Picking up Lindsay

When you're with a famous Swedish celebrity like Thor Hushovd, you will be granted access everywhere. And this morning was no exception to the rule. Thor briskly managed to get us past security at the hospital, and we found my friend Lindsay Lohan, on the brink of recovery.

- Let's take her with us, Thor proposed.

- How? I asked. We only have two bikes.

- I have a solution. Remember I am a bike mechanic, Thor twixed. And so he "borrowed" a baby seat from the pediatric ward.

And the result speaks for itself. The picture above is taken by a helpful lesbian called Bustia, who were on her way to a gay parade in Berlin.

We decide to go cycling there with her. After all, I am tired of speaking franchise. Let's go to Duchland, my second home away from home. (I speak duch fluently).

This is now our route:

Yes, it is him.

It is another famous X-games celebrity, the notorious swede Thor Hushovd, riding his bike.

- Kan jag cykla med dig, I ask in his own dialect.

- Klart du kan, he answers back.

Having anticipated visitors, Thor always brings an extra bike, as he just loves his sport, BMX, and wants to share it with everyone he meets. Ever since he worked as a bike mechanic in Tour de France ages ago in 1995, he stranded here in Montlucon, being the final destination for le Tour. Thor was completely broke after the tournament, and started a career for himself as a professional bike rider here in the outskirts of Montlucon.

This whole setting is rather dreamlike. I am here, riding with international BMX-guru Thor Hushovd. From Sweden. Wow. I can only say it again. Wowsers.

Going for a stroll

After having had lunch with Bjarne and the rest of the Norwegian punkrock band D.D.E., I find it's time to not overstay my welcome. After all, this is a secret hideout for the rock stars, and as I do not wish to disclose the very location of their whereabouts, I take a secret dirt road back to the city centre.

Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, comes this fellow riding his BMX like a genuine pro:

I am moving closer, taking care not to reveal myself. Who could this person be, he looks rather familiar.

Fun with Bjarne and Casper

After giving me a private tour around the museum, Bjarne took me home to his secret D.D.E. headquarters in Montlucon, where I met his good friend, Casper (to the right).
We hung out the entire night, drank Bjarnes orange "karsk"-juice and playing entertaining, yet educating charades.

It's amazing how much fun three guys in a hot tub can have without even touching drugs.

Norwegian rock'n'roll-star found

After following road signs, ending up in dead ends, going back again and starting fresh, I finally made my way to the Musée des Musiques Populaires in Montlucon. Which is franchise "for museum of Rock'n'roll".

I gently snuck inside, fearing that the rock'n'roll icon Bjarne Brøndbo of Norwegian Supergroup D.D.E. would be shy and private, not very eager to meet ordinary people. After all, when you're this big, you tend to grow a blasé attitude.

How wrong I was!

Here Bjarne was, standing in the midst of a crowd, lecturing on popular musical instruments, the use of the accordion in rock music and the advantages a rock star, like himself, benefits from when meeting women.

What a guy. And here I was, standing but a few feet away from this rock'n'roll legend.

And all the guys listened keenly to the master, nodding and taking notes. I took a picture.

click to enlarge

Finding secret french headquarters of Norwegian supergroup D.D.E.

(click to enlarge)

I need a job. Maybe I could be a bartender in the Google Taskbar? Then again, you meet very, very few people up there on the menu line. So why not a job in France? After all, I speak franchise pretty buoné.

Having strolled down to the local Adecco in Montlucon (finding that this city has absolutely nothing to offer, other than innumerable busloads of tranquility and of course the cunning "you should go and see the old city"-trick. But honestly, how many medieval city centres can you bare to walk through in your life?), I find that I could use some tranquility and perhaps a stroll in the old, medieval centre. Perhaps I should get a souvenir or a t-shirt?

And then, just outside the Adecco office, I find a sign that says: D.D.E. I knew it. The Norwegian supergroup D.D.E. has got a secret headquarter in this little town of 40,000 inhabitants for one reason only: Lead singer Bjarne can walk publicly in the streets without being resolutely attacked by menopausean, eager to copulate leopard-tight dressed cougars.

Google Streetview won't allow me to go in that direction, however, so I will have to switch to Google maps instead. And then some advanced search.

Bjarne, I am on to you!

The descent

- Is it the hospital chimney we can see down there, Sharptaste?
- Yes it is. We'll get you there in one piece, Lindsay.
- Oh, I think I have to puke.
- Hold it in. I wouldn't be able to see properly.
- *Hurgh*

(Click to see our landing site in Google Street View)

And this is the last I saw of her. I tried to visit her later on the same morning, but was held off by bodyguards and mean looking lawyers, threatening to sue me for cutting and pasting her on board that plane. Oh well. No autograph. Merely a drink. But hey, who on earth can brag about a parachute jump with the actress from Just My Luck?

Illness on board Google One

In the middle of the night, as we glide over the European continent on our way to the Meditarrenean Sea, Lindsay suddenly starts to feel terribly ill.

She drops her Martini glass and it falls with a hard cling to the floor in the cabin.

Before I know it, she vomits all over the seat, and she is starting to shiver. I quickly google her symptoms. We call on copilot Stephen, who trained to be a medic in the Gulf War but never passed the exams, and he quickly agrees with Google that she is suffering from acute food poisoning.

- She needs a doctor. Pretty darn fast, he says, being Texan and all.

- But where are we? All I can see is the moon, I state. Nervously.

We check on Gooogle Earth, and find that we are soon to be passing over the French city of Montluçon.

- We will pass over the city centre and the Centre Hospitalier Montluçon in just a few minutes, Stephen concludes.

- You will have to jump out. No time to land, Stephen says in a stern voice.

- Jump? Lindsay shrieks.

- Jump, Stephen repeats. He quickly returns with two parachutes, and there is no time to protest. He starts to buckle us up in small, weird rucksacks. And the truth dawns on me:

Here I am, third day on my trip around the globe, parachuting over a french village with a food poisoned Hollywood-star. Why couldn't I just have kept my mouth shut.

Fighting gravity with miss Lohan

So. Midnight. And Lindsay arrives. I have put on my lucky blue socks. After having eaten some more of Jills pancakes while watching the Shark Week show (previous post, you've read this from the start, right?), I have gotten a crystal clear idea that in limousines, gravity can be lost if you just swing from side to side, concentrating on absolutely nothing. Lindsay isn't quite sure of this, but she says she'll be willing to give it a go.

I give Lindsay one of Jills pancakes, but before she eats it, she has to text her mom, telling her she is going on a trip.

I then suggest we go to the airport, to hook up with my friends Gus and Stephen in Google Air.

And so we do.

And of course, I have to introduce her to my friends, who are, as usual, pretty busy with their tedious procedures, however necessary and for our safety, quite appreciated. So we go for drinks instead. And maybe I will get her autograph, I think to myself. Quietly.

Toughening up

Using every piece of advice I have ever been given, I waited tacticly until nine o'clock before I dialed miss Lohans number. After all, it could of course be that she simply wanted to say sorry, and hang up. But I decided upon best case scenario, and borrowed a shirt and some scotch from Graham. To get that corporate, sober feel. In order to stay on top of the situation. She is, after all, a celebrity. And I am this next door neighbour travelling the world through a search engine.

Anywho, this is how the conversation spelled out:

Skarptast: Hi, this is me.

Lindsay: Oh, hi, Sharptast, it's me. Lindsay. Thankyou for calling me back.

Skarptast: My pleasure. I shouldn't have asked you to sign my skin, obviously.

Lindsay: Perhaps that was a bit bold, yes. But I am awfully sorry about my harsh response, so please, would you like to go out for a drink?

Skarptast: Let me see, tonight? Ahh, it's a fantastic series about sharks on Discovery tonite...

Lindsay: Oh. Of course. When does it end?

Skarptast: I don't know. It's a double. Midnight, maybe?

Lindsay: Ok, pick you up at midnight, then? In my limo?

Skarptast: Hold on a sec, someone's calling on the other line [putting her on hold, sending elevator music down her spine]

Lindsay: ...

Skarptast: [click] ...there, I am back. Sorry, a friend of mine, Elyse, wanted to hang, but I said I was busy tonite.

Lindsay: All right, Sharptast. Midnight it is, then.

Skarptast: See you then. Gotta go, "Wild sharks" has just begun.

Lindsay: *giggles* See you around, rooster!

Skarptast: [hanging up]

Pancakes and a shock

Applying for a work permit took quite some time, and the other half of the afternoon I rode off the rejection I got hurled towards me at Sax from my love/hate-icon Lindsay.

Anyway.

Jill is making wicked pancakes. (don't ask what she's putting in them, but you can always google it) So it's pancake time as soon as come back to the flat for afternoon tea.

Just as I am starting to think about maybe getting out of town, a FedEx guy knocks on the door with an envelope for me. Both Jill and I are making slow, shaking movements back and forth with our heads, but either way, I need to sign a form. It's for me. Evidently.

I am startled to learn the content of the envelope, and I will simply post the letter here (bit of a shocker, but hello, the possibilites!):

My goodness. What do I wear? I have to google something really impressive.

Bumping into Lindsay

I am sitting here filling out an application form for a work permit this week in London (heard it was the best way to meet new friends), and who do you think comes strolling along? It's Lindsay Lohan. I jumped up and asked her to sign my chest, but she seemed rather repulsed by the idea. I need a good workout, I think.

The Breakfast Club

My god, I couldn't find any sunglasses as I woke up this morning (read: noon), miraculously at home with Jill waking me up with 120 desibels of punk music in the living room where I am sleeping on the couch. I am not quite sure, but I think I got myself a record deal with some Russian producers last night.

Headed down to The Breakfast Club to get a decent bite to eat. Yawn. Sorry folks, no paste-in this early.

Going Cuckoo on Swallow street

After a quick getaway, trying desperately to explain to Tony (by his friends in leather simply referred to as game-set-match-Tony) that I am not swinging in his direction, we find it wise to elope. An indian friend of Kia takes her and me to Swallow St. and the new, posh nightclub The Cuckoo Club. I vaguely remember knocking down some guy, and swapping clothes with him. It might have been Hed Kandi celeb Jim Breese. Says Kia, who fled the scene.

Below is the last picture I remember being pasted into for the night, before Photoshop crashed and got stuck on hand tool.

Going Ku

After a nap this afternoon (and watching telly with Jill, Graham wasn't at home) I decided to visit Ku bar, just shy of Leicester Square, out of sheer curiosity. It's a gay bar, and I have always felt the necessity to state my heterosexuality whenever people have asked.

So am I homophobic or not? I like to think not, but maybe my upbringing and values govern me still. That's why I decided to go there with my gay friend Kia for a drink. A queer place to start the evening.

Fun fact: Ku in Norwegian means "cow". And before Ku opened, this place was used to called "The Polar Bear".

Charing Cross Road

Finally back in West End: I had to paste myself in, in front of the Cambridge, 93 Charing Cross Road. It's actually a pub, and not just any pub. I had a serious blackout here in 1999 after 10 pints of lager, but was rescued by a wonderful couple, Jill and Graham Oxenfield. I am going to stay with them for the next few days, they live just down the street and throw some out of this world dinner parties. The weather forecast predicted cold, chilly weather, but I was lucky and caught some strands of sun.

Oh, by the way: > Google Maps Street view: 86 Charing X Rd

This is where Jill and Graham live, second floor over the bookstore Lovejoys.

I've got company

On board the plane to London, I stumble upon Jennifer and Carina from Harstad, Norway. We carefully examine the airline catering and get to know eachother this way. Props are always good when making new friends. They actually serve hot dogs here. I wash the medium taste food down with Fanta. As it turns out, Jennifer, whose father is scottish, is going to London to study acting at the Brian Timoney Acting School. Carina is just tagging along for some serious shopping, and we make plans for lunch in London later in the week.

Saying hi

I am summoned to the cockpit to say hi to my two good friends, airline pilots Gus and Stephen, before takeoff. What a coincidence. They have obviously checked the passenger list. We shot some pool down in Brisbane ages ago. Oh well, they have procedures, and we swap phonenumbers. London, here I come!

Departure from Oslo

It's early Sunday morning, February 7th 2010. Soon boarding with Google Airlines, and they have no long waiting lines, like the one you see in the back.

I am travelling light, that means no suitcase, just my laptop and a 158 kb image of myself. Here I am pasted into a picture from Gardermoen Oslo Airport, all ready and set to go. On a mouseclick.