For The Last Time

It's been a time since my last post, I know. Enough of a time that I wouldn't be surprised if this is read by about as many people as threw me a Welcome Back to England party. Still, I took a little ten-day trip northeast in November and it is therefore my duty to here chronicle, in brief or in full, my deeds and thoughts.

I flew from Stansted on Friday the third, on Guido Fawkes weekend, so as the plane flew over Anglia I was lucky enough to get an aerial view of all the fireworks detonating below. There was less of a view coming in to land at Bergen Flesland what with all the cloud cover. Some things never change, and the constant rain in Bergen is one of those things. It barely stopped pouring for the entire time I was there.

The only escape from the perpetual downpour was a trip up to the mountains. It was the annual, week-long prayer and fasting conference at the snowy mountain lodge of Hermon Høyfjellssenter and chance not only to, er, pray and fast, but also to spend time with good Norwegian friends and, most importantly, to catch the latest film from Jon Håtveit at skifilm.no, Mind The Gap. Featuring a blatant disregard for the authority of the British Transport Police at Angel underground station, it's the most impressive freeski film he's made so far.

As well as the Bergensk rain and the death-defying antics of the skifilm.no crew, some other things that apparently don't change are the Norwegian sense of hospitality (especially Magny's), the magnetic pull of the Nice Price CD section of Platekompaniet and the way I feel about the place.

Arna is a second home and I was so happy to be able to spend some time with my family there. Bergen is still my favourite city to wander aimlessly in and my friends there remain some of the nicest people I know. To be honest it was quite a wrench to leave but the right place for me to be at the moment is in London.

And so this will be my last post on this web log. It only makes sense to call it a day now that Dan is no longer In Norway. But chillax, I'm in the process of starting a new blog. I thought about calling it something clever like Nan In Doorway, but, no. You can find it at writenothingelse.blogspot.com. Why the name? I'm not sure, but maybe I'll post an explanation of that if I ever work it out exactly for myself.

Let's Explore My Face - A Picture Special!

I can't believe my countdown. It's been over a fortnight since I got my feet back on English soil but it's gone by so quickly. As soon as I was back I had to get my music together for John and Mel's wedding, at which my alter ego The Fresh Brian Dash played a set of pure cheese. Then I headed straight off for a week in the Lake District, drumming with Chris and Jen at the Keswick Convention, which was a brilliant way to spend a week. Drumming, laughing, walking, swimming, playing Deal Or No Deal and meticulously planning the next morning's breakfast strategy.

But the Good Ship Full English has sailed - now is the time to face some tough questions about myself. Where do I belong? What is the purpose of my life? Who am I?

But I'm not quite ready for them. Maybe if I build up to answering them by taking on an easier question. Like, who do I look like? Yes, I think this is the kind of issue I need to ponder to begin to find my place in this world.

I'll start my quest at the MyHeritage face recognition website. They have the technology to analyse my face and reveal which celebrity I resemble. Unfortunately, I get don't get any high percentage matches and my top three are Hugh Grant (60%), Mel Gibson (59%) and Chevy Chase (58%). It concerns me that each of these men has had a run-in with the law.

But the Internet is far from the most reliable source of information, so let's have a look at a more human perspective. A great man once said, Who do the people say that I am? So, to follow in His footsteps (somewhat), I'm going to ask, Who do people say that I look like?

Thinking about this, I recall the words of the young Shakes Carcaterra in Sleepers: I look like a lot of people. During the Adventures of Young Dan, I was told I looked like Elliot, E.T.'s little friend. With bleached hair in Canada, I was allegedly (underlined) a blond Hugh Grant. I've been physically likened to Simon Amstell from PopWorld, the T-1000 Terminator and that odd boy with the video camera in American Beauty. It should be made clear at this point that sometimes I fail to see the resemblance. But as I say, I look like a lot of people, to some crazy eyes at least.

However, the most useful lookalike claims are going to be the ones made most recently, obviously. So here are the four most recent comments, including two made this week, that are pretty much responsible for this entire pointless post. In Norway, as I read Bob Dylan's excellent Chronicles, Anne Britt and Rune decided that it could have been me on the front cover.

According to Sami Hussain, I also feature on the cover of The Sims 2 - Open for Business, as a cake-scoffing chef.

But never mind that, my brother Sam's girlfriend Emma decided this week that I look like the new Man of Steel in the poster on the left. Brilliant, maybe I'll grow myself a kiss curl.

And lastly, the old favourite, mentioned by more observers than any other in the history of people who I look a bit like - Moses from the Prince of Egypt animated movie. Specifically, just after he's fled from Egypt and lost his wig.

So what does all this mean for me as a person? Actually, that's not a rhetorical question, I've got no idea where this post is going. Maybe we should call it a day there. If you've got any clue as to how to decipher the Dan Facey Code, then let me know. Or else share your own experience of being told you look like someone else. Alright? Great. See you later.

I'll Be Gone In A Day Or Twooo...

"And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and ev'ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it in Norway"

So sang Frank Sinatra in the original, long-lost recording of My Way, before super-producer Bruce Dickinson suggested a lyric change to make the song less location-specific. Dickinson also demanded more cowbell.

Truly, the end is here. The big countdown clock ticks on, watched by thousands upon thousands, all over the world, holding hands, probably. My bags are packed save for a toothbrush I'll use in the morning and a sleeping bag I'm ready for now; and the house is wonderfully tidy (big, big thanks to Marthe Rosenvinge). All that remains is to finish this post that has been called for by all of one email. This one's for you, Dad.

I'm a mix of emotions: looking forward to seeing you English people that I've missed, sad to say goodbye to Arna, still slightly stressed from the last minute packing and cleaning, and sinnsykt sad to say goodbye to my Arnian and Bergenser friends. Beneath all of the more temporary feelings though, I could barely be more satisfied with the ten months I've spent here, the friends and the difference I've been able to make, how my life and myself have changed. More on those things when I get the chance to write some kind of hilarious-yet-moving Review of the Year - I probably need a bit of time to reflect. The Lake District should be just the place for that kind of thinking. I'm there next week to drum but it will conveniently serve as a gentle weaning alternative to the cold Norway turkey of immediate London.

So anyway, I suppose this may well be the penultimate post of the blog. I might keep on writing about my adventures beyond Norway though. I suppose it all depends on how interesting my life turns out to be. After all, in the words of Jacques-Yves Cousteau:

"When one man, for whatever reason, has the opportunity to lead an extraordinary life, he has no right to keep it to himself."

Det er:

"Får man muligheten til å leve et uvanlig liv, har man plikt til å dele det."

I wouldn't like to disagree with the great man. So see you soon, England. Vi snakkes, Norge.

Editing Films Will Push You Over to the Dark Side

So I'm sitting in the site office tent at the summer scout camp, having major technical difficulties with the new film I'm supposed to be making. The Troubles started last night when, at the end of an hour-long video upload, the power cut and I lost the lot. It didn't help that I was missing the best, most violent match of the World Cup so far at the time. Now, in a new twist, all audio has gone missing. It looks like this project may not be able to go any further; I don't fancy making a silent movie. But never mind, it's fun other than that, and the weather just decided to get good. Plans are already afoot to teach the wondrous Indian sport of kabaddi to the scouts, and hopefully we can stage Norway's first ever youth kabaddi tournament. Photos from the camp and Norwegian-language articles will be posted regularly through the week here. Click on anything that says 'bilder' or 'bildene' to see pictures.

What Would Jack Bauer Do?

It goes without saying that Satanists are pretty annoying at the best of times and this coming Tuesday will be no exception. The little rascals have noticed that the date will be 6/6/06:

1: The number of the Beast! Yes, six-six-oh-six, phwa-ha-ha!
2: Hang on...
1: What?
2: Are you sure?
1: What are you talking about man?!
2: Isn't it six-six-six?
1: Exactly. That's what I said.
2: No, you said six-six-oh-six.
1: Oh, right. Er, isn't that it?
2: Maybe. But the oh sits a little oddly, don't you think?
1: I see your point. Well what the Dickens is it then?
2: I'm not sure now, you've got me all in a fluster.
1: Hold on, I'll get my Bible.
2: I thought you were supposed to be a Satanist?
1: Well, yeah, but it looks good on the bookshelf. Leather-bound, gold edging on the pages.
2: That's true. It does tie the room together.
1: Well, how kind of you to say!
2: Not at all.

Anyway. It seems that the Norwegian Devilists have become very excited that 6 June 2006 is two thousand and five years, five months and six days since the arbitrary day incorrectly assigned to mark the birth of Jesus of Nazareth (the real one, not Robert "Rubbish" Powell). And so, last week many churches received emails from their insurance companies warning them that Satanic groups are organising themselves, over the internet, to try and burn as many church buildings as possible on that day. Seriously, what is their problem. Because they do have a problem.

It's double the bother for us, as we've got the building in Arnatveit and also the building for the upcoming church plant in Espeland to think about. So we're being organised into shifts to guard those two potential targets for the entire day, which sounds like the basis for a pretty decent series of 24, I think you'll agree. And for your part, if you wouldn't mind praying that everything remains uncharred this week, that'd be much appreciated.

One Man Wedding

Confirmation fever hit the Dalseth house this weekend, in a flurry of lawn-mowing, tablecloth-ironing and surgery. Confirmation is a very widespread tradition in Norway, with the majority of fourteen-year-old Norwegians going through the motion. It's such a tradition, in fact, that some people get confirmed in non-religious ceremonies. What they're confirming, probably they can't even tell you but they're happy to confirm it, just like the church-goers are happy to defy logic and confirm a decision made by someone else for them, when they were so young that they barely possessed the ability to blink. Sure, they have to go to a few confirmation classes but they get to wear an outfit from Lord of the Rings (which, for the girls, costs something like a thousand pounds), have a banquet held in their honour and take home between two and three grand.

Eline chose to start her confirmation weekend in unconventional style by having emergency keyhole-surgery to remove her appendix at six o'clock on Saturday morning. This meant that she missed the church ceremony but was home in the afternoon to watch all her loving family and That English Lodger tuck into a feast of smoked salmon and Potato Gratin, followed by a truly incredible spread of cakes, the like of which I doubt I will ever see again until I enter into Paradise. The proceedings of the average Confirmation Day are very much like those of a wedding, only for one person: a morning church ceremony in fancy clothes, a meal with the extended family, speeches from parents, embarrassing childhood photos and customised songs set to traditional Norse ditties. They even stand a little plastic figure, all alone, at the summit of the improbably-tall centrepiece cake.

I can't understand how confirmation fits in with anything the Bible says but then I can't think of a way to end this post either. So let me lay a quick update down for you and sign off: Eline is recovering very well and will be playing football again in a fortnight. I am preparing myself for The Biggest Game Of Football Of My Life So Far, coming this Wednesday. And the Dalseth Household (of which I can proudly call myself an honorary member) enjoys leftover cake with every meal. This is Dan, signing off from Indre Arna, Norway.

Mission and Improbable Weather

Last Wednesday evening I was sat at the back of a small meeting in Voss. It felt more like a very conservative church service than a seeker-friendly gospel night and I was thinking philosophically to myself that even if we didn't see any real results from the day we'd spent there, at least we knew that we had really worked hard for the place. And who was to know what unseen future fruit would be reaped from the seeds we had sowed. Nevertheless, I did feel disappointed; there had been such an expectation among us that God was going to do some big work in Voss and I wanted the satisfaction of seeing some of that work. Then Jacob preached and eight people stood up.

Jacob is a quiet and friendly Nigerian gentleman, who was a part of the mission team from England that I had the pleasure of being involved with for these last ten days. On Tuesday he had taken the opportunity to touch snow for the first time in his life. He had to be driven a short distance away from here because, aside from the fact that Arna gets relatively little snowfall, the team enjoyed almost nothing but sunshine for the duration of their visit. I remember that on the day they landed I told them that, in terms of the weather, it was probably one of the top three days I'd experienced since my arrival in October. The following day easily joined it in the top four and the temperature just kept on rising until this weekend, which was certainly the hottest I've enjoyed in Norway. Now there are leaves on the trees and the mountains are green all over. I've barely seen a cloud in a week.

In fact, the only day of bad weather was the Wednesday in Voss, a weird little town with a pair of parallel main roads and not much else. It's the location of the area's main ski resort and the home of a number of boarding schools, neither of which do much for the community, as you can imagine. My church here in Arna is currently in the process of planting a congregation at Voss and it was with this small group of Christians that we were working with.

I joined the team at the church in Arna that morning to hear that they'd had a particularly intense prayer meeting the evening before. Some of them had continued to pray in their rooms afterwards, unable to sleep, and everyone was eager to see how God would use us that day. After a team time and breakfast, we took the 75 minute train ride to Voss.

We were greeted by wind and rain that didn't ever really let up until the evening. As well as grim weather, Voss has a heavy, imposing spiritual quality that is hard to explain but not difficult to notice. Almost immediately we set off, walking around the town, evangelizing and inviting people to the evening meeting in a building on the high street. Phil and I just walked endless laps of the long block formed by the twin main roads, stopping to pray in the prayer room after the first half hour and then going back out again for two or three hours more. Phil had seen a picture in the prayer room of all of us pushing against a massive onyx door that we just managed to shift in the end and, as time wore on, our initial enthusiasm was being tested by the oppressive atmosphere of the place. When we weren't speaking to Norwegians we were praying hard. Responses at first were either totally disinterested or shamelessly rude (elderly Norwegian men can be brutal) but as we pressed on, which took no small amount of self-discipline, we found people were becoming more and more open to talking about Jesus. My Norwegian vocabulary was tested to the limit on the odd occasion that a person said they couldn't speak English but I surprised myself by not being totally out of my depth.

At half past five, the arranged finishing time, we were outside the main entrance to the building the church meet in but Phil wanted to do one more half circuit before we went in. We did so and we were just going to cross the square back to meet the others when we met three Muslim gentlemen. Hilariously, Phil had met them when he visited Norway two years previously! They were really happy to see him again and said that they'd come and join us that evening (actually, they did more than that, one of them forced me to walk him all the way to the door of the meeting room to make sure he knew where it was).

We returned to meet the others, went for a Chinese and set up for the meeting. The Voss people ran the it, with the team contributing testimonies among the very inaccessible, old hymns. I was not optimistic but then Jacob preached; he spoke about how our life is like a car engine - we can put water in the petrol tank, oil in the radiator and petrol in the oil tank if we choose to but that's not the way a car's designed and it'll get damaged. Jacob appealed for people to raise their hand in response and then asked them to "put Satan to shame and stand up!" Three Norwegian ladies recommitted their lives to God, a teenager called Kristian became a Christian and four Muslims chose to become followers of Jesus Christ!

The five converts joined us in Arna on Saturday for a barbecue. Loads of the community turned up, and rightly so considering the amount of invitations we'd given out. We also went to Øyrane Torg, the local shopping centre, earlier in the day to give out free waffles and drinks. Unfortunately it turned out that there was a group from a local school there too, trying to flog waffles to pay for a band trip to the dream destination of Scarborough. It was a shame but after we'd given away about six thousand waffles we left in the afternoon so they could have some time to raise their funds.

There was a good atmosphere at the barbecue and Terje asked the team to perform the sketches they'd been performing at the shopping centre. Tate and myself had taught them some Ichthus mission classics - Crowdpuller, Chocolate Box, The Ribbon Sketch - that went down well. Phil then gave a short gospel message during which nobody made a sound and what must have been at the most one second later, somebody screamed, there was a bang and a car knocked a girl off her bike. There were a few nervous minutes but thankfully she only suffered some grazes and a bruise on the inside of her knee. The initial stunned quiet wore off when everyone heard the good news and it turned out to be great night with the community. Me and Øyvind performed a few numbers that I just didn't know the words for (until PA Guy inexplicably pulled the plug on us) and one of the former Muslims got on the drums and soloed like the saved.

I was sad to see my friends leave and I do miss people in England - you know who you are. But actually, it's only eleven weeks until I'm back for John and Mel's wedding, and then it's Revive. I will see you again... but not yet. Not yet!