Greetings from the Arctic Circle

Apologies for lack of posting. I've been a bit too busy living recently to write about it (although that may be a rationalisation of inefficient web surfing when I could have been blogging).

I am currently in the shopping centre in Karasjok, northern Norway. The majority population here is Sami (Lapp) who are the indigenous inhabitants of northern Scandinavia and traditionally wear exciting red costumes. I have been here for a fortnight along with two other students running a cafe in the Pinsekirka (Pentecostal Church) where we have also been staying. I may write more about this another time. Before this I have been involved in working with international students in Cambridge and got roped into helping with a children's holiday club in Sleaford.

I am under instruction to recount some of my more lunatic endeavours during my fortnight in Cambridge.
I got my bike stolen (which wasn't actually my bike but one of the fleet of loaned bikes for the CIO team). The reconstructed sequence of events goes a bit like this - I cycled to visit a language school in Girton (about 2 miles away) with someone else. Since I was foolishly wearing three layers and so overheated, I felt quite dizzy when I arrived at the language school. I felt as if I might pass out when walking down stairs but didn't say anything and got on with the job of publicising our cafés. When I arrived back in the centre of Cambridge I was hungry and ready for lunch so I took my lock off my bike and went inside, putting the lock into my bag. I think maybe a lack of oxygen to the brain caused me to do things in reverse.

I also managed to slip over in cartoon style on a wet floor coming down some stairs. I was unobserved at the time but my family considered it hilarious when recounted.

I think the prize should go to my unintentional attempt to get into the wrong house. We were placed with host families. One night I walked back with a friend by another route and so entered the street from the other end. I went to the house I thought was the right one and tried my key in the lock. When this didn't work I went round the back wondered why it looked different. On returning to the front of the house I noticed that the number was 48 rather than 1.

From my children's holiday club I might just mention that I had an 8 year old ask me for my phone number on the first day. (You might be glad to know I didn't give it to her).

Lots of anecdotes from the Arctic Circle but they may have to wait until I get home.