London Live

Back in Denmark. Already on the Stansted terminal shuttle I witness my fellow Danes practising the national sport, complaining. Since the train's on time, and there's plenty of seats, the only thing they can possible moan about it the fact that the gates are announced "so loud that even deaf people can hear it". Surely that's a good thing?

Getting into Kastrup airport, I'm as always impressed by the vast wooden floors and general tidiness and nice design, which gradually receeds as I move into less customised parts of Copenhagen.

The train mag has an interview with the clothes designer Malene Birger of the label Birger and Mikkelsen. She says she doesn't believe in compromises. I wonder if she's ever lived in the real world.

My dad says that over time you learn how to long for someone rather than miss them. I don't see the difference, I just feel like I'm missing a limb, because my boyfreind is not here with me. Perhaps he means that over time the limb groes out again, and then you merely long for that other person, but you can walk just fine without leaning on them.

I will try to sleep now, though I have no idea how to fall asleep on my own.

Don't know how I will survive in Denmark without

- English humour
- strong low grade tea with tons of milk
- multiculturalism
- speaking English
- BBC and Channel 4
- Politeness
- my English friends

Don't know how I survived for so long in England without

- rye bread
- salty licorice
- the Danish welfare state
- equal gender roles
- riding my bike
- speaking Danish
- my Danish friends and family

It was only by chance that I suddenly found myself at a Carroll Thompson and Janet Kay gig at Jazz Café in Camden this Saturday, but I really enjoyed letting my inner middle-aged women out singing along to “Three little birds” “If you knew how much you I loved you” and other lovers rocks classics.

It was actually a relief to two step and sing along for once, instead of nodding my head knowingly to some electronic fusion, jumping and stepping like mad to prove that you CAN enjoy techno and house without drugs, doing cool boogie moves to jazz, shaking my hair to a be-pimpled guitar band or shaking my bum to R&R – am I the only one who’s knees hurt after a whole night of R&B?

When Janet Kay said “next time, bring you teenage kids, and show them some music with love in, cos there’s not enough loooove in the new music, no there’s not enough loooooove” I knew I was in the right place. I’ll be an excellent middle-aged woman.

Then a guy behind me grabbed my bum and kind of ruined the magic. That would never have happened in a place where everyone’s to cool, too fucked, or too serious to admit they have sexual urges. But still, it’s all in the name of love.

Just as we thought Big Brother’s days of generating headlines was over, a row over racist remarks made in Celebrity Big Brother has got the British Nation in its grip.

The Big Brother veteran Jade Goody, S-club Seven wash-up Jo O’Meara and footballer’s girlfriend Danielle Lloyd has been bullying the Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty inside the house, oblivious to the controversy raging over their behaviour in the outside world. The controversy has now escalated to the point where Indians are burning Channel 4 banners in the streets, and the complaints over racism will be raised in parliament.

The controversy reveals two interesting things about British society:

1) Established Britain is predominantly middleclass white people, who are unaware of racism in the working class.

Everybody is acting surprised, and arguing that the show has uncovered a hidden and secret problem with racism. However, to anyone who’s not white and has lived in England for more than 2 seconds, the problem is certainly not hidden.

2) The media has a frighteningly big influence on politicians and the public.

A rubbish TV show put the issue of racism on the political agenda faster than a thousand campaigners, parties or interest groups could ever have done.

And who benefits the most from all this controversy? Channel 4, whose ratings have gone through the roof, and who’s expecting a record number of calls for tonight’s eviction, which has cleverly been painted as the ultimate duel between tolerance and racism:

If you want to show that Britain is not racist, call to evict Jade -– and pay the 50p call charge.

If you’re a racist (although we of course don’t believe we have any racist viewers) then call to evict Shilpa – and pay the 50p call charge.

Well, here’s an alternative: If you are fed up with the media manipulating the political debate in order to make money, then don’t call at all.

The media has already made it clear that they disapprove of Jade’s racist comments, and will rip her to shreds when she comes out.

The best thing the viewing public can do is to spend their goodwill fighting racism in real life, and showing channel 4 that it cannot abuse a sensitive issue to make money.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6275363.stm

The Daily Express, also known as The Diana Express, is a rare example of journalistic persistence.

The paper has faithfully continued to deliver news about Princess Diana from beyond the grave, to the Diana-starved public. In 2006 alone, the paper devoted its front page to Princess Diana 46 times. The tiny detail that she has been dead for 10 years cannot stop the papers undying love for her and her ability to sell papers.

If only all papers were that dedicated to the causes closest to their hearts: The Independent could put a picture of a melting ice cap or a starving child on the front page every day, The Daily Telegraph a picture of an old man kissing Maggi Thatcher’s feet, The Guardian a picture of a funky new art gallery and The Sun simply a pair of big breast.*

Life and buying papers would be so much simpler.

Here’s some of the best Diana headlines from 2006:

DIANA DEATH 'WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT’

WHY DIANA WOULD HAVE LOVED KATE MOSS by her most trusted aide

DIANA: Princess predicted her own 'murder' time and time again in the two years before her death, says the official report

DIANA: SCANDAL OF BODY MIX-UP

The day Diana helped bury a baby's body in the palace garden

DIANA: We reveal the truth about her wedding plans in the days before her crash

THE DIANA DOSSIER: Chaos, mystery and cover-up

The truth about Diana's amazing wedding dress


*Info for Danish readers

The Daily Express = similar to BT

The Independent = similar to Information

The Daily Telegraph = similar to Berligske

The Guardian = similar to Politiken

The Sun = similar to Ekstra Bladet

Who thinks Columbo is sexy? Am I the only one who finds his intelligent eyes, ruffled hair and humour attractive? Ok, so he’s a little old, but if I were a woman in my 40ies, I would go for him anytime. With coffee breath, boiled egg habit and everything.

After spending a night with a friend of mine and witnessing her unhappy life, mainly caused by an unhappy relationship, I shared my expert knowledge in this area with another friend:

“It’s so hard to get out of a bad relationship, because your feelings are so tangled up; You’re too proud to admit it has failed, you still love the guy in some bizarre way, you start to see the arguments and problems as normal, you give up trying to change things, you still hope that the wonderful feelings you had for each other to begin with, will return, and it becomes difficult to see where the relationship ends and you begin”.

But it is hard to know when a relationship is dead, and you can end up burying it alive, or even worse, waking up one day and realising that you have slept with a corpse for months.

So, here’s my idea of a relationship health-check:

1) Do you laugh more than you argue?
2) Do you help each other achieve you goals?
3) Do you share your vision for the future?
4) Can you imagine growing old together?
5) Does your partner make you feel good about yourself?
6) Do you feel optimistic about your future together?
7) Are you determined to solve arguments as soon as possible?
8) Do you respect you partner?
9) Does your partner respect you?
10) Does your partner still turn you on?
11) Do you still think your partner is the best catch around?
12) Do you trust your partner?
13) Does your partner trust you?
14) Are you friends and family positive about the relationship?
15) Are you okay when it comes to discussions about money?
16) Do you wear each other’s underwear?

Results:

1-4 Yes answers: This relationship is dead, its stench is clouding you mind, and dragging the corpse around is bringing you down.

5-8 Yes answers: This relationship is ill, and it’s up to you whether you want to spend the time and energy nursing it back to health, let it die slowly, or give it the final blow.

9-12 Yes answers: This relationship has caught a cold, but don’t worry, it’s nothing a bit of TLC, dedication and believe wont heal.

13-16 Yes answers: This relationship is in such a good shape it could run a marathon........Do you really wear each others’ underwear?

I used to feel quite safe walking alone at night in London, but since a man was stabbed to death a couple of roads away from my house, I have become more careful.

After 11pm, I have been known to pick up bricks or sticks I find in the street, to defend myself against lurking rapists and muggers. I'm not sure if I could really punch someone in the face with a brick, but it makes me feel better.

So when I spotted a hoodie-clad guy walking behind me Friday night, I felt safe in the knowledge that I was clutching an old broomstick.

My fear of hoodies is, as most fears, largely unfounded and illogical: My boyfriend wears hooded tops all the time, but then, I might not have given him a chance if I'd met him in the street late at night.

I kept turning around to make sure that the suspicios looking guy was still at a safe distance. Turning around to check for the fifth time, the man waved at me and shouted ..........................


"Don't worry, I'm not a rapist".

Things I will miss about London

- crossing at red lights in the middle of a big chunk of pedestrians
- the view over the river from the café at the top of Tate Modern
- pigeons
- buskers
- Hampstead Heath
- protests over unknown problems
- there’s always a party somewhere
- improvised nights out
- concerts
- galleries
- Camden, Portobello, Borough and Spitalfields markets
- late shop opening times
- Topshop and American Apparel
- English films without annoying subtitles
- great and cheap newspapers and magazines
- food from all over the world
- Starbucks (sorry ethical reader,but their ginger latte is just too good)
- quirky little book and music stores
- people actually standing to the right on escalators
- meeting so many different types of people
- saying “bloody ‘ell” and “Sor’ed” without irony
- being reminded how much bigger the world is
- nobody asks you why you moved abroad or how long you’ve been here
- nobody asks about your family
- no one wants to hear why you’re 20 minutes late every morning,
they assume its because of delayed public transport, even if its isn’t.


Things I won’t miss about London

- paying a fortune for living in a shoebox
- pick pockets
- no bakeries
- expensive public transport
- advertising on every surface
- money obsession
- career obsession
- anorexia epidemic
- celebrity obsession
- drugs
- nobody asks you why you moved abroad or how long you’ve been here
- nobody asks about your family
- People not apologising for pushing/me pushing and people getting angry
- the temptation to spend three hours in Primark again,
only to conclude there's a reason it's so cheap
- seeing friends rarely, due to hecticness and long transport
- long working days
- packed commuter trains
- stress

"Those who know about such things say that travel is of vital importance to shaping the mind, but one does not need to be an intellectual luminary to know that minds, how ever well-travelled, need to come back home now and then, because only there can they achieve and maintain a reasonable satisfactory sense of self". (Jose Saramago, "The Cave")

I think this is true.

All the migrants that I meet, both voluntary immigrants and refugees, seem to be unable to escape a sense of detachedness, a sense of missing something, like an arm or a leg.

It is definitely possible to create an identity as an "immigrant", a foreigner who enjoys the privilege of having access to two cultures, but suffers from being an eternal outsider.

But it is my impression, that no matter how much you emerge yourself into your new country, you always carry inside you this whole, this longing for your home.

Travelling and living abroad is one of the best ways to expand your mind, but living permanently in another country, or being an eternal traveller is a whole different ball game.

I've decided to start blogging in English, so more people can understand what I write. I might occassionally write a post in Danish, but I will try to stick to English for now.

I started blogging in Danish, because I am moving back to Denmark soon, and I wanted to improve my Danish writing . But I realised that my Danish is fine, it is only my mind which has changed, not my language.

And even though it is a lovely language, there's just not that many people who understand it.

However, i would like to invite Danish readers to write comments in Danish, if they feel more comfortable doing that.

I hope that Danish readers don't mind, and that English readers may learn some things abot the little fairytale country Denmark, when I move back there in about 2 weeks time.

"What do you know about fruit?” asks the old man, who is hanging by the fruit stall, and looks like he spends more time on fruit when it's fermented than when it's fresh.

What do I know about fruit?

“I know this orange is too soft” I say, and feel strangely obliged to reply.

“Too soft, that’s what you know?” his shoulders are shaking with laughter, and he sways dangerously towards the bananas.

For some strange reason, I feel deeply incompetent for not coming up with a better answer, and laugh apologetically, while I quickly pack the squashy oranges., and hurry over to the till.

“Get some kiwis, lady, they’re good for the blood” he shouts after me.

Are kiwi’s good for the blood?

Hunting for sale bargains in Selfridge’s home-department, a champagne sable takes me back to New Years Eve:

My boyfriend and I arrive pretty drunk to the third party of the night, where most of the guests are highly educated, most in the medical profession, and at this point, mostly pretty drunk too.

It always strikes me, how the upper class, who is thriving in Denmark, despite the fact that they do not exist according to the Danish people's self-image, enjoy letting the mask of politeness fall when they get drunk.

Amongst loosened bow ties, crunched up dresses and night-food game and cakes, a man with a mission shows up: He wants to show off his muscles to my boyfriend, but in good company you can't just roll up your sleeves, so he drags him into the kitchen and chops the heads of a couple of champagne bottles.

Then he takes my surprised boyfriend in his strong arms, and proclaims that the Danish Queen (God bless her) has asked the Danish people to embrace the foreigners amongst them, in her New Years Speech. All Danish people watch this speech at 6'0 clock on New Years Eve it's a tradition, I believe that even the anrkists in the notorios "Ungdomshus" put down their bricks to receive the pearls of wisdom she gathered in 2006. For once I am happy that my boyfriend hasn't learned Danish yet, and I quickly embrace the friendly muscle man, to stop him from talking. This results in a football-esque group hug and loud cheers, but I only have a small sip of champagne, cos I'm afraid there's glass splinters in it.

Vi er paa vej hjem i toget, og han spoerger hvad jeg syne som de abstrakte Braque malerier paa Tate - jeg kan overhovedet ikke huske et eneste af de efter sigende geniale malerier. Tilgengaeld kan jeg recitere Jenny Holzer's truisms udenad, som var vist paa en lysavis i den samme udstilling:

"Fathers often use too much force" - "Grass root agitation is the only HOPE" -"Expring for love is beautiful but stupid" - "Eating too much is criminal" -"Dreaming while awake is a frightening contradiction" -

(se hele vaerket her http://mfx.dasburo.com/art/truisms.html)

Han har slet ikke lagt maerke til installationen.

Ord fanger mig altid, men jeg nyder et maleri et kort oejeblik, saa glemmer jeg det igen.

Kan man mon vaere lige dele ord og billed menneske, eller har vi alle en tendens til at forstaa livet med en saek bogstaver eller en farvepalet?

Modtog denne mail fra en af mine kolleger, efter dagens moede hvor nye tiltag i firmaet blev introduceret, som kun ville kunne gennemfoeres i en KZ lejer. Fem minutter efter moedet var alle igang med at lede efter jobs online.

Dear director, boss and HR person, Michael Jackson, Satan and anyone else who like to fuck boys in the ass,

It is with great regret that I have to tender my resignation.
I've been offered a job as a fluffer on a porn set during the day, and a chimney sweep at night, and I feel it's just too good to turn down.
I would love to stay here and continue my career in this industry, but the working conditions up a chimney and a seedy basement in Soho are just a little more attractive.

I can't say it's not been enjoyable here. I've made enough money to eat half a tin of beans a night for 20 days a month, and the days when I don't eat, I would always fantasize about what hard-working people like the directors and managers of this world were feasting on. So thanks for that visual stimulation.

Perhaps one day, when I've swallowed enough semen and soot, I'd consider returning, though the fact i actually get to take my lunch break at my new employers might just swing it for them.

Once again, my apologies for leaving. It's been a pleasure getting absolutely fucked over by you for the last 6 months. I only hope you find someone as stupid as me to replace me.

Yours sincerely,

Your employee

Brug endelig denne mail som kladde, hvis du har lyst til at oedelaegge dine fremtidige jobmuligheder, og smaekke med doeren bag dig. Heldigvis har jeg allerede sagt op, og har kun to uger tilbage her i sweatshoppen.

Da jeg var barn, ville jeg helst sove med doeren til mit vaerelse lidt paa klem, saa jeg kunne hoere mine foraeldres stemmer fra stuen og gangen, hundens kloer paa parketgulvet, doere der aabnede og lukkede, daempet aktivitet, som et boelgeslag til mine droemme.

Den slags tryghed og lykke kan stadig opstaa. Hvor jeg tavst lytter til stemmerne og latteren fra mennesker som jeg ved holder af mig, uden at foele det noedvendigt at deltage I samtalen. Uden at foele at det er noedvendigt at imponere nogen, eller blande mig for at skabe en god stemming. Et oejeblik af fuldstaendig balance, som en draabe.