A Norwegian Would

What a fabulous weekend in Oslo! There'll be no Norwegian lesson today (you'll be relieved to hear), although it is interesting that the Norwegian word for to try is prove, which of course is the original meaning of our word prove as in "the exception that proves the rule".

Anyway, those Norwegians know how to party. Our friends had a marquee erected on their lawn which looked strangely like a cross between the minarets of Brighton's Royal Pavilion and several giant Ku Klux Klan outfits. There were eighty people sitting down to dinner, all served by two diminutive Chinese cooks. The forty bottles of champagne we consumed before we even sat down to begin on the dinner wines, gave promise to an eventful evening. There were speeches and toasts, fireworks, a rock band and dancing.

Even though Oslo is in the south of the country, it still remains light for most of the night. We had about two hours of semi-darkness – during which we subdued ourselves with coffee, brandy and cosy chats – and then the smiling sun reappeared and we were off partying again as if it were the same day. I collapsed at 5:00 a.m.

During the party I met up with people I hadn't seen for ten years; twenty years in some cases. Essentially we're the same people, but our faces say something else. What happened to that handsome youth with the wolf-like eyes and wild golden curls? He's now a respectable, neatly-haired, benignly-smiling man, slightly paunched.

Everything is change, the only difference is whether we accept it or not. If we don't, we suffer.

When my flight landed from Oslo last night, I was informed that my luggage hadn't made the same journey. The boy was very apologetic and told me that it was somewhere in Amsterdam instead. I've since been informed by text message that it's left Amsterdam and is on its way to Birmingham from where it will make its way, alone, to my house. I hope it makes it. My favourite t-shirt is inside. Our possessions have lives of their own, it seems. Which is as it should be.