» Terrible food

Oh the horror
Being more than a bit interested in food I've eaten some "interesting" things. Tripe is just vile. Lutefisk (that Humpty dumpty talked about)is equally horrible. Us Norwegian fellows also enjoy a good sheep's head from time to time. But the worst food ever? Oh, that's Italian:

Imagine being treated to a lovely dinner at some Roman friends' house - salume, pasta, roast fish and seasonal vegs. Loads of wine. "All good, yes? You like food? You taste special food!"

So they bring me a small plate of something vaguely vegetable-like, white and (I stupidly think) firm. Olive oil and capers on top. I'm thinking "ooh they've saved a special treat for me, how nice". Did I see the insane glint in the eye of the Evil Cook? No.

I take the whole thing (size of a big walnut) and stuff it in my mouth, just to be attacked by nasty, horrible, evil fecking meaty jelly-like snot! It made me dizzy and sick, and all color drained from my face (I'm told). I just barely managed to swallow it like an oyster (another silly eat), before smiling gently and draining a cup of wine.

"What was that?" says I. "Is nerve from cow brain! Top of spinal cord! Very good for man to make love!" says the Italian bastard host.

So I've eaten nerve. I would have preferred Viagra.

And did I kick the cook in the face? No, I invited him to a traditional Norwegian meal. Oh yes, there will be sow's head, lye fish, sour cream porridge and all our other small specialties. He WILL eat the eye of a sheep.
(Fri 18th May 2007, 22:47, More)

» Hotel Splendido

Lovely Lisbon
The harbour in Lisbon, early nineties. Small hotel, dirty but adequate. Bar on ground floor next door. Go into bar on way home, have a beer, feel intimidated by hard crowd, go to room.

Wake up by loud screeching noise from outside.

Go to window, see lady with blood pumping from sliced face, with screeching friend by her side.

See man with biker colors on back and bloodied knife in hand run into the hotel you're staying in.

Drag cabinet in front of door, lock yourself in bathroom for the night. Sleep not.

When paying next morning, observe that the receptionist seems to be a member of the same biker gang as the knife-wielding misogynist.

Do not argue about having to pay too much.

Leave, gingerly stepping around blood on ground.

That's all.
(Thu 17th Jan 2008, 18:18, More)

» Accidental animal cruelty

A farewell to rodents
To look at one's life in this perspective; So many small skeletons scattered on the ground, like offerings to a deranged deity. Ah, the humanity.

My first dead rodent was a hamster that electrocuted itself while its cage was being cleaned. It ate through an electric wire and died with a strange "Eeeeep" on it's lips. Better to go out with an eeeep than a whimper I guess.

(One of my former girlfriends had a hamster, by the way. It ate its own babies).

My guinea pig was smarter than the hamster, and did not kill itself. Apparently (I can't remember this, my cousin told me) I put it out of the window, because it "needs to be free". Even at age five I had a strong sense of justice. My parents tried to find it, but it seems the cat or something ate the stiff, frozen corpse. This was in the middle of a harsh, Norwegian winter.

The third, and last, rodent I killed myself was a pet rat. I stepped on it. It wasn't mine, but belonged to a girl I had the hots for. She cried, but wouldn't let me comfort her.

The last case of rodent death was on a much larger scale, close to genocide actually. For those who don't know, the Lemming is a strange and interesting critter. (They can, in fact, become so angry that they burst. Internally, though. Disappointing, that). They reproduce at a staggering rate, and some years there are too many of them - this is when we have the lovely lemming runs in Norway. (Driving to the mountains and hitting hundreds of little bumps is no fun.) On one memorable occasion we went grouse hunting with a dog, a schnauser. It got out of the car and just started eating the cute little vole-like things. I have no idea how many, but at the end of the first day it just laid on the bed of the hunting lodge, sighing and letting loose enormous evil-smelling farts. I've never seen so large dogshits in my life. And I've never forgotten the joy in the eyes of this murdering purebred bastard, when it jumped up to give me a big, sloppy dogkiss with its foul, lemminginfected breath and a tongue that I actually could see small hairs on.

What will its punishment be in Hell, I wonder?
(Thu 6th Dec 2007, 18:18, More)

» I'm your biggest Fan

Fan-boy journalism
I started working as a music journalist to get to meet my heroes. I've interviewed most of them, like Michael Gira, Blixa Bargeld, Diamanda Galas and Johnn Balance. After I talked to Nick Cave I decided I'd met them all, and quit.

So I became a newsreporter and -presenter. I interviewed several world leaders, of the PC kind, like Kofi Annan, Thabo Mbeki, Joaquin Chissano and so forth. (I even got in spitting distance of Bill Clinton!) When I finally understood that I would never get to interview Nelson Mandela, I quit.

Now I just worship money, and try to make as much as possible. I wonder if I'll ever feel I've earned enough money.
(Fri 17th Apr 2009, 8:53, More)

» Evidence that you're getting old

Having a child
A child is an oldmaker of the first degree. My son was born four weeks ago, and I still haven't had that pint with the boys.

I don't want to, you see. I want to stay at home instead of drinking all the beer.

AND I want that home to be a house, not a flat. With a garden, so that my son can play in the grass.

Apropos grass, I'm now against the use of all drugs. They're bad for you, you know.

Today I've mainly talked about nappy rash and interest rates.

Oh vey.
(Thu 28th Oct 2004, 18:41, More)