When I was a child I lived in the Norwegian countryside with my parents and a two year older sister and a brother who was three years younger than I. We were a happy family. My father worked in an office in Oslo writing computer programmes and my mother was a translator who worked from home. My father liked his work very much and had several good friends among his colleagues. Sometimes he would come home late because he had been out for a drink with them. At least that was what he told us. Later we were not so sure. We lived quite a long way from Oslo, so my father had to get up at six every day and take the 7.30 bus to Oslo. He said that he had nothing against the busride as it gave him time to read. I have no idea how many books he read on the bus. Most days he would come home at 7.30 in the evening. If he didn't arrive at 7.30 he would always be on the next bus an hour later.

However, one day my father did not arrive on the 7.30-bus, he wasn't on the next bus or the one after. When it had turned midnight and he still hadn't come home, we thought that something must have happened to him and phoned all the hospitals in Oslo. (This was before everybody had a mobile phone). But he wasn't there. The following morning we rang his job. His boss told us that they hadn't seen him at work for more than two months. During these two months he had left home at 6.30 in the morning and returned at 6 or 7.30 at night as usual. So where had he been and how had he spent his days???

Oppgaver:

1. Translate the story into Norwegian

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