Turning 28

I really enjoy celebrating other people's birthdays, but I've never been all that comfortable with my own. Basically, I don't deal well with being the centre of attention. It's one reason why my career as an after-dinner speaker never really took off. Anyway, until a couple of weeks ago, I had planned to let my 28th birthday just sail past without any real event to mark it. However, I really hadn't counted on Meredith turning out to be the world's best birthday celebrator. I now know that she is a one-woman birthday party machine who can convince even a birthday-grouch like me to lighten up and have a good time.

It seems that the birthday excitement was building in camp Beaumont well before the "big day" arrived and by the night before I think Meredith was about to explode with anticipation. To avert disaster, she arranged to start celebrations early with a trio of events on my birthday-eve. First, we started off with a meal in a really delightful old pub by Liverpool Street Station - it was all wooden floorboards and wood-panelled walls and served delicious food, including a plate of figs and parma ham, which I loved. From there we ran through the rain to one of London's swankiest bars Vertigo 42, which is situated on the top floor of what used to be the city's tallest building. It may be a bit of a gimmick venue, but we had an excellent time sipping champagne and looking out over the rain-drenched city. We were there after sunset, so the city was all dark streets and bright lights, which made it look very exciting and almost gothic in a Gotham City-like way. Very cool. From there, we moved on to another bar in a beautiful enclosed courtyard, which I would never have found if it weren't for my birthday guide. It was a cool venue, though it was winding down by the time we got there late on a Wednesday night. It was, however, funny to observe a bunch of drunk office colleagues obviously getting set to pair up and head home together though. Kids, please remember that too-much-alcohol and work parties don't mix!

The following day, I went to work still a little sleepy from the night before, but somehow managed to scrape through without doing too much work (except, of course, for an important teleconference that was unhelpfully scheduled for 5.30pm and lasted until about 7pm - much to my frustration). Anyway, straight after work, I jetted out the door to dinner at the Beach Blanket Babylon in Notting Hill. I'd had drinks there before and I like its quirkiness a lot (much more than its sister venue in Shoreditch, which is just pretentious without any real sense of fun). But I was a bit apprehensive, because Huy had given it a very big thumbs down as a place to eat and hang out. As it turns out, we had a great meal (sure, I just had a steak, which is hardly cutting edge cuisine, but it was really perfectly cooked and the handcut chips and veggies were also excellent) and the service was friendly, professional and not at all pretentious. The only thing better than the food was the long list of presents that Meredith gave me in between courses. I won't list them all here for fear of making you all jealous, but it should suffice to say that I will have to lift my game if I am to hold my own in the present-giving stakes this Christmas and on future birthdays.

Overall, I have to say that my 28th birthday was my best one yet and, despite myself, I'm even looking forward to the 29th. Thanks Mez! And thanks also to all my other friends for their kind birthday wishes and gifts. It's nice to know that you all care.

Norway

Last weekend the usual suspects took full advantage of the Monday bank holiday and headed off to Norway. This was my second visit to Fjord-land and it made me wonder at how I managed to survive my previous visit 8 years ago, when I was travelling on a student's back-packing budget. As the expenses mounted, I cast my mind back to the days of buying stale bread at local supermarkets and living on no-brand peanut butter, bananas and canned ravioli in tomato sauce. Thankfully, these days I can afford to see Scandinavia in (a little) more style. Though the rate I ran through the krone was worrying at times (£2.50 for a bottle of water!), I had a great time in Norge. Highlights were numerous, but a few are listed below:

• Smoked fish - Norwegians are a straight-forward people. When they find something they like, they stick with it. For example, they're quite into light fittings and seemingly delight in coming up with different ways of making darkness go away. Not that touch-sensitive lights in your kitchen add much convenience compared to, say, your traditional garden-variety light-switch, but you still have to admire the ingenuity. Anyway, I digress. Smoked salmon abounds in Norway and it's delicious. It's served practically at every meal (or at least it is by tourists such as us) with crackers and potato salad. It's delicious, and along with the prawns and mackerel, makes Norway a seafood lover's delight. I gorged myself senseless at the buffet dinner we had in Flam on Saturday night (hey, when food's that expensive, you've got to make sure you get good value) and don't regret a minute of it. Of course, those used to greater variety of food may get sick of the salmon-heavy diet quite soon - it took Huy around 18 hours from landing in Norway to decide he couldn't handle any more smoked fish.
• Swimming in ice-water - Swimming in glacier-melt water sounds like a crazy thing to do, but no one's ever accused a Scandinavian person of being sane (quiet, maybe, but mistaking quiet for sane is a mistake that you don't often get to repeat). Strange then that the person urging us to swim in glacier-melt water was not Scandinavian but was in our kayaking guide from Catalonia. Having clambered up a steep Fjord-bank to stand below a thundering waterfall, our guide convinced the stupider members of the group (including me) to remove shoes, socks and shirts and get wet. It was a great, though cold, experience during which I was caught on camera looking like a pale-skinned Norwegian yeti / mountain gorilla clambering around under the raging torrent of water. I did myself no favours by screaming uncontrollably on hitting the water proper in a pool a little way down the hill. If you listen carefully you can probably still hear the echoes of the mountain gorilla's call bouncing around the hills of the Sognefjord.
• Souvenir shopping - I'm not sure whether Norwegians really love souvenir shops and novelty gifts, but they sure think that the rest of the world does. Nothing else could explain the fact that all the shops in Norway sell moose-related paraphernalia, viking helmets, aqua-marine dyed mink sleeveless vests, snow-flake patterned cardigans and mittens. We had a ball trying things on and laughing at the extreme kitsch that surrounded us - sheep-fleece back-pack anyone? It's hard to say whether or not the Norwegian retail industry is flourishing, but if it is I have very little hope for Western European civilisation.
• Hot dogs - Desperate for food and short for cash, imagine our collective delight when we discovered Norway's love for the ultimate fast/cheap food: hot dogs. Stumbling on a cheap and plentiful supply of grilled meat sangers late at night in Bergen must rank as one of the top moments of our trip (perhaps second only to Huy's discovery that for kr15 you could get 3 deliciously burnt and dry buffalo wings from McDonalds). I had the 150gr jagdtwurst (presumably a mix of reindeer, elk and other Norwegian game meats) and it was delicious. I could have opted for the 250gr version which was about a foot long, but I wasn't sure I was ready for that much oil. When they said that Norway's economy dependent on oil, I didn't realise their main supply came from fast food drip trays.
• Eurosport Olympic coverage - One of the most memorable events of this year's Olympic games came at a moment when our group of hardy travellers was practically comatose (hey, sitting on a scenic railway really takes it out of you) and listlessly watching Eurosport in our Flam apartment. 10m platform diving is a scary event that is brilliant to watch because it is so accessible to the casual viewer. After 3 dives, everyone is an armchair expert on what level of splash is acceptable on any given dive and whether or not it's better to go for a complex dive with a 3.8 level of difficulty or for a simpler 3.2 level dive that you know you can nail. Matthew Mitcham, new Aussie hero, made the right choice when he absolutely dominated a triple-twisting back-double-somersault or some such similar combination to get the highest scoring dive in Olympic history and snatch the gold away from the home nation in the most dramatic fashion. It was pure sporting drama and shook us all out of our lethargy. Nice one Matt!

New painting

After a short hiatus to refresh and regain some creative inspiration, I've started painting again. What's more, I've left dots behind to revisit my white lines phase. This one here now proudly graces the wall of Meredith's bedroom.

Investment opportunities up north

I always thought that Australia was a land of opportunity, but it's got nothing on Scotland. I was there on the weekend and to all those youngsters out there hoping to strike it rich, I say take the next train to Aberdeen via the 'Burgh and you won't be sorry. In the short 48 hours I spent in town, shuffling along Princes St and the Royal Mile, I spied a bagful of excellent investment opportunities. I'll mention just a few of them here:

• Fashion. Scottish people love clothes (they keep you warm, don't you know) but they seem to lack imagination when manufacturing them. A cursory glance along the shops on the Royal Mile illustrates this fact. Everything's made out of tartan. Kilts, sure, they're obvious tartan territory. But formal wear (including ball gowns), sleep wear, casual wear (including a surprisingly wide range of mini skirts, all made in larger sizes to accommodate the natural girth of bonnie northern lassies) and just about any other type of wear you can think of, is also sold exclusively in tartan fabric. My suggestion: open up a cloth factory and show the Scottish public that black is the new, well, tartan.
• Furniture. The dominant architectural feature of Edinburgh is a grand castle that sits on a hill overlooking the city, looking very regal and impressive. Lit up by flames at night, it's a stirring sight and a magnificent setting for the Edinburgh military tattoo. In fact, I think it's one of the most impressive city landmarks I've seen, except for one thing - the inside is pretty shit. I mean, really, we poked around inside the castle for a couple of hours without really uncovering anything even vaguely impressive. The living quarters looked particularly drab and I wouldn't have been surprised to see a 1950s TV set in the corner, with a set of rabbit ears antennas and a small plaque saying "Here did Mary Queen of Scots watch Coronation Street of an afternoon." Home renovation shows are big down south, but obviously haven't made it to Edinburgh castle yet - bring on the reality TV I say, the Scots obviously need some inspiration. I have to admit that the regimental museum of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards was a bit more impressive. In particular, I enjoyed a diorama depicting desert warfare during WWII, which showed a Scottish soldier bravely identifying and then fighting off a German tank using only a metal detector (without the detector the tank no doubt would have caught them completely by surprise). I also enjoyed reading that the tremendous wartime success of the Guards can be attributed to four qualities: (1) Communication (2) Teamwork (3) Courage and (4) Weapons. I think (4) is particularly significant.
• Children's toys. Meredith and I were the only visitors in Edinburgh last weekend that weren't part of a hen night or stag do. We were also the only ones not dressed up in costume (naughty nurses, devils and angels, escaped convicts and chasing policemen abounded). Thoughtfully, most of the hens identified themselves to the world by wearing pink sashes, halos and L plates. Equally thoughtfully, most of the stags identified themselves by drinking copious amounts of ale and marking the pavement with their vomit. During one 15 minute stretch late on Saturday night on Cowcross St, we were counting hens/stags at a rate of one per minute. Over 48 hours in Edinburgh, that makes 2880 people getting married soon. Our anecdotal evidence suggests that the vast majority of these people are extremely randy. Ergo, in 9 months there should be a proliferation of babies being born in Scotland and a consequent rush on baby toys. If you are a Scottish manufacturer of rattles, there are happy days ahead.

Magnetic Fields

Since I barely listen to the radio any more, it's getting a little harder to hook into good new music. Or any new music in fact. Did anyone else realise that Coldplay has just released a new album? Luckily I know a lot of people with good musical taste, including Meredith, who slipped me a compilation of songs by the Magnetic Fields with a nod and a wink that clearly meant "check out this band, they're hot, so get into it". In the last couple of days I've listened to the CD six times and went to see the M Fields in concert last night and it's safe to say that I'm into it. They're brilliant. If a little strange. And dark. In a kind of light, bubbly sort of way. The concert was amazingly strange. The band came on stage dressed like they were just getting together to eat pizza and watch football on TV. Then they spent 10 minutes ranting about how the airline that flew them from Dublin that morning had lost all of their instruments so they were playing with all borrowed equipment. Then they explained that the audience wasn't allowed to clap or cheer except when the lead singer had his finger in his ear (he's damaged his hearing apparently and applause really messes him up) though we were at all times allowed to show our appreciation by clicking our fingers. Odd. But odder still was the selection of gently acoustic songs they played, including a song about a gargoyle that was inspired by a chihuahua and the occult and an unreasonably chirpy ditty about necrophilia. My advice? Get into it. My favourite M Fields song? If You Don't Cry. It's awesome.

Sucker

I like to think of myself as a sophisticated consumer with discerning taste. However, I seem to be the only one who thinks that way. Sainsbury's for example, clearly has me pigeon-holed as a sucker who will throw away cash at the sligthest provocation. Everything they try works on me. They discount a family size trifle to £1.69 - I say "bargain" and buy one for dinner. Half a litre of tasteless cream, custard and jelly (net value 12p) later, I feel ill and slightly poorer. They put Cadbury flapjacks on display near the checkout - I say "delicious" and buy one for the tube ride home. Twenty minutes later I feel full of rolled oats and vegetable fat and almost considering saving the trifle for breakfast instead of dinner. They put their special butchers sausages on sale on a 2 for 1 offer - I say "bring on the bangers" and plunge in. A week later, I'm still shovelling away pork and sage sausages for dinner and there's still a mountain of them left in my fridge. It would be easier if Sainsbury's just decided what they wanted to sell me and delivered it to my door each week, then I could pay by direct debit and cut down their transaction costs. I'm sure they're considering it ...

Good things come in fours

A quick wrap of the highlights of the past few weeks

Barthelona

Barthelona! What a town. My favourite European city so far. I love it. And I love that I love it. Even before I stepped on the plane at London City, I was expecting to enjoy Barcelona, as everyone I know who has been there before raves about it. And, of course, there is a small matter of Barcelona FC, the beating heart of Catalunian culture and long-time best friends with Dutch football (more about that later). My excuse for visiting this Mediterranean jewel was Huy's 30th birthday, an event that Huy micro-managed to perfection (Joyce - your position as top-dog organiser is under threat!). Arranging for 20+ people to fly in from around the world to celebrate your birthday is no mean feat and the fact he has such pulling power is testament to what a popular guy Huy is (despite my frequent attempts at slandering him in this blog). The weekend was just the best fun ever - gastronomic delights at La Boqueria market, shopping at hidden boutiques in the alleyways of the Born district, being transported to an underwater world in the Casa Botilo, the overwhelming flavour hit of the foams and other emulsions that pass for dinner at Hisop (actually, I think the restaurant was top class - great choice, Huy) and dancing the night away underneath a giant gorilla head at La Fira. What a weekend. I have to go back! Soon!

Holland 3 - Italy 0

Despite not having set foot in Holland for 15 years, having extremely minimal Dutch language skills and knowing very little about Dutch culture or history, my Dutch heritage is extremely important to me. Its fullest expression comes when watching the Oranje play football. Whenever the Oranje play, I go a little crazy - and the sight of the massed thousands of Dutch fans wearing orange shirts, clogs and clown wigs makes me well up with emotion. Usually, the overwhelming feeling I experience is disappointment (like when the Dutch conspired to lose the Euro 2000 semi-final against Italy by missing two penalties in normal time and two more in the shoot-out - I was travelling at the time and returning to my hostel dorm room to find it full of Italian supporters was one of the worst moments of my life) though there is the occasional highlight (Bergkamp's goal against Argentina in the 89th minute of the 1994 World Cup semi-final - incredible- you MUST watch it on youtube). Even outside the low lands, the Dutch are admired for the way they play the game - they're open, attacking, skilful, graceful and all those other complimentary adjectives I can't think of right now. Sure, they're also mentally fragile, prone to in-fighting and unfamiliar with the concept of defence, but for this I forgive them. And in their first game at Euro 2008 they repaid me by thumping the world champions by three goals. Apart from his first name, Wesley Sneijder is perfect.

Bec & Frank

Two of the best people I know, who happen to also be two of my closest friends, are now married. Sure it was inevitable from the moment Bec sacrificed years of sun worship to move to Dublin to be with Frank and was confirmed when they set up a joint "Bec & Frank" email account, but it's nice to make these things official by going through with the ceremony. In customarily diplomatic style, the couple chose neutral territory for the big event, and stepping off the plane onto Italian soil was a sweet moment, coming so soon after the Oranje humiliation of the Azzurri (see above). Not only was the venue non-partisan, it was also stunning. The ceremony was held at the Palazzo Publico in Siena, which is set against the stunning backdrop of Siena's famous town square (actually, it's shell-shaped, not square - but I could hardly describe it as the town shell). I can't think of a more beautiful place for a wedding. It was an intimate ceremony, punctuated by Frank's uncontrollable sobbing and Bec's cool detachment ... We all know now who wears the trousers in that relationship. After a brief interlude during which the couple were mobbed by snap-happy tourists / paparazzi taking pictures in the square, we all hopped on a party bus to Borgo di Fontebussi, a stunning villa / hotel set on a Tuscan hill side, overlooking olive groves, vineyards and rolling valleys. Amazing. Wonderful food, the world's most charismatic wedding singer (able to move from U2's "One", sung in a thick Italian accent, to "Figaro" and then to "Bohemian Rhapsody" with barely a pause, this guy was incredible) and mad cross-cultural dancing ... this wedding had it all. Congratulations again Bec & Frank!

Holland 4 - France 1

Holland's second game of Euro 2008 was inconveniently scheduled for the same time as dinner on the second night as Bec & Frank's wedding. OK, I admit that I thought about it for a bit, but in the end I got my priorities right ... I went to the dinner. But I politely excused myself every 15 minutes to check the score and then, after scoffing dessert, ran upstairs with a couple of the lads to watch the second half. What a game!!! After thrashing the World Cup champions, I didn't think we could back it up by dishing out another humiliation to the World Cup finalists, but somehow we did. In the words of the Dutch commentator, screamed repeatedly at a high pitch , "Ongeloofelijk!!!" It was an amazing game, punctuated for me by Arjen Robben's stunning solo goal from a tight angle that shut down any prospect of a French comeback. I watched with disbelief as we repeatedly shredded the French defence on the counter attack. Amazing, amazing, amazing. A match that will never be forgotten (at least not by me).