Prostitutes.

Last night, for the first time in my life, I was propositioned by a prostitute.

Despite spending many a night on the sordid strip of Hindley Street, not to mention multiple wee-hour excursions through St Kilda, I had never before been directly propositioned on a street corner. But on a wet Wednesday night in Oslo, every street corner between the Rockefeller Music Hall and the Hotel Perminalen is owned by at least one such contributor to the Norwegian economy, compelling passers by to let her earn her keep. It is actually quite confronting to see such open, willing exploitation in the middle of town.

Having said that, I am quite smitten with this city. It is small (540 000 people), but never quaint - it is commercial without being ridiculous, and everything seems to be a short walk from my hostel. Last night I walked ten minutes to find the Rockefeller, to see American band Danielson, which is a little like seeing The Flaming Lips and the Decemberists filtered through a sieve of Belle and Sebastian. They're twee but they rock, with only slightly irritating Coyne-esque falsetto squealing. And they came on stage in perfect uniform, with name tags and matching tracksuit pants. And one girl is in the band just to play the marumba. I must say, they were completely excellent.



What was more excellent was that, for the first time in a long time, I was at a gig where I did not recognise a single face in the crowd. I could walk right up to the front when they started, and dance my little dance fearlessly. There was another girl, alone, dancing away to my right. I considered walking up to her and asking, 'So, you're here alone too, then?' In another life, I might have. And where it might have led, I will never know.



Instead, once the band finished playing, she wandered out of the building to march fervently through the tunnel, and I walked out to find a phone booth to call my amazing Erica.


(Note: Though I found a payphone, it seems Erica's mobile can't be called by either my mobile or by the phone card. I suspect there is some lack of communication between Telenor, the big Norwegian phone booth company, and Three. Globalisation, my arse.)