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Piece of Cake

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*Sunrise/sunset: 04:27 / 21:10. Daylength: 16hr 43min.

It’s always an advantage in a new job to make a good first impression and so I arrived on my first day determined to do just that. I am working for Mattilsynet, which is the Norwegian Food Safety Authority. Mattilsynet has a wide remit. As well as working to ensure Norwegian food and drinking water are safe, Mattilsynet oversees all aspects of food production from farm or fjord right to the point of eating. People in Norway will be familiar with Mattilsynet’s Smiley Faces that indicate that the kitchen in the restaurant you’re about to eat in is clean.

My new boss, Hilde, welcomed me into the office at 8am, and introduced me to some of the other staff. Everyone seemed very friendly and the day began with coffee – which took me back years to working in large animal practice in Scotland. The surroundings were much brighter and more modern though, which will be important in winter. As well as the friendly critter at the top of the page, the office has a massage chair, attractive pictures of local scenes and on that Wednesday, in honour of my beginning, there was a large chocolate cake!

There is always a lot to remember when you start a new job and this one was no exception. I was soon knee deep in complicated Norwegian words about how national and local government works, but Hilde had put together a very comprehensive introductory programme to work through, which was reassuring.

The start of day two was marginally embarrassing. I had been given an electronic key fob thing to get in the door… and I had forgotten it. One of my new colleagues let me in with a smile and it was quickly pushed aside. More complicated Norwegian and a lesson in how to book one of the office cars followed and I made up my mind that on day three, all would go to plan and nothing would go wrong.

Met this little family as I walked home from work.

I had decided to walk in on the third day. One of my aims is to get out and about more and it seemed like a good way to start the morning. I set out at seven to walk down and arrived about half an hour later, feeling pleased with myself. I had remembered everything today – the little electronic fob was in my pocket and the sun was almost shining.

It was dark inside when I opened the office door. I was slightly surprised as I hadn’t expected to be the first there quite so soon. Still, I remembered that Hilde had explained that I shouldn’t turn on the main lights if I arrived first as some of my colleagues liked to have a nice peaceful start to the day. I knew there was an alarm system, but it hadn’t gone off, so I assumed there was someone around. I took a step further into the building and realised my mistake as the bleep, bleep of the alarm system kicked in.

Despite not knowing the code, I still felt very calm. Hilde had sent me a message about getting in the day before I started work, so I put my coat and bag down on the floor, pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled quickly up. But though there was a message about getting in, it was about accessing the computer system, not the door.

My heart was beating a little faster now, but I reminded myself it could all be sorted out. All I had to do was call Hilde, but the bleeping was accelerating and within moments, it was wailing loudly enough to deter even the most determined of thieves.

Though I couldn’t remember any code, one thing I did remember was Hilde telling me that if there was an accident with the alarm, there was a phone number on the keypad and in order to stop any further action (I presume it may be linked to the police, or some kind of security firm) I had to speak to someone. Taking a deep breath, I typed the number into my phone. I could call Hilde afterwards, I thought. Better that than having someone rush out and then charging a fee. I put the phone to my ear and could hear nothing due to the screech of the alarm. I would just step outside the door, I thought. Then I could have a conversation. I could remember what I had to say. I could sort all this out and still be sitting at my desk by the time Hilde came.

To my relief, the call was answered quickly and I explained what had happened. The noisy alarm went off and with a sigh of relief, I ended the call and returned to the door… which of course had locked itself behind me. I reached into my pocket… only to realise that I had put down my jacket and bag and everything I was holding on the floor. The little electronic fob was now inside the building and I wasn’t.

Walking back out into the open air, I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone. There was nothing left to do but wait. 

So much for good first impressions! Only day three, and so far, I hadn’t managed to get into the building without assistance. Fortunately Hilde arrived first, and if she thought I was an idiot, she didn’t let on.

And despite all that, my new job shows every sign of being every bit as interesting as I hoped when I first read the advertisement. One of the tasks in my comprehensive introductory programme was to look through my colleague’s calendars, see what they are doing, and perhaps ask if I can go along with them to find out more about what they do. The most interesting item I found was tantalisingly entitled Status Bjørn, so I decided I would ask about it next time we had coffee.

Despite the interesting title, I was half expecting Status Bjørn might be a boring exercise, or similar, but I listened in amazement as Hilde explained that there was a bear in the region, which unfortunately has got a taste for eating the local sheep. Moreover, she is a mother bear with two large cubs. Shooting her is not an option and so the only possibility is to sedate both her and her young and move them to another area where there aren’t any farms for her to raid. This is, however, a very complicated exercise, and one that Mattilsynet, in the shape of Hilde and Thomas (another colleague) are involved in to ensure animal welfare is prioritised.

So there you go. It’s only my opinion I know, but I don’t think veterinary work gets much more exciting than that. Next week I will be doing some work in the slaughterhouse, which is less romantic, but equally essential. Making sure an animal is treated well is just as important at the end of its life as it is at the beginning. And so here I am, aged 51… and on the cusp of what is looking like an interesting and challenging new career.

Wish me luck!

*I thought I should add in sunrise/sunset times and day length at the start of each post. It’s already changing fast and I want to give a sense of that.

 

Brownie

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We arrived at our new apartment late last Saturday. Arriving without Kiwi was a sad blow, but we set to and unpacked first the car and then began on the boxes, which had arrived several days earlier.  We hadn’t seen the flat before. Due to coronavirus and lack of time, we had only seen pictures and a film that Jørn Inge and Ann Helen (our new landlords) had made for us. It turned out to be everything we hoped for and more. This is a picture taken from the back garden – a view we can see from the dining table and the sofa.

Of course, as we’re in Norway, we couldn’t do any shopping on Sunday. There are strict laws here about Sunday opening. John had suggested that we should make life as easy as possible by having washing baskets in everyone’s room (does anyone else have a sock monster that unpairs all their socks and eats half of them?) and of course, as Susie was now alone, we had to think about a new companion for her.

We managed to find a television on Finn. Finn is the go-to website in Norway. Finn literally means find, and you can find almost anything there from jobs to houses, travel tickets to stuffed animals, and even a date, if you feel that way inclined. We drove out to the house of the people who were selling the television and noticed again, as we drove, that there was still quite a lot of snow on the mountainside on the shaded side of the valley. In spite of the summer greenery, the thought leapt into my head that winter never really goes away here. Instead it temporarily retreats into the mountains with the summer sun.

Sunday passed and Monday came round and all the shops were open again. With thoughts of a new guinea pig, we careered round the necessary tasks with a happy end goal in mind. Though I am reluctant to buy pets from a pet shop, there had been an absolute dearth of local guinea pigs on Finn, and so we had decided to buy a baby.

We were aware that it might be hard to find things in Finnsnes. The population is under 5000 – though it is quite spread out. What hadn’t entered our heads was that the rather lovely pet shop would have quite so few animals. There were fish in aquariums, but the small furries section seemed to be filled exclusively with dwarf rats. When we asked after guinea pigs, we were told it was likely they might not have a female guinea pig for a long time.

We retreated home, feeling a little bruised. We had been looking forward to choosing a new friend for Susie, but what now? I rechecked Finn. There were no guinea pigs in the area. Not for hundreds of miles. In desperation, we searched for pet shops a little further afield. Tromsø is a little over two hours away. I didn’t particularly want to start driving again, but Susie seemed sad, so finding her a new friend was a priority.

The pet shop in Tromsø looked good online, but with our recent experience high in my thoughts, I decided to call the shop before we drove all that way. I was glad I did. They had three female guinea pigs… and two of them were already reserved. Feeling breathless, I put a reservation on the last female guinea pig in Tromsø and then headed off to walk Triar.

And so, on Tuesday, we drove to Tromsø and brought home a new addition to our family. This gorgeous little critter is Brownie and she’s a real livewire.

My younger son, Andrew, arrived on Wednesday. He’ll be going to school here in Finnsnes, but that doesn’t start until next week. I began work on the same day and so far, everything bodes well, but more on that in my next post. For now, I will leave you with some pictures from the Polar Park, which as well as being the home of the Worcester Red Socks (as I discovered when I did an online search) is the world’s most northern animal park. Well worth a visit!

There are three baby bears in the park at present. This one was very curious.

The reindeer were running loose and seemed unafraid as they passed us.

The animal enclosures were extensive. These elk were enjoying the brief appearance of the sun.

Arctic fox with his summer coat.

 

And all set against a wonderful backdrop of steep mountainsides and rushing rivers.

Lofoten… and a Viking Ship

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Lofoten is a wonderful place to visit. We had a pleasant day exploring, and even managed to fit in a trip on a replica Viking ship. Lofotr museum was fun. As well as sailing around the lake, we tried archery and axe throwing. We didn’t sample the lapskaus cooking in the cauldron outside, but it was interesting to see inside the reconstruction of a Viking chieftain’s longhouse.

The ship we sailed in was a replica of the Gokstad ship that is in the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo. She went surprisingly well. I was interested to see that unlike the yachts I have sailed in before, which had a boom that swung across, the sheet hung before the mast, forward on one side and further back on the other. When we went about, it was pulled forward on on the other side. She had ballast under the boards – lots of rocks to keep her stable. The guide explained that if she capsized, the rocks fell out and the boat didn’t sink. Not much of a problem when the ballast was stone, less good on the voyage home after a raid on Scotland, when the rocks had been replaced with whisky.

Having looked at the weather forecast, we knew the grey skies were to clear in the afternoon, and so we drove down to Å, at the southernmost tip of the island.  There were mountains and lakes, fjords and islands, but for now, I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

Reine

Reine

Moskenesøya
Moskenesøya

Moskenesøya

Moskenesøya

Å, Moskensøya

And now our journey to the north was almost over, but our new life is just beginning.

More soon, kind friends.

 

 

 

Beauty and Sadness

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I had hoped this would be a happy post: the triumphant arrival… journeys end and all’s well, but it was not to be.

Friday began with a giggle. As part of Triar’s training, if I find him chewing on something he shouldn’t, I take it off him and give him something delicious instead. The unintended result is that he likes finding things to chew, not simply because he enjoys doing that, but because he can exchange them for food.

We were staying in an apartment near Gravdal, Lofoten for two nights and already he had brought me a tiny plastic knight from a travel chess set and two rather ornate clothes pegs with days of the week written on them, which I assumed he had found on the floor.

View of the apartment garden… and beyond.

I was somewhat surprised when I found him mouthing a third peg. I knew there was a basket of them in the bathroom, but they were too high up for him to reach and anyway the bathroom door was closed.

I was eating breakfast when I caught sight of movement in the corner of my eye. Triar was standing next to the fridge, moving very slowly, ears down in definite stealth mode. As I watched, he reached out gently and took something  into his mouth. I put down my plate and walked over to see what he had and laughed out loud. It was another of the ornate pegs, which were magnetised on one side. Obviously he had found a wonderful source of cleverly disguised fridge decoration, for which he knew I would pay him in food… which of course I did.

We spent the day driving round the southern end of Lofoten with Triar. As we were staying two days, Kiwi and Susie the guinea pigs stayed in the flat for a day off. I have lots of photos, which I will share with you tomorrow. But today’s blog is dedicated to Kiwi.

She was an old lady when we set out. I knew the journey was a risk before we left, but the early stages had gone smoothly. She and Susie seemed so much at home in the car, strolling out and eating as we drove, that I had almost forgotten to worry. I had noticed, back in the cozy hytte a couple of days earlier, that one of her eyes looked watery, but as she was still eating and drinking, and there was very little discharge, I pushed the tiny twinge of concern aside.

But on Friday, late in the evening, as I went to give them a last bit of salad before going to bed, I noticed she was making a strange noise. Every time she breathed out, there was a tiny grunt, and there was a definite effort that hadn’t been there before. We went outside and found her some dandelion leaves – always her favourite. She ate one, then seemed uninterested in taking more. We took her out of the cage and I encouraged her to take some vitamin C from a teaspoon.

She looked a little better on Saturday morning. We gave her more water and vitamin and this time she fought a little, as if she had more energy. The vet practice was closed, but we found a pharmacy not far from the flat which, to my relief, sold us some antibiotic mixture recommended by Guro, a wonderful vet from Tu who specialises in small furries.

We decided to make a run for home. It was only five and a half hours and we would stop a few times and syringe her some water. If I could get her home, and into her own cage with plenty of fresh air, I thought I could nurse her back to health.

It didn’t work out that way. By the time we took her out for the second time, I could see there was something far wrong. The brightness in her eyes was starting to fade and I’ve seen that look before. I wished I had thought to ask the pharmacist for some saline I could have given her under her skin, but even if I had done so, I couldn’t have warmed it up. We got back into the car, and she crawled into the little wooden house I had bought them last winter. Within a minute or two of setting off, she became very still.

By the time I found somewhere else to stop, she was gone. I took her out of her cage and held her a while at the side of the road with tears running down my face.

We left her there, among some beautiful flowers, halfway up a steep little valley. John held me for a moment. I was glad he was so calm. And then we drove on, and now there was no hurry to get home, and no little furry body to nurse and the happy arrival I had in my mind became instead a time of emptiness.

So tomorrow I will post the pictures of Lofoten, and the things we have done since we arrived here in Finnsnes. But this chapter is dedicated to Kiwi, a beautiful, calm, kind little guinea pig with a heart of gold. Goodbye little friend.

 

Circle of Light

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We reached the Arctic Circle yesterday. As you can see there was some snow, despite the fact that we are in the later stages of summer.

Our road trip is going well. I hadn’t mentioned it in my last blog, but we met Wivek and Trifli (Triar’s mum) and had dinner together the night before we stayed in Mo i Rana. Here’s the loving reunion (with apologies for the unromantic, muddy car park setting).

The road trip is going well, though repacking the car has proved to be somewhat traumatic. Up until two days ago, I had been cooking breakfast and washing up, and John had been cramming all our worldly goods back into the car, but I could see this arrangement was getting him down. He gladly took me up on my kind offer to swap. Since then, we’ve had a pistachio ice cream cone for breakfast one day and a slice of cheesecake this morning. No complaints from me!

The scenery was beautiful as we descended from the mountain where we had crossed into the Arctic Circle. Within the circle, in summer, there must be at least one day when the sun doesn’t dip below the horizon for 24 continuous hours.

Melting ice and snow rush down the mountainside, carrying their chilly waters into the valleys far below.

And in the valleys the flowers grow so tall they’re almost at head height. The sweet warmth of their scent is wonderful.

We stopped here for an impromptu shower…

…then shivered our way to a campsite on the edge of Fauske in the late afternoon sunshine. This is the view from the cabin where we stayed.

This morning we took a boat to the Lofoten Islands. For now, the mountains are swirling with mist, but I hope that tomorrow the weather will clear.

Goodnight again and thanks for reading.

Almost Arctic

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Does clearing and cleaning a house ever go fully to plan? It never has for me, and this time was no exception. Having loaded most of our worldly goods into the moving van the day before, we realised that we had wildly overestimated how many things we could fit in the car alongside a large dog cage and a guinea pig hutch. Not only that, but in a moment of wide-eyed horror, we discovered we had forgotten to empty the tumble drier. Inventive as ever, John piled the clothes into boxes, and the guinea pigs ended up on a pedestal. Unbowed and undeterred by the lateness of the hour, we set out at seven o’clock on Friday evening and drove to Flekkefjord.

We had stayed there back in February, with no idea that the world was about to be turned upside down. I also had no idea then that almost six months later we would use our knowledge of all the local back roads to find a place to camp.

Despite the long hours of daylight, it was well and truly dark before we began to set up our tents. Feeling our way around in the light of the car headlamps, we bent our tempers and several tent pegs, but finally everything was complete.

 

 

The green tent in the front housed me, my son John, and Triar the dog. He slept remarkably well. The blue tent housed… the guinea pigs, Kiwi and Susie. Clearly we were intent on camping decadence (although John’s allergy to hay might have played a small part in the decision). Washing hanging in the background gives a homely feel… but reflects the disorganisation that occurred when I put the washing machine onto a short cycle after work… quite forgetting the (still accidentally full) tumble drier took four hours and seven minutes that we didn’t actually have.

Before going to sleep, I went outside. Looking up through summer trees, the sky was bright with stars. A soft breeze cooled my skin. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle clank of a sheep bell sounded. Retiring into the tent, I lay down and felt Triar slip into place beside my feet.

Day two began well, with a walk in the sunshine. We realised though, as we repacked, that the complex jigsaw we had created the night before, slotting a guinea pig cage on top of boxes, would rapidly become untenable. Rolling down the back windows and dropping things in as they were raised was not a great long-term solution. We drove on to Kristiansand, looking out for a pet shop.

Spotting one, we parked in the shade and took Triar out of the car. We needed someone to charm the staff, and he seemed the most likely. We bought a new, smaller travelling cage for Kiwi and Susie, and with Triar’s inspirational waggyness, managed to persuade the staff to dispose of the old one.

It was something of a relief to find that Kiwi and Susie seemed perfectly happy in their new cage, as well as in the car. Indeed I can recommend a cavy road trip. Sitting at head height behind us has finally convinced them that we are mostly harmless.

I don’t have many photos of the early days of the trip. We made it as far as Oslo on Saturday, and found a place at a campsite. Although the lack of bedrocks was an advantage, there were far too many people around for my liking, not to mention a plague… of mosquitos. Eaten, but not discouraged, we drove on the next day to Trondheim, stopping only for some pastries, and then later to look at Ringebu Stave Church.

Unfortunately on Sunday evening, the fine weather began to break up. Clear skies were replaced with ominous clouds. Abandoning the tents seemed a good idea, but as we were turned down by potential rental hosts, one after the other, we began to despair of finding a roof over our heads to shelter from the impending storm.

We were rescued by a local schoolteacher. Sending us his phone number in a clandestine code (private lettings being forbidden by the website we were using) he offered us the use of his family hytte. Lots of Norwegians very sensibly have a weekend retreat situated less than an hour from home. We were a little nervous as we followed his car up the longest unmade track in the universe… after all, who knew if he was actually an axe-murderer? Scandinavian horror films must surely be based on something or other…

We needn’t have worried. He took us to the most wonderful cabin, complete with a turf roof, candles and a wood stove.

There was running water and electricity too… not always guaranteed. The composting toilet in the little shed out the back only added a little aromatice piquancy to the situation… but at least it was painted a very calming blue.

And Triar very much enjoyed the garden, even though it was still very wet by the next morning.

Though we were reluctant to leave, we dragged ourselves away this morning and turned back onto the E6 northwards. The southern farmlands gave way to tall pine trees. We spent the day driving through a forest that spread in every direction as far as they eye could see. The mountains grew higher too, wild and rocky as we drove up to Mo i Rana, where we are staying tonight in another rented house.

I’m not sure when I will be able to write again. I had hoped to update a little more often, but this evening is the first time I have had the magic combination of simultaneous electricity and internet.

It’s been a wonderful trip so far, and as we go further north, and the motorways near Oslo become a distant memory, we plan to take our time a bit more. After all, I don’t start work for a week… and there’s so much more to see. It all depends on the weather.

Tomorrow morning, we will reach the Arctic Circle. It’s all very exciting! But for now I have to go to bed.

Night all!

To The North!

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“Pure ‘Northernness’ engulfed me: a vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless twilight of Northern summer, remoteness, severity… and almost at the same moment I knew that I had met this before, long, long ago. …And with that plunge back into my own past, there arose at once, almost like heartbreak, the memory of Joy itself, the knowledge that I had once had what I had now lacked for years, that I was returning at last from exile and desert lands to my own country, and the distance of the Twilight of the Gods and the distance of my  own past Joy, both unattainable, flowed together in a single, unendurable sense of desire and loss….”  C.S.Lewis.

***

I wonder how life would have gone, were it not for COVID-19. I can recall the fascination I felt, back in late January or early February, searching on social media for information from Wuhan. I watched with interest: those alarming films of people dropping in the street, reading that China (of all places) had gone into a lockdown so tight that people were not allowed to leave their homes.

It filtered through to me, as I watched those posts unfold, that something big was happening, though back then I had little sense of impending doom. That came later, as the virus began to spread. One by one, day after day, new posters appeared at work, telling us how to cough, to wash our hands, to use gel as we entered, notices in Norwegian and English and several other languages I didn’t understand. The canteen shut and then the borders of the country: closed to anyone who didn’t live here.

And as I watched the figures fall in Norway, I watched them rise in the UK.

I miss my parents. That is undoubtedly the worst in all of this. I had been looking for a new job for a while with no success. But with spring, the realisation came that I was no longer tied to Rogaland for my son’s schooling. And in the midst of a wave of homesickness and fear for my parents, who by now were locked down themselves, with no obvious end in sight, the grand idea came to me that perhaps now was the time to return to the UK.

But it was not to be. Though I found a wonderful practice close to my parents, who wanted to employ me, they were unable to make me an offer. They had sold the practice a year earlier to one of the corporates, and the corporate had a moratorium on taking on new staff due to … coronavirus.

But by now anyway, the insanity of a move back to the UK was starting to hit me. With the increased border security, it was unlikely I would be able to get the dog into the UK, let alone the guinea pigs. Juggling quarantine requirements would mean I would have to find somewhere to stay when I returned to the UK. It would need to have furniture, as mine would take a while to arrive. Likely many shops were shut, and even if they weren’t, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to go. Quarantine with no bed and no TV…

In the midst of all this chaos, a job popped up in the North of Norway. Mattilsynet (the Norwegian equivalent of the UK Food Standards Agency) were looking for a vet. The duties were very wide ranging, as often happens in remote places. Lower population often results in less specialisation… and that has always suited me. Easily bored, I love doing different things. And so I applied.

The interview was tough. I’d had a few by then in Norwegian, but it didn’t get much easier. I’d applied for an old job that I’d done part time before, and had been turned down, I was told, on account of my language skills. This time round I was prepared for the type of question. I had even thought up some possible answers. But explaining the concept of working as part of the management team of a fast growing chain of emergency clinics, covering all the complaints without the expertise of the best (and only specialist) veterinary insurance company in the UK because my boss wanted to prove to them that we could manage without them, is not the easiest thing to translate, not least because veterinary emergency clinics are unheard of here.

Then there was a medical question about cattle. I was sent a text with a scenario and had to answer questions around it. Despite having ten minutes thinking time, I translated one of the words wrongly, and therefore gave a confusing as well as incorrect answer. I think it was at that point I considered just blurting out that there was no point in continuing, because it was obvious we were all wasting our time.

So I wasn’t particularly hopeful. Still, I had a job which was almost full time. We weren’t on the streets, or likely to be. And then, to my astonishment, a contract arrived. No explanation, no welcoming phone call: simply sign here if you want the job.

I signed it of course. It was so precious I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers. And then I contacted them about accommodation and about moving and about how I wouldn’t be able to start on the day that was written on the contract because, with the best will in the world, I couldn’t start there the same day I finished here, because there was 2000 km in between.

All that happened only three weeks ago. And in one week’s time, I will be driving north to take up my new post. It’s a thirty hour journey and I will be taking it with my son John, our dog Triar, and a pair of guinea pigs.

Triar – our wonderful Kooiker

We will be camping! I hope the weather holds. John is planning on walking and lake swimming. I’ve bought a new car to take us up there… well I say new. She’s seven years old, but my first BMW… all wheel drive. I wanted something that could tackle snow.

I am about to move up into the Arctic Circle: Land of midnight sun and interminable darkness.

And I hope to take you with me!

All Change

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Things have changed since I last posted. So much so that this is the first time I have been able to sit down and record it. On the calendar downstairs, back on the 24th March, written in pink felt-tip pen, is the name of my nearest veterinary clinic. To distract my mind from my echoing e-mail box, I had wandered in off the street and asked (in my best Norwegian) whether I could come in and “see practice”, just for a week or two. The smiling receptionist, looking bemused promised to get the boss to call me, and I left, feeling, to be honest, like a bit of a tit. After all, I could have made that contact over the phone couldn’t I? Still, later that day, I received the call, and at 9a.m. on Monday morning, I presented myself.

I confess that the first question confused me somewhat. Peering into a cupboard filled with uniforms, Kari Anna (practice nurse) asked me whether I was a small or a medium. How to reply? I was obviously neither. Promising me that the medium was VERY stretchy round the waist (yes but what about the bum?) she handed over the medium overalls and commanded me to change. Shovelling me into a pair of green clogs (more on those later) she started to show me things on the computer. Obviously it was all written in Greek… or maybe Latin. Actually I might have understood those bits, but the rest was a mystery. Being me, I set out to solve it, and armed with a trusty pen and a post-it note, I gradually began over the course of a fortnight to decipher the runes.

I also made some new friends. So much for the much-fabled Norwegian stand-offishness; we spent the next two weeks laughing. And on the Thursday of the second week, I was offered a job. Dagny, the scary boss lady said I should talk to my husband… who of course said “What are you waiting for. Get signed up immediately!” So I did, setting out to work two days a week. The past fortnight has been a whirlwind of bank accounts and tax office visits ( yup, I didn’t have the former and have never paid the latter here) and getting the paperwork together to try to get myself authorised to carry out veterinary work in Norway. Currently I’m working as an assistant, which suits me down to the ground as I am helping out without having to consult (without knowing all those crucial anatomical words) and in the meantime, I am gradually picking up more Norwegian, though there is the terrible temptation to revert to English, especially as some of the clients immediately start to chat to me when they find out where I am from.

It’s a wonderful feeling, picking up the reins of something I used to be good at. Some things come back so quickly. Others are filled with fog. I suspect that when it comes to real knowledge, I have always been very reliant on books, and for the moment, I don’t have the right ones to hand. The BSAVA Manual of Emergency and Critical Care was my constant companion for all the years working in the emergency clinics. It’s at the top of my shopping list as even though there aren’t so many emergency cases during the day, I seem to recall it had a lot of fantastic tips on how to work cases up in the first instance. I’m slowly regaining knowledge, refilling the blanks, remembering the things I was never good at (I can take a mean x-ray, but I have never been on a course to learn to use ultrasound). I am learning new things as well. Who knew that it was illegal to castrate a dog or spay a bitch in Norway without good clinical reason? Apparently they have to be allowed freedom to explore their wild-side, though how that works when using drugs to prevent ovulation I have no idea. Bang goes the idea of opening a spay clinic in my nearest city!

This week started badly. I tried to anaesthetise a dog without having the machine fully switched on. Never a good idea. Worse still, it transpired that the green clogs actually belonged to the boss lady. Well I always did like to walk in shoes that were hard to fill. I’ve bought my own now. And Dagny has not yet used the whip on me that I took in for Irene (fabulous receptionist) to use on Jan-Arne (crazy vet).

Been out walking (the picture at the top is taken from south of our village, looking up the coast) and skiing, both downhill and cross-country. I would like to say that I didn’t fall over once, but sadly I can’t. Still things are looking up on all fronts. There might even be some movement on the book, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself so I’ll leave that for next time.

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Wussy Malone and the Mystery of the Missing Courage

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It’s a strange thing, but one of my weirdest adult terrors has always been with taking my car to the garage to have work done. Obviously it’s ridiculous, a mature, well educated woman who turns into a cowering wreck when faced with a man whose job is changing oil and windscreen wipers for a living. Please don’t get me wrong, being a mechanic is a job requiring skill and dexterity and some mechanics really are wonderful, it’s just very sad that a few of these men seem to take great delight in their ability to patronise any woman who dares to set foot inside their realm. For five years now, we’ve used the same garage for all the work on our car, and they have mostly proved to be reliable and honest. There was the time when I arrived at eleven in the morning to book the car in, only to be told to come back in an hour when they had finished their sandwiches, and the patronising way the owner treated me when I first went in and he assumed that because I didn’t know the Norwegian for head-light, that I was generally an idiot, but on the whole they good has outweighed the bad, hence the reason we have continued to return.

The first inkling I had that I might have to go back in this time after the service was when one of the small light-bulb-covers over the number plate fell off when I closed the boot, just the day after the car had been returned. When I looked at it, it had obviously been broken at one end, and rather than order another, they presumably stuck it back in place and hoped that we would just never notice. I wondered whether I should go in and say something, but it seemed such a little thing that I shoved it back in place, and hoped that it would stay on.

The next setback came when we received the bill. Checking through it, I noticed sadly that they had charged me for new windscreen wiper blades. All very well, but the blades had been changed literally the day before I took the car in for service. Obviously that sounds stupid, but I was due to drive to the airport at night, and stormy weather was forecast, and they were really awful. So bad that driving with them was a nightmare. Again, I wondered about going in, but was put off by thinking that really it was my own fault for not telling them when I took the car in that the blades had been changed. I went to see my friend Lynne on Monday, and she said she would go in and at least ask… and again I toyed with the idea and procrastinated because of my fear, and the additional mental block I have because I know that if I go in, I would have to try to ask in Norwegian. There is definitely something about speaking a language not my own that makes me feel insecure when going in to discuss anything. I even use English when I go to see my GP because he patronises me a whole lot less when it’s him that’s struggling to find the words.

Anyway, several days later, and yesterday another midnight trip to the airport, and another dreadful drive because one of the dipped headlights wasn’t working, and that was the last straw. This morning I finally took a deep breath and marched into the garage with my list of woes. I managed it all in Norwegian, and I don’t know if that was what tipped the balance, but the garage owner couldn’t have been more helpful. He has ordered a new cover for the light, he changed the bulb in the headlight without charging me (he’s charged me twelve pounds before once for doing it) and best of all, he told me that as Charlie has already paid the bill, I should remind him next time I’m in, and he won’t charge me for the wiper blades. Given that they cost about fifty pounds, that’s a significant saving. I left the place with my heart singing. I’d like to think that the next time I have a problem, that I will sail through, but I suspect that my innate cowardice might reassert itself.

When I popped into the Co-Op afterwards I was delighted to find that they had both lobster and sashimi salmon going cheap, so there’ll be a good (and easy) dinner tonight.

In other news, Marion is too unwell today to go for our Vernal Equinox celebratory walk. I’d very much like to return to a place we went on one of the evening walks from Charlie’s work. It would be lovely to see it in daylight.
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Marion and I have done a few good walks lately, so here are some pictures.
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Hope you feel better next week Marion.

And now I have to go and bake. Due to my poor housewifery skills, I have somehow managed to let some milk go sour. I can feel some scones coming on. Anyone for afternoon tea?

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Shameless

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So life is going on and work is getting better and better. Tuesday was a bit mad because Kari Anna is on holiday this week. She’s the clinic’s resident veterinary nurse, and like most veterinary nurses, when she is there, she flits calmly around the practice and suddenly all the mess has disappeared and everything is under control. On Tuesday morning there was just Gerd (a veterinær assistent like me … well actually not much like me because she is sensible and mature and… well you get the picture) and me there, and Gerd was busy on reception where the phone was ringing madly and about a thousand people were waiting to be helped. So I found myself rushing around, trying to make sure everything was reasonably tidy. Unlike Kari Anna, I was unable to do this invisibly and just in case I thought I was doing rather well, mid-morning Jan-Arne came up to me with a look of confusion and asked why I was doing so much cleaning up today.

Anyway into the midst of all this came scary-boss lady herself [hei Dagny!!!!] and demanded asked very kindly that I should get theatre ready for two cat sterilisation operations. Despite the fact that I had done it before under the steady eye of Kari Anna, immediate panic set in. I knew which surgical kit it was, but which size of drape had I been told again? And which suture materials? What size was the pack of gauze swabs, two or five? So many things to go wrong. Worse still, as I commandeered the last two surgical kits from the shelf, I realised that very probably I should have put the other kits that I had so carefully sorted out into the steriliser, because if any other operations were coming in immediately afterwards…

AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaargh!

So with my head spinning round on its axis like the child from the Exorcist, I started to hunt around for everything I needed. At that moment, Magnanimous Magne (the other boss) stuck his head round the door and asked whether I could help him with a blood sample. I’m sure I snapped “No” rather rudely, but he didn’t seem to notice anything untoward, and a few minutes later, fortunately I found a spare minute to set up the haematology analyser and run his test for him. The operations went smoothly and there were no screams from outside theatre, so presumably nobody needed another kit during the time we were busy. It was with relief that I finished with the surgery and was left to sort out the two patients and clean up the theatre while Dagny went to get on with other vetty things.

As soon as that was all clear, I rushed to the autoclave. Now what was it I had to do again? I had to drain some water out of one of those little tubes but was it the water from the tube on the left or the right? I thought it was probably the left, but when I tried to open the tube up for emptying, I couldn’t get the rubber bung off the end. Was it meant to come off, or was it attached and needing to be twisted or opened somehow? I didn’t want to rip it off and then find I’d broken it. And was it the left tube? There didn’t seem to be anything in that one. So it was probably the right. Gerd was still stuck with her three million clients, and there was nobody else around, so taking my life in my hands, I approached my scary lovely boss and asked her if she knew. Very helpfully she came through. She hadn’t used the machine for three years, but she would try to remember. Within moments she had successfully removed the bung from the right tube as I had asked. With a triumphant nod she left me to it.

It was only when I was still standing there, with about a gallon of water in the bucket at my feet that I began to have some disquiet over whether it really was the right tube. When Kari Anna showed me, surely there had only been a little drainage? Now there was something approaching a flood threatening to overwhelm the bucket. Shoving the bung back into the tube, I rushed through, and happily Gerd was able to spare me a moment. I had, she confirmed, as I had suspected, made a brave attempt at emptying the entre autoclave, but fortunately all was not lost. There was enough distilled water to refill it and no harm done. Better still, she even showed me how to make more distilled water. Lets face it, by the time I have to do it, I’ll probably have forgotten, but I’ll deal with that when it happens!

Thursday and Friday weren’t so fraught thank goodness. This afternoon I even had a brief period when I wasn’t sure what to do. Irene was being terribly efficient, and there is another girl doing work experience who was rushing round after everyone tidying up, and as I don’t like to sit around doing nothing, I went in to see if Jan-Arne needed a hand. He was examining a cat with mastitis so I helped him to sedate her. As he was cleaning out her wound, Irene put her head around the door. Was I available, she wanted to know, to help with a dental? Her question was directed at Jan-Arne. Did he really need me?

Jan-Arne looked up with a grin. “No,” he said, “I don’t really need her, it’s just more fun when she’s here.” ** And really, when all is said and done, that’s good enough for me.

Here he is:

Jan Arne and pig

That’s him on the right….

And what is it that is shameless? Well I shamelessly stole Jan-Arne’s beautiful photograph of a foal for the top of my page. Who could possibly resist?

**Technically he said it in Norwegian, but it’s a near enough translation.