Eight and a half quid a pint!

I was invited to take part in a race in a really far away place in June next year and so that's how I found myself on my way back to Oslo in September - a place in a strange country called Norway. After a brief stopover to re-acquaint myself with that pesky Ski Jump that I was hoyed off last December I flew with the Half Share to a place called Tromso. Its some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle and so flippin' remote is it that they lift £8.50 off you every time you want a pint of beer!

I was there to check out the training facilities for my proposed visit next June to take part in the Midnight Sun Marathon. The race takes place at a time of year when there's sun right round the clock. Now that might seem attractive to you - but to me it just isn't natural.

Look. Day is day; and night is night. And the good Lord made it easy for us to tell the difference between the two of them by making one of them dark. No wonder these Norwegian persons seem to spend their lives in a permanent state of intoxication - if it doesn't get dark, how in God's name do you know when it's time to go home?

(Above) me and the Half Share in a canoe. We found out that your man here has a lot in common with canoes. we both tip well.
Anyway we did a bit of canoeing in the Fjords, a couple of boat trips and all in all enjoyed having a jolly good sniff around the place. Your man here was just getting to like the place though when I had a bit of an altercation with the local bobby.

It all started innocently enough when I decided to hire a motor and go for a little drive. I was pootling along minding my own business when I was pulled in by the rozzers. Apparently, the nitwit said, I'd failed to stop at a stop sign. But whilst I hold my hands up to not stopping per se - I explained that I'd slowed down sufficiently for it to make no difference at all. There then followed a ridiculous argument about the difference between stopping and slowing down - with me insisting there was no difference.

And that's when it got nasty. The bobby only went and got out his truncheon and started beating my round the head with the stick - and let me tell you, it damn well hurt. After he'd rained down about twenty blows he stopped, held the truncheon above my head and said "Now then, would you like me to stop? Or to slow down?".

It was at that point that I understood his point of view.

Despite that rather violent experience, the place is a top notch destination though - and your man here is really looking forward to returning in 2008 for a bash at running at night in the light.


Keep on tapering.

Ron