Bruc'ern, I løv ju!!

We spent last night at a Bruce Springsteen concernt. The tickets for Valle Hovin concert arena was sold out in an hour back in December, but luckily we still managed to get some tickets and went along in the rainy summer night.

The only vague memory I have of the Boss as a kid was my dad having him as one of his favourite artists, Bruce and Kim Larsen that is, and we definitively played more of Kim Larsen when we drove across Europe in the 90s. But, whenever you have the chance to "rocke foten" with 40 000 others you'd be stupid to miss the opportunity.

By the time we'd reached Helsfyr it was easy to understand we weren't the only ones going, the train was packed by 40-somethings who'd gotten a babysitter for the night and was ready to re-live the youth of their own. The weather was gloomy and the Stormberg-jackets plenty, but the spirits were high - high. We found a nice spot to the left of the stage, next to a couple named Sissel and Rune. Sissel was probably 55 at least, and she'd been to every Bruce concert she could remember, and she was going to both concernt Springsteen had in Oslo this time around, a true fan. She had her five Hansa-beers in a handy carrypack, who only let her down by spilling the last beer on top of her shoes in the middle of Atlantic City, but that didn't matter, it was Rune's beer anyway. Sissel and her friend Helle in bright green jacket went on a long trip down memory lane and could come up with some quite intricate stories about their previous encounters with Bruce. Now they'd settle for just seeing him and there was no fighting to be invited back to his hotel room. Though I'd doubt you'd have to ask them twice if they got the chance.

The arena went to a standstill when The River was on its way and you could see teary-eyed mums remembering back to the times of no dirty laundry or noisy kids. Half of the audience probably made their offspring to this song, and you could see more than one pair of hands grasping for its better half.

The papers had all forecasted rain and storm, but as Brucie got onto the stage it was like the skies cleared just over Valle Hovin, not even the weather god(esse)s could stand the charm of the Boss and as the summer had to come to Oslo at one stage, why not now?

Jonas and the whale

I had a dream last night about Norway's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Jonas Gahr Støre. He was sitting at a bench in a park and I was standing right in front of him trying to say something, but was constantly being interrupted by a derelict walking around with an old cup of coffee and a paper plate with sigarette butts on it. I had a lot of things I wanted to say to Jonas, he's a cool man, one of the tabloids just gave him the best grade of all the politicians in the current government. If Norway were to become a republic he'd be one of the few suited for a president. Jonas was just sitting there smiling at me with kind eyes, as if to encourage me to say what I wanted but I didn't manage. I know it was something important, and I know he'd help me with what I had on my heart, but before I got any further I woke up. Now I've spent half the day thinking about what I would actually have said if I'd met him one day.