The straw that broke the camel´s back

Loyal friends. Have the same ones in navy blue (which are now banned after the airport incident on Tuesday, even though they were not really involved) and grey. From Clarks. A brand selling really plain shoes, bordering on straight-out-boring. They typically make those brown leather sandals that people put socks in, if that gives you an idea. Then - suddenly - these came along. Heels not too high, and they go with everything. I am crossing my fingers that next season they will finally be available in red. Would love that.

Finally got husband back from NY. Only to send him off to Stockholm again this morning. As a proof that absence really makes the heart grow fonder - I got up BEFORE 6AM today to cook my husband an omelette for breakfast. If that is not true love, then I do not know what is. Or maybe I´m still jet-lagged after my flight on Tuesday, who knows.

Another crazy week at work. I really do enjoy it, but I think maybe my back is trying to tell me that I have had my dose of fun for a while now. So, I have made a new friend this week: Mr. Chiropractor. Very. Scary. Man. I mean, he breaks people´s bones for a living. I can still recall the the sound my spine made when he sat on it. Three times. Good thing is that I actually feel a lot better. So I am seeing him again tomorrow.

Yesterday´s french class was interesting. I actually discovered that there is a VERY thin line between when you find stupid people slightly amusing, and when they become totally annoying. Miss Fashion Management did not really have a good day in class yesterday. I really can´t see why she bothers at all. The good news are that if Darwin´s theory of "Survival of the fittest" is anything to go by, she will starve to death during her first month in Paris, as she will not be able to communicate with anyone. And, of course, "Ihihihi!" she had not done her homework. Which apparently was just hilarious. Duh.

In (the) navy

After being out of fashion for years, it is now back. I actually thought this was a good thing. I have always liked navy.

Well, maybe I need to reconsider. Apparently, navy is NOT the new black after all. Just got back from the airport. I was offered the employee discount when picking up some dinner on my way to the airport express. I guess my all-navy-blue ensemble of navy satin shirt, navy knitted dress and navy trench-coat was a bit OTT. No wonder the girl at the teller thought I worked for an airline.

Red-eye blues

My new brown boots. Bought them in Nice this summer, and have been saving them for autumn. From Marina Rinaldi (of course!), but I think they are a bit Ralph Lauren-ish. I love that country-style look. If I could just get my hands on a brown tweed jacket and I would be ready to go hunting. Boom.

You might not be aware of this, but it is actually possible to become jet-lagged by flying domestic. Norway is not a particularly wide country - and (theoretically) we are all in the same time zone (as most of Western Europe). Except me. I am always behind. And - unfortunately - there are mornings when I have to to drag my not-so-bony derriere out of bed a good six hours before my body clock says it is time. To catch a flight. That really does hurt.

I am flying out to Stavanger tomorrow for a full day meeting with a client. I look forward to the meeting. But, I could really do without flying out so early. Or - even flying at all. I know about videoconferencing, yes, but sometimes that just will not do. From time to time you actually need to see people face-to-face. Secretly, I am crossing my fingers that somebody will come up with the technology to teleport people from one place to another very soon. In my case, I would then teleport myself out in the morning. Then I would teleport 90% of my body weight back home in the evening. The remaining 10% I would send to some skinny person that I do not like. Would be a blast. If you know of such a project I would be more than happy to volunteer to be their guinea pig.

Apart from the getting-up-early business, I have a few other objections to flying early:

1) Extremely awake and talkative taxi drivers. I know they have been working for many hours throughout the night, and mostly alone. So they have a right to a social life as well. But - for goodness´ sake - can´t they please just shut the f*** up?

2) Security checks. For some reason, all the individuals (I was very close to calling them another i-word, but that would not be nice) that NEVER fly, gather at the airport really early in the morning. In addition to not being used to the security screening, they are ON VACATION. So there is no need to hurry, you see. They actually seem to be enjoying the whole process, as they try to make the thing last as long as possible. They take FOREVER to get all their stuff ready for security screening, and then have to walk through the body screening thing four times. First time they forgot to remove their keys. Second time it is their cell phone. Third time it is the huge belt-buckle. And on the last attempt they remove all the spare change, a can of soda and their shoes. This guy is the very same guy you will se five minutes later, having a beer. At 6AM. After all, he is on vacation, you know.

I guess we can not really rule out the fact that I might actually be the problem here. I love sleeping. And getting up at 4.30 AM to catch a flight is not really my kind of fun. I am really no good until after 10 AM. Which is a pity, really, as work tends to start before that on most days. Oh, it´s a struggle.

London calling

These have been my signature boots for years, and I have killed something around six pairs of these over the years. They are from a Norwegian high-street brand, Bianco. Used to love their shoes, but now that they have decided NOT to make my favorite boots anymore, they are no longer my friends.

Crazy day at work on Friday. Very typical when you plan on leaving early. Missed the train. Was stopped in airport security as they did not like the Norwegian brown goat cheese in my handbag (gift). Was able to withdraw GBP, buy headset for iPhone and pick up a bottle of bubbly from tax free - all in less than five minutes. Boarded plane on final call, still on the phone with work. Always great to start your weekend with your shoulders level with your earlobes. Wheew. Good thing I had treated myself to a ticket in economy extra and had free access to champagne. At this time I wish they had it on tap. With a hose going straight to seat 6A.

Catching up on our lives the last six months over dinner at Plateau, Canary Wharf. Raspberry and passion fruit martinis at Roka after. Very pleased to discover that friend´s new apartment was straight on the Thames - just like her previous ones, with an amazing view.

Lazy Saturday breakfast talking about some real important aspects of life, including the flowers and the bees and toilet habits. Upped the glamour factor a bit by "flying" over to Bond Street in my friend´s Porsche for some shopping. Spend my usual hour-or-so in Marina Rinaldi. Like their autumn collection quite a lot this year, but was somehow able to keep to self-imposed austerity measures (at least, to some extent). Then - queuing up at Apple Store. Left the store with a huge smile and two iPads. Finally.

Lunch at Hush, then back to the apartment for a nap. Shopping really is exhausting. Or was it yesterday´s martinis getting the best of us?

Met up with The Duke of Pembridge (another close London-based friend) at E&O, on his home turf in Notting Hill. Awfully cool place. Must have been a bit tipsy already, as I actually ATE the squid put in front of me. Finished the evening at Home House, a private club in Marylebone. Really appreciate having friends with memberships to such incredible places.

Tried having Sunday brunch in Pret-a-Manger, before doing some last-minute shopping. Was able to eat one single Swedish meatball, and it was coming back up to greet me for hours after. Then it is nice to know that you have at least an hour in a taxi ahead of you to get to the airport. With some driver that loves swimming in his cologne before going to work.

Heathrow has never been on my list of favorite airports. Especially when you arrive a bit later than planned, and need to get your shopping stamped by customs. I might not be the most frugal person, but at least I always take the tax off before flying home. It was SO not my plan that there would be a full flight to Osaka with hoards of LV- and Gucci-loving Japanese people in the same line. Had to cut my losses and go straight to security. Was lucky to get the papers stamped after security.

I hate coming home to an empty apartment. Called NY and woke up very jet-lagged husband in the middle of his afternoon nap. Not a good move. It is a good thing I have my new iPad to keep me company.

By the way, this might come as a huge disappointment to you all, but I did not even try on a single shoe while in London. I am not sure if I am starting to loose it, but even Jimmy Choo could not tempt me this time. And I only read about the new "Shoe Heaven" (opening in Selfridges this weekend) at the time when I was safely back in the airport on Sunday. A bit of a bummer, but I think it was probably all for the best.

When the cat's away, the mice will play

Yes, I know. My very first pair of Birkenstocks. I must have been unconscious. Pink "birkies"!? Must be a limited collector´s edition. About seven years old, and used a lot. As you can tell by the look of them. Yuck. Really comfortable, but I hate seeing my footprints in them. Double-yuck. Just because you love shoes does not mean that you necessarily love feet too. For the record - worked out of my home office today. Would not be caught dead in these outside the house. Well, maybe on the way to and from the grocery store, but that would be stretching it to the very limit.

So, "The Cat" is going to New York for a few days. Very good excuse for "The Mouse" to go to London. Visiting my friend. Not so practical to have one of your closest friends located a two-hour flight away, but having a close friend in London definitely has its benefits. And, really, I see her just as often as some of my friends that live in Oslo. Except the ones I work with, that is. (That is really why I have this hidden agenda of trying to talk all of my friends into starting working in the same place as me. Would be very convenient. It really is a pity that most of them are not by far as overly enthusiastic about financial reporting solutions as I am. Those suckers simply do not see the beauty of properly set up intercompany reconciliations.)

Sorry, got a bit carried away there.

I find London quite glamorous. I know my friend might not agree with me on that, but to me - even going to Tesco or Waitrose to buy groceries is an adventure, as the grocery stores in Norway mostly suck. A typical weekend in London would include great food, great wine, serious high-quality black-belt-level shopping, and lots of giggles. If husband comes along, it will most definitely also include a soccer game involving Arsenal, which is ok, but it is also good not to waste precious shopping time on a Saturday afternoon match. Although we DID really have a great time when he booked us all a VIP box at Emirates. I am not that big a soccer fan, but I sure know to appreciate the possibility of ogling Thierry Henry´s ass when he is bending down - preparing for a corner shot. While enjoying a glass of white. (Yeah, I know, he has left the club now, dear! I still weep when I think of that and David Seaman´s terrible porn-star mustache. And, yeah, I know that David Seaman is now retired. But I still remember his pre-mustache looks with great joy.)

For those of you that are starting to get an understanding of who I am, you know that tonight will be a night of frenetic packing. However, London is not the worst place to go if I should happen to (accidentally, I promise!) leave something really critical at home. Like the right shoes.

"But it doesn't matter 'cause I'm packing plastic

And that's what makes my life so fucking fantastic"

(The Fear, Lily Allen)

Pardon my French

Shoes by Sofie Schnoor. I am not sure if that is the name of a real person (boy - was I disappointed when I found out that Jimmy Choo is not a live person!), but I still think it is a really cool name. Picked up these in Copenhagen in May, sort of as a consolation for the Gucci ballet flats that I ended up buying later anyway. If I was to take a second first name, it would be Sofie. I think I would loose maybe 25 pounds by taking that name, as it is a typical name for a really skinny person. Might be because it reminds me of Aunt Sofie in the Norwegian children´s story. A skinny and super-bitchy old spinster of a woman (in my imagination, that is). If my low carb diet should for some reason crash and burn (like so many diets before), I might give this a try.

Wednesday and time for French class again. Fourth session, so now we are half-way through what they refer to as level ZERO. So far I have picked up quite a few new words, but I am not really sure if they are the actual words I was looking for. Today´s homework included the phrases: "Je suis martienne. Je suis verte. Je suis tres amusante."* I hope I will NEVER get in a situation where I will need to use these phrases. Ever. Again.

Our teacher ("Le Professeur") is a bit on the strict side. Whenever you manage to give a wrong answer, or a wrong pronunciation, she makes you repeat in class until everybody´s ears start bleeding. So better get it right the first time. One of the women in the group is now so on the edge that I am afraid she will start crying the next time she gets something wrong. Poor girl. I am of the understanding that this way of teaching is veeerrry Frrrench indeed. The teacher does, however, not look anything like the stereotypical petit French woman. No, FINALLY I know where all the croissants are going. Good to have that sorted out.

Mrs. Croissant is sending me about twenty years back in time. To my upper secondary education, and those amazing German classes with the troll of a teacher and her poodle (Topsy!). My oh my. She also knew how to play her power games. I had the same German teacher for TWO VERY LONG YEARS (for both of us, I guess). For some reason that woman never got to learn my name. I remained "you-with-the-ponytail-at-the-back-of-the-class" throughout it all. Even on days when I wore my hair down. I wonder whose German grade is really printed on my diploma. If you ask my husband, I actually struck a good deal there, as my German sucks. My diploma does not reveal that fact.

* I am a martian. I am green. I am really funny.

Fight Club

My SixtySeven boots. Comfortable to walk in for about two hours, then they start to be a REAL pain. Still, I like to wear them going to work, as very few clients pay me to walk around a lot anyway.

Time for the autumn street market in Oslo's supposedly finest shopping street. The street is closed for cars, and people gather from near and far in search of a bargain. The shops set up market stalls on the street and do their very best to get rid of the crap they have been hanging on to for years, hoping for it to come back into fashion. Or for some IDIOT to buy it. As the value of these goods have been written off years ago, they can even sell it cash, without bothering about receipts or VAT or any of that inconvenient stuff. The whole things is a bit like Bond Street in London suddenly turning into Camden market, if you know what I mean. Except that Bogstadveien is not really comparable to Bond Street.

If I am home, I always go. The street is only two blocks away from our apartment, and - even though I never really find a lot of stuff for myself - there are always a few bargains to be found if you look carefully - and in the right places. As a bonus, the people-watching is great. Something happens to us all when we THINK we can save a lot of money:

1) We are willing to buy ANYTHING, as long as it is a well-known brand and there's a mark-down. It does not matter that it is only available in a colour that NOBODY can carry off. Oh, no - if it is Ralph Lauren - then we gotta have it.

2) We tend to loose all of our manners (if we ever had any), and pure basic instincts take over. Moms run over people with their strollers. There is a tremendous amount of pushing and shoving. The phrases "excuse me" and "sorry" seize to exist.

It can get ugly. Really ugly. If you are the kind of (sick) guy that gets off on female catfights, this would be the place to go. You would have plenty to work on for months (or - at least until the next street market). The worst fights tend to break out in shops that sell high-profile brands that for some reason mostly attract customers that can not really afford to wear that very same brand. Today there were riots outside the Diesel flagship store. People were pushing and pulling to get to the front of the stalls. Quite a spectacle. I simply had to sit down and enjoy it all from a distance - with a glass of white wine.