I’m not sure if I told you about the tricot party I was invited and went to during the summer, but it kicked ass! My friend has got a farm a little over an hours drive from Oslo, in the middle of what must be traditional farmland here in the southeast. Vast fields of wheat covering hills looking like the soft curves of a woman. Horses prancing nearby, and cats and dogs playing hide and seek.
And I haven’t had that much booze to drink for quite a while. They had a bar set up in the garden there, more or less operated by her brother. I remember when there were only two of us left alive, the others had hit the sleepingsack or found an especially cosy spot between the dinner table and the couch, and we saw the sunrise. She went in to go to bed. I was standing there alone, walked a few yeards into the surrounding field and watched the silent sunrise while I urinated. It was beautiful.
But what I wanted to tell you about right here and now is that the fucking jacket I’d brought with me, which is white and carries the logo of my workplace, I forgot in the car of the girl I was driving with. I forgot about it until I needed it, now, and asked for its whereabouts.
Turned out the car had been stripped: stereo, CDs, a kid’s seat, a bag and my fucking jacket. So right now some shmuck is going around town wearing my jacket.
What stupid asshole would steal a rather small company’s jacket?
Oh, and we’ve all heard the news about Steve Irwin. It’s really sad. He was doing a lot of great things in terms of environmentalism and taking care of species closed in by extinction. But he could be an ignorant bastard sometimes too. I had a dream about stingrays the day after I heard the news on the radio. One for you, Stevie!