were, on the whole, slightly rubbish singers anyway) split my sides. Everyone that I heard opted to sing in English and although they very nearly nailed the pronunciation, the slight Scandinavian accent underpinning the songs made the performers sound like they were slowly slipping under the effects of a tranquilizer intended for a large farm animal. I broke three ribs, they were so tickled.

It's not called "Dan In England"

Ah... Britain. Yes, the reason for four weeks of silence here at Dan In Norway is that three of those weeks were spent back home in England. It was a great holiday - seeing family and friends; getting along to South Street, Bible School and the mighty New Life; receiving a toilet for Christmas. I also got the haircut my impeded vision so desperately needed. I considered Dave Ross' suggestion to keep the fringe and have my eyes lowered but went for the cheaper option.

Now, it would be right and proper to include in this, my first post of the new year, some kind of summary of the year gone by. But that is what the Old Posts section is for; follow those links on the left to find the chronicles of my first three Norwegian months including much rain, some debate about scouting, the world's longest road tunnel, English visitors, potato-peeling and the death of mandarins.

However, I am now returned to Scandinavia. Apparently Arna had enjoyed two weeks of blue skies before my reappearance but the day my plane touched down the rain began again, along with bicycle-wobbling winds blowing directly against the uphill ride from my house to the church. This week I have paid back for Christmas indulgences. I have paid in full.

Other than the near gale winds things are largely as I left them. The sun still barely makes an effort to get higher than the mountains, the countryside is still pretty and the Norwegians still enjoy a good game of Fantasi - a shocking travesty of entertainment. Imagine charades (which is barely fun itself) with added coded gestures to make the time no fun at all. For example, pointing at different areas of your right arm indicates a geographical location in Norway - it's the kind of amusement you would only indulge in on the last day of term at school when the maths teachers let you play a so-called game that actually involved more learning than good times. The Norse seem to dig it though.

Tomorrow I must try and get some new brake pads. They have been steadily wearing thin and last night it got to the point where I decided to test if I would be able to use the side of my trainer as a makeshift emergency brake. I found out that Converse will not stop a bike.