Publife seen through the eyes of a Norwegian girl

It is fascinating in a way, how the great people of England seem to love their time at the the pub so much. It appears to be a sacred time for the Englishman, and anything interfering is seen as an evil.

At the pub, a place that could be referred to as their second home, they all seem to know each other. They meet up with old and new friends, share stories and laughter over a pint of something that to me both look and taste like urine. I am not going to sugar coat it, it really does! Most conversations will at one point turn to sport, and football, rugby and cricket in particular are popular topics.

As a girl of foreign upbringing I don’t feel like I belong in this setting. Sitting in a dark pub, surrounded by old men and their pints, whilst getting hammered on urine and talking the latest England squad is not what I consider a time well spent. I just can’t seem to grasp what’s so magical about it. Let’s face it, the pub is a dirty place. It stinks of ale and piss, and seventy percent of the people in there are old, lonely men drowning their sorrows. It is not a place for a fragile girl.

However, I don’t mind the pub all that much if we are heading up town afterwards, as I know better things are to come, like shaking my behind to some cheesy ’80’s music. I just don’t understand how people go there for hours then back home again when the pub closes at night to sleep off the piss, for then do the same damn thing the following night. To me it feels like going to the cinema to watch the trailers and then leave before the feature film. Pointless.

Unfortunately like mentioned, the Englishmen seems to love it, including my man. Many a night have I lost his company to his Nirvana. Instead I am left to my own to write stories about how boring pubs are. It is actually more fun writing this than joining the man and his fellow pubers (does that look too much like pubes?). When I am there I often find myself without anything to contribute with in the pub conversations. Strangely enough, I seem to find a million things to say about the pubs itself.

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A false sense of talent

In my University class there was a girl who, like most of us, were dreaming of becoming a photographer. The only problem was that she had no eye for it unfortunately, and the images produced often resembled the snap shots my mum would randomly take on a family holiday. Sure, in the creative world most things are accepted, and photographer’s, such as Martin Parr, have made a name for themselves creating snap shot style photography. The only difference in this case was that this girl was not purposely taking pictures to look like snap shots, but she was instead trying to create high end fashion images. Through my three years at University she didn’t seem to progress much either, and knowing how brutal and cruel the photography industry can be there will not be a break for her, especially within fashion photography.

Another girl I know has this dream of becoming a model. She is constantly paying for photo shoots and actively building up her portfolio. The images are often tacky and badly executed, if I may say so myself, and the editing process has been more or less skipped by a lazy photographer. I am not saying all images needs to be edited, but it is a known fact that a visually pleasing and/or interesting photograph will sell more. A little touch on the light and some colour correction could proper get a picture to pop, it doesn’t take much. Unfortunately the poor poses and, as much as I hate to say it, the girl herself does not fall into the norm of a model. Not in today’s society. The poor girl seems to think if you are willing to undress in front of a camera, then that is the way to success. I’m sorry to say it girlfriend, you ain’t got what it takes.

I agree as much as the next person that everyone should be allowed to follow their dreams and pursue a career of own choice. It is just sad to see when people have quite clearly been told how good they are at something, when in reality, they’re not. We are all so afraid to say what we actually think when it comes to people we care about, because we don’t want to hurt their feelings. After being told time after time “oh darling you are such a great singer” by a loving mum, of course you will start thinking “I am a great singer”. Before you know it you will be arguing with Simon Cowell on The X-Factor because he is claiming you can’t sing.

Would it not be kinder of the loved ones to have been honest all along, to spare you the humiliation of always ending up on a ‘worst of pop-idol 2012’ highlights. Wouldn’t it be better knowing from an early age, instead of a constant no after every job opportunity you apply for. Of course, some things can be practised and perfected, and we would probably never know half of the amazing athletes out there if they stopped because they didn’t run the fastest in 2nd grade. I just think the lying part is wrong. We could all do with being more honest to the ones we care about. Not to break their spirit, but to 1. make them work for it harder or 2. stop wasting time on something that would never happen, and find another passion more suitable for their capacity.

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