Oslopolis

Ahhhhh fagdag! Not only is it a very good word, but also a most excellent concept. Well, not that I experienced any of it's wonderment, as I had the day off! Hurrah for my poorly defined and under-administrated position in the school. So, I had the opportunity to wander the streets of Oslo. Just as I was reveling in the fact that I was out of the house before midday (I'll give you a moment here just to close that open mouth of disbelief)... I discovered that the shops don't open until 10am! Quelle horreur! So I joined the queue outside a bookshop (yes, they clearly can't get enough of books and that) to buy my på vei textbook, which will make me know Norwegian, apparently. I talked myself into buying the workbook with it, mainly because that was the only way you get the CD so you know how to pronounce the damn words, cheating bastards. This led me to hand over 700NOK (nearly £70...) for my fast track way to integration, inclusion and other abstract concepts. Cheap at the price. Ahem.
After that I decided to get on a tram. My plan was to go and see Grunerlokka, an area of Oslo deemed as 'hip' by all and sundry. Some say, hip in a, like, good way, man, and that... some say, pretentious. While aboard the tram I had what I can only describe as an episode, which made me think it would be a good idea to stay on the tram until the end of the line, just 'to see where I end up'. Truly, my genius is wasted in this life. Thankfully my second plan of 'getting off wherever the lady in front of me gets off' plan worked out better as she alighted quite soon after the formation of the plan. After giving myself a bit of a talking to and getting back on a tram heading back the way I came, I got to Grunerlokka. And it is a nice part of town. I found myself in a lovely leafy square and the sun was shining... then I found about ten vintage clothing shops in a row, and my heart leapt for a second. Cheap and kooky...ohh! Just like me. I whiled away a couple more of my hours pretending I could really pull off a tartan mac and cowboy boots (soooo kooky!!) - and that I could afford some handmade earrings made of pieces of Trabant... but it was not to be. So I skulked back over a frosty bridge and took a truly awful picture of a statue of a man wrestling a reindeer (Norwegians know how to sculpt), gave up, and went to H & M, where I belong.
Skip forward a few hours, I am in the flat, "babysitting" i.e. making sure a sleeping three year-old doesn't cause too much trouble. Sounds easy, and it is when he's asleep. But it's hard communicating with a child who doesn't speak your language (well, duh, Hannah). What I mean is, all the usual things your say to children are so far meaningless to him. Example: "no, that's my cheese". Ok, a more usual example, "good boy" or "sit down and eat your food" are just noise to him. But he doesn't seem too phased by it. He's also teaching me more Norwegian than anyone else right now. Mainly because if I don't understand what he wants, he repeats it in an increasingly whiny tone until I get it, or just takes me to the source of his desire e.g. the fridge. If only adults were so simple!
So, tomorrow I go before the jury, I mean, language teachers' meeting, to decide when/where/why/with whom I will be working. And routine will be my friend.
And I would like to note my satisfaction with the outcome of an election in another country. Say no more. Though I probably shouldn't have put that in writing; these politicians never seem to turn out as you hope (ref: middle class glee circa 1997).
Oh dear I can't end on that note. So I'll have to end with:
Norwegian word of the day!
Today's word is 'tannlege'. Guesses on a postcard please. And it has nothing to do with sun beds...