We sat through Question Hour in Stortinget (our Parliament) today, though I am feeling entirely too Christmassy to be eloquent, or even coherent, about it. And I have a craving to read Dickens, again. "A Christmas Carol", to be spesific.

Why in the name of everything holy am I in such a Christmassy mood?

And Bjørneboe's essay "Isteden for en forsvarstale" is a godsend, it will, I think, save me.


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And, I can't help it, this joke is so sickeningly bad - groaning required, whether you get it or not - it must be shared:

"Q: What do you call an absinthe-flavored popsicle?
A: A Findesicle."