NORMAL LIFE: Beautiful, But Deadly

It's funny how beautiful nature can be sometimes. I think it's something you appreciate more and more as you get older. Seeing the colours of the rainbow filter through a free-falling waterfall in South Africa, watching the clouds hover peaks of the Alps, watching torrential rain fall from the comfort of my own bedroom in Helsinki.

Last night, a massive thunderstorm hit the Helsinki area which is further evidence that global warming has bought sudden humidity and potential devestation to the Nordic countries; temperatures as high as 28.2C were recorded at Helsinki's Vantaa Airport and, overnight, a lightning strike burnt down detached house in the early hours.

Not only is nature beautiful, it's also deadly.

NORMAL LIFE: Gays Standing Up For Themselves

What a week is has been for gays. It starts with a protest in Moscow, during which right-wing and orthodox extremists clashed with gay rights activists. The Mayor of Moscow, who has in the past refered to us guys who like a good laugh and camp entertainment, 'Satanic'. The protest apparently 'degenerated into violence', reports the BBC, with a British veteran gay rights activist and lead singer from Right Said Fred both receiving bloody blows; it seems that neither of their attackers were detained. Opponents apparently chanted slogans such as 'Moscow is not sodom'. To illustrate how backward the people of Moscow really are, a journalist wearing an earing (and therefore assumed to be gay) got a good clobbering too. Oh, deary me!

On the other side of the world, in good old Australia, there's progress. In Kylie Minogue's hometown, Melbourne, an establishment has been granted the right to refuse entry to heterosexuals. The owner claims that the move will prevent heterosexuals from abusing gay people, highlighting that women, who often find gay men entertainment, dehumanise gays. Furthermore, the number of hen and stag nights parties held in gay pubs and clubs creates a poisonous atmosphere for the gay clientele, the owner claims. The bottom line is: homosexuals should be allowed to relax in places without fear of bullying or intimidation. I have to admit that I often get annoyed when groups of straight people go to gay bars. I mean, in Helsinki, there are hundreds of bars for the general population, yet only four gay bars so it's kind of wrong to kill the atmosphere of 'our' bars when they have countless options.

Back in Europe, the Poles are at it again, well and truly rearing their backward behaviour with a claim that Tinky Winky, the purple Tellytubby who regularly carries a handbag, promotes homosexual lifestyle (see here). An official has ordered an investigation to see if this is the case. If the Poles, perceived as backward and poor, have time to do this, then they surely have too many resources in all the wrong places. The outcome of the investigation will determine whether or not the Tellytubbies can be broadcast on public television. If the show entertains children (I know Americans and Finns who are so thankful for the many hours of stimulating distraction the Tellytubbies have provided their children), what do the officials care?

What a week, and it's only Wednesday!

NORMAL LIFE: Airport Amusement

NORMAL LIFE: Am I A Party Pooper?

Today is the day of the firm's Summer Party and it's not even June yet! It's grey outside and it's still chilly when it blows. Regardless of the weather, I just can't be arsed to participate. And why? Well, Finns are happiest when they're drinking, but they are also at their rudist when they've downed a couple. In the past, insults galore have been thrown at me. 'Why don't you speak Finnish?' and 'Where's your empire now, eh?' are my favourites!

The truth is I only work with these people and, by going out with them on a Friday night, I can't help but ask: what's in it for me? I find it highly amusing that, when there's a company party or, more precisely, any event which involves even a smidge of alcohol, Finns go wild. This year, however, a record number of people have chosen not to participate. I suspect this is because they are fed up with the year-on-year prospect of having to babysit an intoxicated colleague. Not me! I remind myself that most of these excited people are parents who rarely get a chance to go out so my advice is simply that they should get out more!

NORMAL LIFE: Where Is Madeleine?

NORMAL LIFE: Shameful Streisand

The Italians made a good point today about the exorbitant pricing of tickets relating to Barbara Streisand's forthcoming European Tour. Ever since the conception of Sky One/Movies/Sport in the early 90's, society has been bombarded with the increasing cost in entertainment.

Just thing of the costs that didn't exist in the 80s. Mobile phone and Satellite TV subscriptions and annual gym membership fees. Now, artists (I have never understood why they are called artists) of all types are jumping on the bandwagon, abusing the goodwill of their fans.

Apparently, calls by Italian consumer groups have been made to cancel Streisand's date in Rome, claiming that the Italian Olympic Committee should deny Streisand use of the National Stadium due to "absurd and shameful prices". The stadium is, after all, "public property and cannot be used for immoral deals that are shameful to a civilized country" one of the consumers groups claimed. I couldn't agree more!

By god, I wish we had the same enthusiam to object to such pricing in the UK. By contrast, tickets for the UK show sold out in 20 minutes, with tickets costing between £100-£600. What kind of stupid idiot pays £600 to watch an 'artist' mime (they do sometimes, you know) along with their own CD? Sad, just sad!

Related article here.

NORMAL LIFE: 64/105 = 61%

Unbelievable! I got the result through from my Finnish exam and guess what? I passed! I can't believe that I managed to get through Level 3 of this bloody difficult language! Having said that, I put a lot of effort into passing and I have just realised that I am now halfway through the 6-course syllabus of what is Finnish.

Interestingly, in order to apply for Finnish Citizenship, you need to pass Level 3. Should I or shouldn't I? In this day and age, having dual-citizenship could prove useful, especially if Britain were to become a terrorist hotspot or a location of future bombing from an already-angered Muslim world.

Some difficult decisions lie ahead. On holiday recently, Bree gave his blessing to allow me to consider going to Australia for one year, which has been a dream of mine since I was 18 years old. If I were to do that, I would probably leave in Spring 2009. Learning more Finnish in the meantime would probably prove futile.

On the other hand, I have been looking into doing a Digital Photography Course with the Open University. I have always said that the problem with living in the Western World in the 21st Century is that we have too many choices! I suppose it's better than having no choices at all.

NORMAL LIFE: Scooch

Didn't they do well at this year's Eurovision? While the contest, hosting a record 42 countries, has become rather serious, this year's entry from the UK remained faithful to all things camp, aimed at entertaining a simple public.

When I met Scooch, the foursome representing the UK entry, at Helsinki Airport (we were on the same flight back to England), I praised them. I mean, how many people do you know would be willing to perform in front of hundreds of millions of people sure in the knowledge that their efforts would be shot down? Good sports is what they are!

NORMAL LIFE: A Week At The Home from Home

Monday 14th May

I haven't half felt like someone has been messing about with my head today. I headed to work a little bit after 10am, having gorged on fried bacon and egg rolls for breakfast, only for my PC to be infected by some kind of virus the minute I connected to the local office. While Helpdesk set about resolving the matter remotely, which rendered me temporarily redundant, I headed to the local swimming pool. There, I swam 1.5km and, hitting the showers afterwards, was surprised by a message screaming in red, block capital letters: CHILDREN REGULARLY FREQUENT THIS AREA SO WE ASK SWIMMERS TO SHOWER WITH THEIR SWIMMING CLOTHES ON. What a liberty, I thought, that I should have to leave the establishment with chlorine clinging to my goolies. Again, I'm struck by how much has changed since I left England.

Upon returning to my hire car, I couldn’t turn the lock in the ignition. The stress of earlier in the day was quickly returning so what I did was I called the AA (that’s not Alcoholics Anonymous, by the way, but the Automobile Association) number printed on the keys. I waited about 30 minutes in a call-queue before being put in contact with a Vauxhall Expert who, in the first instance, asked me to ensure that the steering wheel was unlocked. At first, I thought I had misheard him, but when I suddenly realized that I hadn’t even unlocked the steering wheel, I muttered a string of swear-words to which the Vauxhall Expert uttered a slight giggle. Slightly embarrassed, I don’t think I have ever felt more blonde!

When I returned to the office, my PC was proving just as useful as it had been earlier in the day so, admitting defeat by technology, I headed home. I picked up some ready-cooked chicken and ribs from Tesco, realizing that Britain has become a haven for cheap, too-tasty food no doubt contributing to the nation’s well-publicised obesity crisis. Back at home, I shared the story about my incident with the steering wheel to which my family squealed with laughter.

Tuesday 15th May

Today was a day of exposure and inadequate feeling. It started with a visit to Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge, where I spent some time with one of the firm’s Sales Reps and one of the hospital’s Clinical Engineers; it was a good learning exercise and I left with some ideas that I hadn’t thought of earlier. Later on, I made my way Hinchingbrooke Hospital in Huntingdon where, after a very similar visit to a Clinical Engineering department, I sat down for a rather unexpected confrontational showdown with two of the firm’s sales reps; concerned by a lack of a concrete strategy, they were venting their frustrations on me.

After the meeting, as I sped down the A1, I felt like a wally for not having anything of value to give the salesmen. Seriously demotivated, I started to wonder what my team could do to ease their pain out in the field. I drove home, welcomed by my four year old niece who called after me incessantly and, slowly but surely, the harsh reality of the feeling-small-at-work faded. In fact, the comedown rendered my exhausted and, after a two-hour nap (which hardly qualifies as a nap, does it?), the family in its entirety headed to a restaurant to gorge on a feast of yummy Chinese food.

Wednesday 16th May

A day in the office, with a PC as useful as having soap and no water. The day was spent going through what few papers I had bought with me while studying a book related to my work. During the day, I contemplated staying overnight in London so at to be nearby for a meeting early the next day. I called my friend Nick and he was all for meeting up in the evening so I did some searches and booked a room at the Jury’s Hotel near Bond Street.

Later in the day, having checked into my hotel, I met Nick in London's Gayland. By Gayland, I'm referring to none other than Soho or, more precisely, Old Compton Street. We dined at Balans, a trendy, somewhat overcrowded restaurant which, by 9pm, was heaving. Having indulged in a three course meal, we made our way to nearby Rupert's, a popular bar (also heaving) in none other than Rupert's Street. The evening reminded me just how easy it is to meet people 'like us' in London. Later, having bade goodnight to Nick, I settled into my hotel room, located just off infamous Bond Street.

Thursday 17th May

The day starts with some kind of swim in the hotel's 16 metre-long pool. How pathetic! Running late, I quickly showered, dashed down to Bond Street Station and took the Jubilee Line to St. John's Wood, the location of my meeting with a very important customer. The customer happened to be the Wellington Hospital, which brings back memories of perhaps the one thing that made my childhood a miserable one: Acne. For nine years, I was plagued with spots which would burst at random, causing unimaginable pain. At the Wellington Hospital, a private institute no less, I was diagnosed with Nodular Cystic Acne back in 1999. Three months later, the condition that had plagued me since puberty, had vanished.

I waited for my colleagues to arrive before announcing my own arrival at the hospital. The customer visit turned out to be a very disappointingly brief one, during which I presented the firm's short term solution to a problem affecting countless customers. Ultimately, the purpose of the three-colleague visit was a show of faith to the customer. We grabbed a coffee after our meeting, each of us somewhat struck by the brevity of the meeting.

I headed back to the hotel, intent on collecting my overnight bag. I dodged the rushing oh-so-important passersby, thinking to myself that I could never tolerate this madhouse on a daily basis. Back at the office a few hours later, IT had worked on my PC with success so I left the office feeling quite relieved.

Back home, I called Bree; the news of the missing toddler, Madeleine, who had been abducted from a hotel room in Portugal on May 3rd, has finally reached Finland. While this is a tragic case of how unsafe the 21st Century still is, it has surprised me how there has been no mention as to the carelessness of the parents. I mean, the parents are a surgeon and a doctor. How could they have been so careless to leave three children under four in a hotel room (with the balcony door unlocked, apparently) while they dined several blocks away? The media intensity has been quite shocking, reminiscent of the death of Princess Diana. The coverage is typical of the UK's classist society for, if the parents had been factory workers or similar, I doubt the coverage would have been as overwhelming.

Bree and I were missing eachother, and the evening was spent drinking ridiculous amounts of tea (how could anyone in England stay slim drinking this tea?, I asked myself!) and watching a plethora of soaps on TV.

Friday 18th May

On my way to my sisters, I drove along one the bypasses which takes in the wonderful scenery of North Hertfordshire. It was the first sunny day since my arrival the previous Sunday night and, by god, it was gorgeous. I turned up the music and one of my favourite songs, Tornero by Romanian Mahai Traistariu boomed from the speakers. I sang along. Later, breakfast at my sister's turned out to be a feast of all things you would find in an English Breakfast; fried eggs, bacon and sausage, black pudding, baked beans, plum tomatoes, toast, jam, tea and juice! Yummy!

My day at the office was one last opportunity to collect ideas from my colleagues which we formulated into a wishlist which I would share with the team in Helsinki. When I returned the hire car later in the afternoon, I dashed to the station and was, once again, on my way back into London. The fast train to Kings Cross, followed by the Underground to Victoria, reunited me with Nick, my best pal in London. With minutes until out train would depart from Victoria to West Norwood, we grabbed some Chinese food from the nearest Marks & Spencers and a bottle of Australian White.

The evening was spent indoors, watching an episode of oversexed northerners in an episode of a TV comedy series I had never heard before, Shameless. Afterwards, we watched Saw III, a gory movie just like it's two predecessors. How do people think up these movies?, I remember thinking to myself. It was an unlikely evening in the sense that I had visited a friend in London, one of the greatest cities in the world, yet had spent the evening indoors watching TV, eating lovely food and gorgeous wine. Fantastic!

Saturday 19th May

After waking up, I made coffee and had a slice of cherry cake and a package of blueberries. Nick woke up and we soon went our separate ways; I had arranged to meet Red, you see, the girl I had done my Masters Degree with. While I waited for the train, I saw a sign warning against mobile phone usage with a sign screaming: BE AWARE OF PHONE THIEVES. How pathetic, I thought, who would steal a phone?

By 1pm, I found myself standing amid a mass of dashing travellers at London's Paddington Station. Home of the bear of the same name, I quickly spun around when Red poked me from behind. After a quick hug, we headed to a nearby very British looking pub where we downed sandwiches as we caught up. We chatted about competitive relatives and current marketing issues - by god, Red doesn't half have some amusing stories.

After lunch, we headed to a cafe on the main road to while away a bit of time before meeting our friends. It was somewhat amusing because, occasionally, the ground beneath us would rumble and we would emulate that scene from Mary Poppins when the help would try to keep ornaments from leaving their places whenever the captain on the roof fired a cannon ball by holding onto the table and touching the paintings on the wall. It was all good fun! Even weirder than the occasional rumble was the bizarre sign in the toilet requesting customers not to put paper down the toilet because it might get blocked. What is this?, I thought to myself, Greece?

Having said goodbye to Red, I found myself back on the Circle Line, this time bound for South Kensington. Nick and I met up on the main steps of the V&A museum, one of the world's greatest museums of art and design, with unrivalled diversity. Under the roof of the museum's Kensington branch lays 3,000 years worth of artefacts from many of the world's richest cultures. Our presence here was not to subject ourselves to a bit of such culture, however, but to absorb our love for Kylie Mingoue at the Kylie Exhibition.

The exhibition is fantastic, it really is. Free of charge, visitors are treated to a visual feast of all things Kylie. You can see many of her famous outfits spanning her 20 year career, starting with the fluffy, white nightdress worn in her I Should Be So Lucky video to the gold hotpants that sparked off her comeback with Spinning Around to the more recent white hooded jumpsuit from Can't Get You Out My Head. Well, if you have an arse like hers, you might as well show it off! The exhibition has six themes - Music & Video, On Tour, On Stage, Image, Icon and Backstage. 600 constumes and accessories, many by leading fashion designers, are used to reproduce her life onstage. Given that entry was free, I parted with £19.99 for an official book of the exhibition about the woman who has been in my life for as long as I can remember; I Should Be So Lucky was actually the second single I had ever bought. I was 10.

While we were in such a building containing such extravagent stuff, we ambled along the main corridors and we came across a moving statue, called 'Mother Teaching Child'. It is very rare that a piece moves me so I couldn't resist taking a shot with my phonecam.

It was time for a bit of retail therapy. DVD shopping at the Piccadilly Virgin Megastore followed by underpant shopping (for Bree) in Soho. Inbetween, it was saddening - and shocking - to notice that the Regent Hotel has been closed permanently due to the presence of asbestos. In one store, I was prompted by a fellow Cochlear Implant user who asked which device I was using and how good it was. We stopped for a coffee at Costa in Old Compton Street, bumping into The Belgian and The Portguese, two guys I have been introduced to by a mutual friend of Nick's. I told the Portguese guy about my recent trip to Madeira and he proceeded with a diatribe of the recent Eurovision fiasco.

Back in West Norwood, we watched an episode of Doctor Who on TV and I was thinking that, even now, as always, this program does nothing for me. Opening a bottle of Rose wine, we got prepared for the evening; dinner at Nando's in Clapham, followed by a drink at the nearby Kazbar before taking the Northern Line to Borough to visit XXL, a premier gay nightclub. I like XXL, although it's a bit difficult to take the place - and it's clientele - seriously. The music started with camp numbers such as Barbara Streisand and Donna Summer singing Enough Is Enough. Later on, Finland's very own Darude played electronic-music-only track, Sandstorm.

By this time, well past 1am, we had bumped into Rob, a self-styled 'rubbish gay guy' who, in my opinion, was far from a rubbish gay guy. He was great company and his forwardness was refreshing. The three of us danced to an extended version of Kylie's On A Night Like This. The dancefloor was packed with semi-clad guys slicked in sweat; the mix of body smells was often overwhelming and I wondered: why do guys strip? Where's the beach? Around 3.30am, a guy started chatting me up, telling me I was sexy and that he wanted to do 'things' with me. I came clean and told I was in a relationship. In evident exasparation, he ranted about how difficult it was to meet someone and asked my advice on how he could meet someone. My advice was: keep your shirt on, don't try to be something you are not and, most importantly, be positive and cheerful. He left, losing interested in a conversation he had started. As I watched him leave the bar, I felt for him as he seemed very lost. May he was - this is London, after all!

Meanwhile, Nick is ready to leave. It's already 4am. We walked along the Albert Embankment, dawn well and truly underway, and the Houses of Parliament fade into the background. Eventually, we reach Vauxhall and, from there, we take a bus home. We arrived at home about 6am; my mind is screaming oh my god, but I fall asleep quite quickly.

Sunday 20th May

I managed to sleep only until 11am, a victim of my own body clock; sunlight fills the room through the skylights above and, in the kitchen, I fumbled around to make coffee, which I ate with another slice of cherry cake. Nick's flatmate is already up and about and, on TV, we watched Pure Pop on E4. Tragedy by good old STEPS played, reminding me of my rendevous with Scooch the previous Sunday. This was also a reminder that, like last Sunday, I would be going on a plane back to Finland.

Nick finally wakes at 1pm, just enough time for a bacon sandwich before heading to Heathrow. We make our way on foot to West Norwood training station and, on the way, I noticed a sign that says: THEY WANT YOUR POD. The purpose of the sign is to warn i-Pod users that they are valuable items for muggers. What has the world come to, I think to myself, when you can't even listen to your favourite music on your way to and from work? At 2.30pm, Nick waves me off on the platform and, with another great weekend under my belt, my mind tells me how lucky I am to have a friend like Nick. I arrived at Heathrow at 4pm, having spent 90 minutes on my feet as per my beloved London Transport.

At the airport, I wandered around the stores before making the spontaneous decision to forego a meal onboard and treat myself to a freshly cooked pizza at Est Pizzeria with whatever currency I had left. I ate with my sunglasses on, watching the aeroplanes take off a nearby runway. My flight was called so I paid in a rush, dashing to the paper store for my beloved English Sunday paper and some beloved English Photography magazines. When I arrived at the gate, I was greeted with a sea of passengers that all had two things in common; most of them wore glasses and nearly all of them waited in silence for the boarding of the flight. This silence was a welcome one after a week in England and I found it amusing when, onboard, Finns happily read their newspapers (in silence), ate their hot meal in silent contentment and savoured a tipple of their choice, also in relative solitude. Long live Finnair!

I read my Sunday newspaper, pleased that I would no longe have to read about the Missing Madeileine, a redundant Prince Harry who has been forbbiden from going to Iraq, humbled-my-arse Gordon Brown and touring-the-world-at-taxpayers-expense Tony Blair. The flights lands just after 11pm and, by 11.30pm, I am on a bus; the taxi queue was ridiculous, a reminder that Finland surprisingly lacks a rail connection between the Capital and it's airport. Before I start whinging, however, can I just say how glad I am to be home? Olen kotona, Suomi!

NORMAL LIFE: Eurovision Is Over, A Trip To UK in Order

Another Eurovision Song Contest comes to an end and, by god, didn’t Finland do well? In the Finnish media, there has been some internal worry as to the Nordic nation’s ability to carry off such a demanding show. Well, they excelled, they surely did. The stage was wow, albeit somewhat distant from the audience who had paid an arm and a leg to witness the festivities first hand. Lordi opened the show and Father Christmas, Finland’s most famous citizden, made a special appearance alongside presenters Mikko Leppilampi and Jaana Pelkonen.

Watching the live broadcast from the comfort of my own living room, however, with the sound system perfectly aligned to receive high quality audio, I was left feeling already somewhat wary as to the show’s results. There’s a sense of foreboding as the first half of the show consisted largely of participants from the former Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia.

After two hours of performances interspersed with amusing ‘postcards from Finland’ highlighting fascinating aspects of Finnish culture, the voting began. I don’t quite know how the voting system is functioning, but as the results were revealed, it was obvious that it had all gone wrong. Again! From the results, it was clear that any aspect of modernism, except for the Ukrainian entry which came second, was not appreciated by whoever who had voted; the first half of the show had consisted of music of such funereal proportions that I was desperate for a bit of pop.

Turkey fared well and rightly so, but isn’t it wrong that a singer with 24 number one hits under his belt should be representing his country? I mean, in all fairness, if Robbie Williams or Kylie Minogue were to represent the UK entry in 2008, would we still walk away with a measly 19 points? Probably. And if we did, it would surely be a way of proving that the system is flawed.

We have three choices: do away with the semi finals so that everyone participates on an equal footing (the concept of a Big4 automatically getting to the final each year is wrong); change the voting system so that Russian and Yugoslavian votes are somehow weighted and averaged (this would do away with the issue of having a common language as well as any remaining alliances); or pull out altogether. I mean why should the UK, a major contributor to the costs of the event, be constantly undermined by more than 40 countries who have highjacked our language? We deserve bonus points for that alone!

The UK entry this year wasn’t that bad. Personally, I think the UK entry was actually better than the victor, Serbian Marija Serifovic, who walked away with a staggering 268 points. I know it’s wrong to point out that the top ten winners – which automatically qualify for a place in 2008’s final together with the Big4 – are of Eastern European origin, but I personally don’t want to listen to a show that consists of former Russian Pop Idol winners thinking they’re all that, where swords are considered adequate props in the 21st Century and where yelling along with drums is still considered an art form worthy of votes.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had actually been partying on the dance-floor rather than having enjoyed the show – I have to stress again how well the Helsinki crew did, I am proud of them – from the comfort of my own sofa. Over breakfast, we debated once again the results, having printed out the results from both the semis and the final. Used to feeling singled out following repetitive and somewhat predicable perceptions of the UK entry, Bree was totally unamused. I mean, of the Top 10 winners, only Belarus awarded points to Finland and, in doing so, just one measly point; if a point was a tangible object, I would gladly roll it up and shove it up their arse.

After breakfast, and having packed for my evening flight to the UK, we went for a walk around nearby Töölönlahti (Töölö Bay); it was a glorious day, clear blue skies, a fresh breeze rustling through the trees donning new buds of immense bright green. Already nearly mid-may, the trees were finally starting to sense the season and, having spent many months waiting for this moment (for it usual signifies the blink-or-you’ll-miss-it start of Summer), I felt somewhat sad that I was leaving for England for a week.

Over an early dinner, discussion soon turned back to the Eurovision once again. How could this have happened? Will is mark the start of the end, given that the Big4 ranked 19th(Germany), 20th (Spain) and joint 22nd (France and UK) place? After dinner, I downed two of Bree’s delicious Banana Muffins before heading to the airport; after all the Eurovision madness, the streets were quiet once again. Within twenty minutes, I was at the airport, checking in. Five minutes later, I was inside the departure lounge, having already cleared Security. By god, I love this airport, I thought to myself.

I wandered through the airport, with an hour to spare and surprisingly bumped into a colleague of mine. Glum-faced, she was off to Milan on business. Listening to her incessant moaning, I quickly made my excuses and left. I headed towards the main part of the departure lounge, find myself a seat and making some calls.

Underneath the SkyBar walkway emerged two members of Scooch, the British Eurovision entry. When the dark-haired female member of the group was within earshot (I confess I don’t know any of their names), I coolly complemented her: You did a great job to the unappreciative masses last night. She came over and made polite chit-chat. I asked her where do we go from here? She shrugged her shoulders, indicating that she had no idea. She was in high spirits, however, because the UK as a nation knows we make good music. We therefore don’t need countries like Serbia, the Ukraine, Bulgaria and Belarus to tell us that. To prove that I’m not just negative towards the west, weren’t the Russian and Turkish entries fab?

Before long, it was time for boarding and I started to feel sorry for Scooch. Seated with the rest of us in Economy, people hassled them for autographs on all types of media, be it postcards, scraps of paper or t-shirts. I was seated along the back row and monitored every one of their movements. Next to me, I got talking to a guy who, from London, had visited Helsinki for the Eurovision. Before long, the guy sitting next to him, in the aisle seat, joined in and somehow hijacked the conversation; he was so camp, pointing out how fab this and that was and how entries from as far back as 1997 were superior compared to this years acts. I quickly switched off, feigning tiredness and looking out of the window. As the guys chatted, I yearned to be back on terra firma – I have noticed that as I get older, I am more restless on flights.

After a pretty bumpy landing, I waited patiently as it took half an hour for the plane to find a place to park. When the plane had come to a halt and the seatbelt signs had been switched off, an announcement sounded through the cabin, explaining that there was no staff waiting for us at the gate to escort us off. Sometime I wonder why people bother to fly scheduled if someone can’t be bothered to come and let you off the bloody plane! When I finally managed to get off the plane, I headed towards the baggage reclaim area where, for nearly an hour, I waited for my luggage while biting my tongue. As I rushed through customs, emerging into the passenger reception area, I headed to the hire care desk which was closed. Proceed to Bus Stop 5, the sign said, so I did. It was only when I left the terminal building and looked right that I realized I was in England; all traffic comes from the left! I walked along the pavement in search of Bus Stop 5, with a grin from ear to ear; I noticed that my smile disturbed some onlookers; this just made me grin even more!

NORMAL LIFE: Was The Semi Final A Fix (Eurovision)?

I just happened on this page from the Eurovision Centre website and it tells of how all the countries which qualified from Thursday's semi-final were from the East and Central Europe and questions whether or not the results were fixed. Apparently, vote-by-country data will be revealed shortly which should highlight who voted for who.

Heads of the UK and Swedish delegations expressed concer about the result while the head of the Greek delegation claimed not to be surprised by the result. Meanwhile, a Director at the European Broadcasting Union has expressed concern, indicating that if this trend continues then countries may start withdrawing from the show altogether. What a shame it would be to lose this show - I'm just dreading the moment when the UK goes home with about 20 points!

Is there tactical voting going on, or is there simply an East-West divide when it comes to tastes in music?

NORMAL LIFE: Stunned By Semi Final Outcome (Eurovision)

Before I have a nice long moan about the results of last night's semi-final (you did a wonderful job, Finland), M has provided yet more pix to grace the pages of this textual overload of a blog! First, there's a photo that bought about envy on my part - M got round to meeting Mahai Traistariu, the singer of last year's Romania entry, Tornero! I can't tell you how many times I have listened to that song over the past year and to actually meet the guy would have been wonderful; he's a fantastic singer! You see, when I listened to that song, I started to realised just how progressive, not to say talented, certain EU Member states actually are. No longer am I ethnocentrically favouring countries I know more about.

M has already been busy continuing his search along the participant trail. He managed to track down Hanna Pakarninen, who will try to emulated Lordi's success last yet (see here) with her not-so-melodic track, Leave Me Alone. With lyrics like that, I think the judges will send her packing!

Last night, I had the pleasure of joining two friends at Bio Rex, the cinema in downtown Helsinki; the venue was sold out yet, somehow, only 10-15% of the audience turned up for the in-cinema Eurovision screening! M was somewhat dissapointed, but the incompetent pre-screening show by three Swedish wannabee pop stars - together with a couple of ciders - provided some pre-Eurovision Song Contest amusement.

Soon, it was nearly 10pm and eager viewers shuffled into the auditorium and found their seats. Soon, there were images of Helsinki's Hartwall Arena, calm outside, but somewhat rowdy inside. The pre-show, consisting of carnival-like Samba through the seasons was a bit naff, but the presenters did wonderfully. When the first act came on the screen, the stage - a technological marvel in itself - came to life.

Over the course of two hours, we watched 28 acts; some were fab, some had minimal appeal and some left you wondering that the alternatives of each country must have truly been really awful! The great thing was that, in the auditorium, people entered the spirit of the contest; people clapped hands, laughed at ridiculous choreography and openly chatted. It was wonderful. I took my own notes about each act together with a ranking out of ten and came up with the following:-

Bulgaria - need more than tribal drums/screaming to get me going (6) *
Israel - Leg-kicking Timmy Mallet on drugs (1)
Cyprus - Good voice, fairly poppy (8)
Belarus - Talented solarium fan with big teeth (7) *
Iceland - Old rocker with appeal - (6)
Georgia - Tribal moaning, lots of spinning blokes/clashing swords (5) *
Montenegro - Rock version of I Like To Boogie, good singers (7)
Switzerland - Theatrical quality, superior choreography, appealling (8)
Moldova - A violin intro followed by pop lacking in appeal (4) *
The Netherlands - Motown-like with predictable lyrics (7)
Albania - Subtle intro to operatic ballad, a bit extreme (6)
Denmark - Fantastic, a professional, poppy and light, decent lyrics (10)
Croatia - Dull, nauseous with in-love Shakira & Bill Wyman lookalikes (2)
Poland - Unlikely black dudes/white temptresses act. Nice tune (7)
Serbia - Powerful, over-the-top ballad. Lot's of women groping (6) *
Czech Republic - Lordi without costumes, unoriginal (5)
Portugal - Fan-touting girlies in carnival mood. Not catchy (6)
FYR Macedonia - Solemn track full of yearning, lacking in quality (5) *
Norway - Corny, poor lyrics = no substance (5)
Malta - 'Am I Crazy?' she sings! Yes, you are! (4)
Andorra - Teenage rock, reminded me of Busted! You suck! (4)
Hungary - An unimpressive showgirl spreading misery (3) *
Estonia - Good performance, lively, but the chorus sounds tired (6)
Belgium - Show Me The Way To Amarillo 70s motown style (6)
Slovenia - Operatic pop, very original performance (7) *
Turkey - Appealing, but commercial (7) *
Austria - Nope! (1/10)
Latvia - Six tophatted guys, reminded me of In A Chorus Line. (4/10) *

* Qualified for a place in Saturday's final. Read more here.

Get this: isn't it somehow ironic that eight of the countries from the 10 going to an already combined final of a further 14 countries are former Russian countries? Are they simply voting for eachother? I totally get Slovenia's, Tukey's and Belarus' success, but the omission of Cyrpus, Switzerland and Denmark is a huge disappointment. Let's see how they do against the 14 countries already in tomorrow's final (read the final listing here).

NORMAL LIFE: More Public Appearances (Eurovision)

It's the day of the semi-final and I'm glad about one thing: there are still tickets for sale for the official event, which serves the bloody organisers right for pricing them so highly. Some tickets cost as much as €350, which is a bloody lot of money! Anyhow, I will gladly make do with the tickets that my friend's partner (M) managed to get his mitts on, which allows us to watch tonight's semi final on one of the big cinema screens in the city!

As the event builds up and finally gets underway today, M (see his website here) managed to take yet even more photos of public appearances in Helsinki. I'm starting to wonder if the guy has a job because, while I am in the office, he's taking photos like there's no tomorrow of this year entries (see photos below).


















ABOVE: Serbia's Marija Serifovic will perform her ballad, Molitva. A strong voice, but not my type. See the video here.













ABOVE: Koldun will represent Belarus, with Work Your Magic. Too rough for me, look out for the teeth in the video here.













ABOVE: Partners in Crime, performed by Gerli Padar, will be Estonia's entry this year. Another former Russia country, with very similar attributes to Belarus; too much roughness and a degree of immaturity in the music. See video here.













ABOVE: Scooch will represent the United Kingdom with their oh-so-camp, quickly-tiring Flying The Flag (For You). See video here, it's a Karaoke flight so feel free to sing along. Baa, baa, baa, baa, yeah, yeah, yeah!

















ABOVE: Israel's 'Teapack' (god, what a name!) will sing Push The Button - lot's of ranting and repetition, it's a diatribe! See video here.















ABOVE: Romania has already secured it's place in this year's final for ending up in last years Top 10 Eurovision entries. This year, Todomondo will perform Liubi, Liubu, I Love You. See the video here, it's appalling reminiscent of folk music! Last year's Tornero (see here) was so much better and I'll be seeing the singer, Mahai Traistariu, performing tomorrow night in one of the bars!
















ABOVE: Germany, one of the Big4 who automatically qualify for the final, will try to woo us with the Jazz number, Frauen Regier'n Die Welt, by Roger Cicero! Big thumbs down from me. Check out the video here.

NORMAL LIFE: Eurovision Fever Takes Hold

"I can feel it in my waters, Kimmy," Kath would say if she were in Helsinki right now. The atmosphere is almost electric with Helsinki aswarm with tourists from all over. The semi-finals are tomorrow already and I'm honoured to have been invited to limited seating screening of the semi-finals in one of Helsinki's cinema! That Danish Drama Queen will look fab on the big screen!

I met up with my friend, the Swedish-Finnish one, for a wander around town. It all started on the tram into town. Who do you think will win? Isn't the Finnish act this year so rough? Isn't the UK entry camp, and what about that freak from Ukraine?! I felt sorry for my Swedish-Finnish friend because his partner, who I barely know, has overdone it on the Eurovision excitement and I sense he was reluctant to share my enthusiasm whole-heartedly.

We took a walk through Helsinki's Esplanadi downtown and, there, mini tourist offices (in the form of garden sheds!) appear, one for each of the participants in this years Eurovision; I scooped up loads of material, suddenly contemplating holidays in mysterious Romania, sun-drenched Turkey and even found an brochure on the distant Azores, the Portuguese islands in the middle of the Atlantic; I managed to get my hands on a free CD, containing the Croatian entry for this year as well as tourist DVDs about Croatia and Finland's Lapland. I just love freebies!

We moved on to Kamppi where, in front of the newly opened Kamppi shopping centre, is the Eurovision Village, sponsored by corporate giants such as Nokia, Sonera and Toyota; inside one of the tents, we watched barmen juggle bottles as they made an assortment of drinks to give our to their impressed audience. As we left the tent where the cocktail show was being hosted, we emerged back into the open square, where Estonia was performing. Little did we know that my friend's partner was somewhere in the crowd, taking photos frantically of all the goings on.

Later, when Estonia finished performing, we headed inside for a coffee. After a bit of gossip, my friend's partner joined us and his face told of his excitement, and his determination, that Serbia would win this years Eurovision! I was like: calm down, mate! Any, it's because of him that I am able to add some exclusive, close up photos of the entries (thank you so much, M! You can check out his own website, featuring his travels, here) who made appearances yesterday in the city! Below each of the pictures is a link to that artist's entry this year.

ABOVE: Kenan Dogulu with represent turkey with his butt-shaking Shake It Up Shekerim! See the video here.

ABOVE: Kabat will represent the Czech Republic with their growling Mala Dama. See the video here.

ABOVE: DJ Bobo will represent Switzerland with his bizarre, but somewhat enjoyable Vampires Are Alive. See the video here.

ABOVE: Alenka Gotar will represent Slovenia by performing her appealing operatic pop Cvet Z Juga. See the video here.

NORMAL LIFE: Helsinki Calling...

The media machine has suddenly sprung to life with pages and pages dedicated to this weekend's forthcoming Eurovision Song Contest which will be hosted by none other than Helsinki, Finland! I can just imagine the presenters of the show declaring Tervetuloa Helsinkiin/Welcome to Helsinki to rapturous applause, marking the start ofTHE most gayest event in Europe!

I have been watching some of this years entries and it promises to be another yet more commercial than last year attempt to introduce some credible acts to the European masses. The UK entry this year is a rather camp affair. Sung by Scooch, Flying The Flag (for you) bases itself on a 'Eurovision flight' during which a busty blondy sexily illustrates how to 'blow' air into your life jacket. Meanwhile, a steward offers the captain something to suck on for landing; nothing wrong with a bit of 70s sauce and the entry is a marked improvement on the rap-and-schoolgirls entry from last year.

Other countries that have taken my fancy include Denmark's DQ, with the song Drama Queen. A very professional drag queen tells us how he's going to be a shining star when he's on the stage! It's poppy and get's you moving and there's something very STEPS-esque about the song, with its mass appeal.

Russia has a very promising entry this year, although it's sounds like a Michael/Janet Jackson cast off. Girly trio Serebro will wow us with Song #1, an attempt to drag Russian music out of the dark ages; initial reviews put Russia as a favourite to win. While it is a good song, if Russia win, I might just faint from shock.

The biggest joke this year is Ukraine, represented by the transevite disco bunny, Verka Serduchka singing Dancing Lasha Tambai, which reminds me somewhat of Timmy Mallet's Yellow Polka Dot Bikini; this just illustrate that all countries have to go through the painful process of musical evolution until they produce something worth listening too!

Of course, I haven't had a chance to review all of the songs, but it seems the calibre increases year on year. Thank god for that!

Eurovision Website:- click here

Entry videos:
Denmark - Drama Queen by DQ here
UK - Flying The Flag (for you) by Scooch here
Ukraine - Dancing Lasha Tambai by Verka Serduchka here
Russia - Song #1 by Serebro here

NORMAL LIFE: That Russian Outpost

I work for an American company which acquired an established, successful Finnish company, well-known throughout Europe. Sometimes, I feel like the piggy in the middle at work. I am neither Finn so I have no loyalties to the old organisation nor am I American with any alliance with the new organisation.

I am often overhearing negativity directs towards Americans by my Finnish colleagues. To date, my American colleagues have refrained from doing so which is probably wise since Finland is my chosen place of residence and any negative view would probably be met with some fierce resistance, although I bear no true alliance, although respect, towards the Finns.

One particular comment I heard recently took me by surprise. Somewhat overloaded, Popeye, one of the engineers, vented his frustration towards the amount of work stemming from our colleagues in the US. Apparently, he feels that his opinions and ideas in the workplace are not respected by his US colleagues and he attributes this to the fact that the 'US perceives Finland to be some kind of Russian outpost or something'.

Yesterday afternoon, during a regular one-to-one meeting with my boss, he asked how my relationship with Popeye was going; this was just a follow-up because I had convey - in confidence - some concerns about Popeye recently. I told him about the 'Russian outpost' comment to which my boss nodded in clear agreement. 'Yes,' he said 'they think we are like the Ukraine.'

I spoke to Bree about this after work and we concluded that this just goes to show how ignorant the Americans are. But it's not just the Americans that think this way. Even my own father sometimes refers to 'Finland's communist past' when we discuss domestic issues; this is ironic given that Finland doesn't have a communist history since it was always an autonomous region during the period of Russian rule and, when the last Czars were killed by the Communists in 1917 heralding Finnish independence, a truly democratic nation was born.

It's funny how many preconceptions there are in the world. I suppose that explains why my views are often at odds with many people back in the UK because I have seen, heard and therefore learnt, deep elements of another, largely unknown and therefore misunderstood, nation and culture.

But going back to the example at work, I suspect there may be another factor at work. Could it be that my Finnish colleagues are expressing nationalist sentiment and therefore resentment towards the American acquisition?

Going back to the likelihood of American ignorance, yesterday provided a timely example. I was on the online chat with a colleague in the US when I point out that the Queen of England is currently in the US (see here). My colleague responded: 'Yes, I heard about that... it's to do with some Anniversary or something....' I was stunned.

The Queen, over 80 years old, was visiting to pay respect to the 32 students who were gunned down in April as well as to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the first English settlement in the US. That's all, darling! Perhaps I should concede that they are ignorant after all!

NORMAL LIFE: How Can You Be Ungrateful... Graciously?

I recently turned 30 (read here). Rather than over-analysing the birthday with depressing thoughts of what I might have versus what I might not have acheived, I welcomed my 30's with open arms.

For my birthday, Bree had bought me a pair of real-gold cufflinks with a diamond studded into each one. It was a hugely original gift, something that would last forever, but when I looked at them again recently I couldn't help but think that they would never get used.

I worked up the courage to ask Bree if we could exchange them for something else. He agreed, so off we went. When we got to the store (this was yesterday), there wasn't anything I liked. I ended up leaving with a gift card for a sizeable sum since the shop didn't give refunds. There I was with a piece of card with a sum of money written onto it as if though it were an I.O.U and was thinking: what the fuck am I supposed to do with this when I didn't like anything else in the store?

When we got home, the arguments started. Apparently, going to the store to exchange the present was one thing, but leaving the store again with nothing but a measly gift card as a 30th birthday present, left Bree's attempt at buying something highly original somewhat unappreciated.

Even after five years, I sometimes feel he doesn't know me so I explained: all my life, I have never really appreciated classy things and, because I don't respect them, I am careless with them which means they end up broken or lost. Therefore, the cufflinks would have remained hidden away in a cupboard somewhere whereas I'm more a person of practicality; I like things I can use.

I hardly slept all of last night and, as the hours passed, I suddenly realised just how unique his gift was and how much the gift said this isn't something someone else would buy you! I felt like a shit so, this afternoon, I return to the store, intent on buying back the cufflinks.

While I didn't actually buy back the cufflinks, it overjoyed Bree to learn that I had bought myself a TAG Heuer Formula 1 watch, very similar to the one I had bought him for his 40th last December. While I might not have bought back the very original gift of the cufflinks, we were now watch-buddies!

This episode taught me that, when it comes to receiving a gift that really isn't you, it's so difficult to be graciously ungrateful. Bree took it personally, but the watch serves as a reminder as to how much we have in common and, fortunately, that isn't limited to a common taste in watches.

NORMAL LIFE: Standing Up To GI Jane

By nature, I'm not an aggressive person nor am I the conniving sort. I pretty much take people at face value although I sometimes regard people with a degree of suspicion upon first meeting; all of these qualities combined mean that I have a good judge of character. At least, this was the view I had of myself until an incident in a bar last night!

Yesterday was Vappu Eve (May Day Eve), one of the most eagerly awaited days off work in Finland. We landed at Helsinki airport at 10pm last night after an eight-day stay in Madeira (blog entry to follow soon). Rushing home by taxi, we freshened up and headed to our local gay bar, just a fifteen minute walk away. Already, the streets were littered with beer cans, lager packaging, broken bottles and a solitary, somewhat huge pile of sick which I dodged at the last minute! Yuck!

When we arrived, there were very few customers; we suspected that because May Day Eve was on a Monday this year, perhaps there wouldn't be so many people out. We were to be proved wrong; in the hour before midnight, lot's of pretty boys and girls (and lot's of god-awful ugly ones too) arrived, having already indulged somewhat in the national hobby of drinking. It wasn't long before the pushing and the shoving started on the dancefloor and the promiscuous started to implement their flirting skills.

I slowly drank my first Long Island Ice Tea (one of three, ouch!), somewhat flattered by a handsome guy who was giving me a more-than-casual glance over every now and then. At first, it was nice, but his stares got somewhat obsessive and, when I needed to pee at one point, the guy even followed me into the toilets. What is wrong with these people? I thought to myself. Just because of a nod in acknowledge of someone, does that mean I've acquiesced to a quick fumble? I told Bree of the incident when I returned to the dancefloor and he was pissing himself laughing!

With the 'being followed into the toilet incident' which made George Michael's antics in an LA toilet seem minor, it seemed that the night had just started. By 1am, the place was packed and JP (read about him here) was around. His presence wasn't a discreet one for he lunged towards Bree and gave him a warm hug, ignoring me completely. JP quickly released Bree and strode towards the bar. Meanwhile, Bree and I just stared at eachother, amazed by this totally rude act. Bree smiled at me in the way that told me to let it go, and I did.

We headed to the dancefloor where a totally new DJ was spinning some unusual combinations, cleverly combining 80s and 90s music with that of the new millenium. It all started with a remix of I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt (yes, they play that in the bars in Finland!) which was followed by Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up. Shortly afterwards, there was a number of Eurovision songs including my fave, Tornero, by Romania's Mihai Traistariu (who will perform at the club on May 9th apparently!). Then, just as I started to think that a Kylie Minogue song would be nice, our song, In Your Eyes, played. To my left, I noticed JP standing alone by the dancefloor, looking very much like someone who had alienated himself from who was once a good friend. It brought back memories because, four years ago, JP and I used to dance together to this song whenever it played. Not only was the song mine and Bree’s, but it had once been mine and JP’s.

The music continued it’s entertaining streak; it’s very rare that I know so many songs and after Madonna’s Hung Up played, it was time for me to hang up and chill for a bit. We had been standing on the edge of the dancefloor for less than half a minute when, suddenly, Bree’s drink had drenched my trousers. Apparently, a GI Jane lookalike (in fact, the worst kind of lesbian you can encounter) had stumbled onto Bree, with the domino effect being that his drink ended on me. I closed my eyes, urging myself to take a deep breath; why is it that my clothing acts as some kind of magnet for people’s drinks? Why is that these people have to drink so much so that they loose their ability to even remain upright?!

I opened my eyes and gave GI Jane a cursory glance. In her eyes, I detected an air of ignorance. No apology was forthcoming, in fact she merely looked through me. It was then that I realized I was in the company of one of them! This being the fourth time this year when my clothes have been used as if a beermat, my mind was thinking conflicting thoughts: ‘fight fire with fire’ versus ‘let it go’. I shocked myself when I lurched out and turned GI Jane’s drink on herself. An eye for an eye, I thought. The fury in her eyes was priceless, but while I was so shocked as to what I had done, I was equally fearful of her response. Harsh words were spoken which involved my first use of Finnish swear words.

GI Jane’s friend suggested I replace her drink to resolve the matter and I was thinking what planet are you on? It’s me who has wet trousers, you twat! Some of her friends gathered and it materialized that they were actually Estonian which went some way to explain their ignorant, uncivilized behaviour. Bree and I stood there defiantly, two well-built guys who weren’t gonna back down. Not this time! As the seconds passed, so did the threat. We slowly made our way away from the Estonians, cautious of any possible backlash. You don’t mess about with these lesbians, trust me!