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The rest of Christmas was spent rather quietly with the exception of showing Steve, Lauren and Clare round Rotherham on Saturday night. Rumble Strip were playing in the SNAFU and as they are the second best band that play there we stayed and watched them until closing time after visiting several other places of local interest. Mainly the massive TV in the town center.
I basically got drunk Sunday night then Monday afternoon with Mark, and then Justin and Lucy on their way back from Northumberland to Brighton. It was strange to sit in one of my local pubs drinking with two people I only saw in Iceland a few weeks previously. 
The flight back to Reykjavik was a nightmare. The original time for the flight was set at 7.30pm, both myself and my brother had received an email to tell us the flight was being delayed until 10.30pm. When we arrived at the airport about 8.30 we were told the flight wouldn't be leaving until 11.55pm. We dutifully took our seats on the plane about 11.45pm only to be told that there was a problem with a leakage on the nosecone and the technicians were coming out to fix it. It turns out the technicians didn't have the right piece of paper with them. They had the tools alright, but NO PIECE OF PAPER!! So they went away again, to try to find their piece of paper. Meanwhile the stewards started giving out drinks as complimentary, I thought the logic of this was a little off. A plane packed with angry people in a confined space, the best thing to do? Ply them with booze! Finally the technicians found their piece of paper and sellotaped the nosecone up or whatever it was they were doing and we were off. At 2am. Only a mere six and a half hours after the original time I had booked. I finally crawled to bed about 6.30am. Thanks Iceland Express!!
If you're wondering why there are pictures in this post, it's because Dave said it was boring just looking at blocks of text, so I thought I'd break it up a little. See, I listen to you, my loyal readership. Any more ideas, you know where to send em!
OK, it's the day before we hang dead horses in the trees in celebration of the sun coming back full circle and providing us with the bounties of Earth again. Hail Wotan! I thought I'd do a short update on what I've been up to since getting back. I'll try to keep these short as Danny was complaining last night about how long winded they are. 'They're for me, it's an online diary.' I said 'Don't read it if you don't like it.' That told him.
I was out on Saturday night for Dave's 'Work do'. Which consisted of myself, Linzi and Dave getting into an awful state in Rotherham, deciding it would be a good idea to go to Sheffield and ending up in Club Shush at 4.30 falling asleep in the Chill Out room. So most of Sunday was wiped out until I called in on Mark in the evening for a game of draughts and then some more beer in the pub. Festivus is being very appeased this year!
I called in at Meadowhell on Monday morning to pick up a last present, I thought it should be relatively quiet, being that people are probably still at work. Boy was I wrong, it was like a nuclear war had been declared and everyone was panic buying tins of beans and other non-degradable foodstuffs. The place was rammed and it was quite frustrating seeing the lack of sense people have. I walked past a couple who were seriously eyeing up some pre-cooked roast parsnips. Now, call me dumb, but I thought that roasting parsnips was probably one of the easiest thing you could ever do. Peel them, put some stuff on them (olive oil and herbs or anything you have to hand...), put them in the oven, take them out when they are done and eat them. But then I guess some people have the ability to burn water, so need all the help they can get when it comes to doing the simplest jobs on the planet. God help them if there IS a nuclear war. Picture it; a time when shambolic groups of people are trading with different coloured pebbles and fighting over water. There would be another group of people slowly starving to death trying to find food that is pre-prepared in tinfoil trays with instructions to pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees. Unable to recognise food in it's natural state, i.e. with the skin on and not in a tray, they would be a dying breed. I weep for these times.
I called in to see Lauren at work, she showed me her body. Sorry, I mean bodies. Hundreds of them, in boxes. Rooms stacked full of skeletons. Some were rather interesting, especially the Anchoress. Then we both went and had lunch and then met Clare, which made for three hours of circular arguments. I still miss her though. I also bumped into Colin and managed to wrestle the last remaining Osprey books that he owes me out of his hands.
In the evening I called up to Dave's gaff and we celebrated Festivus yet again, this time whilst watching 'Get Thrashed' the documentary on Thrash Metal from the eighties. Pretty cool stuff. I was hoping Nathan would call over but he was obviously hopped up on copious amounts of cheap Dextromethorphan or something similar he'd bought in India.
Tuesday passed without much interest, I was listening to music and trying to find my Curb Your Enthusiasm DVDs, to no avail. I called over the Danny's, picked him and we called up to the Hind to meet up with Aimee and Juliette, whom I'd not seen for twelve years (she said thirteen, what's a year between friends?) (and that's Juliette, I'd not seen for 12/13 years, not Aimee, who I saw about six months ago.). The quiz was on and we did spectacularly bad. I did the first four answers on my own while they were all out having a fag and I scored 75% correct. It was only when I was joined by the other numbskulls that the brain drain began. Also Aimee and Juliette were both in trouble from their other halves for going out and having fun. Sometimes it pays to be single. all four of us piled up to Dave's for after hours drinks, even with Danny whining 'I have to be up at four'. I think he was a little taken aback at how drunk we were, but he was the kindly host as ever. Festivus was once again truly served!
We had our house Christ's Mass dinner on Wednesday evening, it consisted of Lamb for Duncan and I and fish ('fash') for Roz and Jo. All in all a lovely meal, ably cooked by Roz and Duncan, I washed up and Jo brought nothing to the table. I had a good long celebration of Festivus in the company of a bottle of rum, some ice and a lime.
I didn't sleep too well Wednesday night but dragged myself to work where I was promptly thrown out of the warm womb like office and into the cold harsh reality of the tent. No Facebook out there... Mind you, it was good crack, five men talking about men things, fighting, drinking and women. This only lasted until Lilja turned up half-way through the day, covered in make up like a two penny strumpet and reeking of cheap perfume. Not only did she ruin the man atmosphere, she cheated at cards during afternoon break. Thursday evening had been earmarked for a final night celebration and also Sindre's birthday bash. I decided to go, then decided not to go, then Jo and I got some shit of our chests that had been there all week, then I decided to go, then I said I was only staying for two drinks, then I went for a hotdog at midnight, then I said I'd only have one more drink, then I dragged Jo drunkenly through the snow at 2am. Good night. I was talking to Lilja for most of the evening, if you're wondering why I keep mentioning Lilja it's because she said she only reads this, but then stops if there's nothing in it about her, so I thought I'd keep mentioning her to see if she was still reading it.
I was awoken at 4.00am by my alarm, and dragged my sorry drunken, sicky pudding feeling self out of bed to go and meet Sindre and the taxi for the airport. The flight home was made dreadful by this massive Icelandic family sitting in all the seats around me, with their retardo son sitting in the same row as my seat. Their kids were screaming and fighting the whole way and Retardo the Magnificent kept jumping up and running about, kicking the seats in front of him and putting the tray up and down on the seat next to mine. I gave him some withering looks to make sure he knew I meant business.
The train journey from Stansted was little better, I had to change four times and finally got back home 12hrs after I had left the comfort of my nice warm bed. I was going to go out to Arcus' Christ's Mass party in Sheffield, but I was completely fucked from lack of sleep and had no real way of getting home that didn't involve an expensive taxi journey, so I decided to have a bath and listen to some of the twenty one CDs that were waiting for me on my return to the UK.
So we move into the final week before the annual festival of hanging dead horses in the trees in celebration of the end of the year. I have a been reflecting on a few things this week, one thing I have realised since Justin and Lucy left is how much I miss my good friends back in the UK. Only having a few days at Christmas just isn't enough time to catch up with people. I know I will not be seeing as many people as I want to over the next couple of weeks, but it will have to do.
On Monday I noticed that the Day the Earth Stood Still had been released. Or should I say, re-released. This is the remake of the classic, dare I say it, Seminal 1951 movie. The original is incredibly subtle and mature for the time it was made. It still has resonances 50 years after it was made. Poor old Keanu Reeves had a lot to live up to...
I'm afraid he didn't. It starts off OK, and follows the original quite closely, even thought the effects of Gort are terrible. But it rapidly goes downhill, there are scenes which make no sense (one in a railway station, where Klaatu is seen by a child manipulating a vending machine, but with no conclusion. During the same scene two men brawl over a train ticket, again with no conclusion.), it rolls along to a confused ending with plenty of Hollywood style effects thrown in for good measure. One of the most annoying things is the inclusion of a step-child of the main female protagonist. Not only is she white and he black (flying the flag for cross racial PC bullshit, whilst still being racist. Why couldn't it be a black step father with a white child? Because... shhhh, of ingrained racism in Hollywood...), but he's the most annoying child actor one could hope to spend the misfortune of watching for two hours. Mop topped and feisty he seriously should be left to the fate of falling into the river that Klaatu saves him from. Why do kids in films always have long hair? In my day all the kids I knew had shaved heads, mind you, that was to stop them getting nits off each other and so their hair wouldn't get tangled up in the machinery of the Dark Satanic Mills that we all worked in Up North. I digress.
To be fair, Keanu Reeves is pretty perfect as the emotionless Klaatu, he seems to have drifted happily into these kind of roles since doing the sham that is The Matrix. Anything that allows him to stare absent mindedly into the middle distance like a robot and half whisper some bullshit that is supposed to be profound is perfect for Mr Reeves. He still can't shake that Bill and Ted cloak though, eh? I expect people will be shouting 'Awesome' and twiddling air guitars during his funeral. Poor bloke.
I have just returned from a week long road trip across Southern and Eastern Iceland. Well, I say 'just' returned, I actually got in last night (unless I publish this on Sunday, then I mean 'Thursday'. Good God, there's a lot of double meanings in this post already...). I have had my first visitors from the homeland since arriving here, Justin and Lucy tipped up on Friday night for week 'olidays in Iceland. I have been planning this trip for the past six weeks and it meant that I couldn't go to the site Christmas party, but never mind. I was ill informed by Bjarki that it only takes 16hrs to get around the entire Ring Road (route Number 1) round Iceland. Three days would be enough time to see loads of things on the way. Now, I have absolutely no idea what kind of fucking rocket powered jet fighter he drives, but there is no way on Earth that one would get around the Ring Road in that time. The original plan was for the two of them to arrive on Friday and we would drive the four hours (Bjarki's estimation again...) to Höfn and arrive about eleven, that would give us the entire Saturday to explore the area and about half of Sunday for further look-see and then the drive back. The best laid plans of mice and men...
Justin and Lucy protested that they would have been on the road since eight that morning so didn't fancy a four hour drive so soon after arriving, so I suggested we stop at Vik on the first night (Friday). From experience, Vik I knew to be about two hours outside of Reykjavik. This they agreed to, we kidnapped Jo and after a short stop at Hagkaup to pick up some mung beans for Justin we zoomed out of Reykjavik. Only to stop at a crazy church with all the gravestones covered in Christmas lights. It turns out that this is not unusual in Iceland, it's something to do with letting the ancestors enjoy Christmas and the delights of being eaten by the Evil Christmas Cat.
Lucy had been driving up to this point and Justin took over, being unused to driving on the other side of the road and in a automatic we wobbled off down the road, to be almost instantaneously stopped by the police for a breathalyser test. Despite having half a can earlier Justin passed the test and we uncertainly carried on. It was now getting towards half past ten and Vik was no where closer to us than when we had set off two and a half hours earlier. Seeing a neon sign for the Hotel Ranga we pulled in desperate for somewhere to stay for the night. as we walked in we realised we were immediately out of our depths, see here for details: http://www.hotelranga.is/ The place was as opulent as they come and we had no business there. But to our amazement the light of Festivas was shining o'er us and the prices were really affordable, it must have been because of the season. Booking in and taking our share of the free mulled wine, we all went to bed happy little bunnies.
After an opulent breakfast of fresh bread, waffles and coffee, we hit the road for Vik. It had rained during the night and was raining as we set off. It didn't look promising, but as we traveled across the coast line the rain cleared but left the clouds, to give an eerie and dramatic quality to the surroundings. We stopped in Vik for the first Pylsur of the day and I called Duncan to see what progress he was making. The idea was for Duncan and Roz to drive out to meet us and then take Jo and I back home on Sunday leaving Justin and Lucy to continue on Eastwards. They had long since passed Vik and were speeding at a rate of knots towards Höfn. We quickly boarded the car and caught them up at a service station, a good enough reason for a second Pylsur. We continued on in quasi-convoy fashion stopping at a frozen waterfall and various other outstanding areas of natural beauty. Rounding a corner we got our first glimpse of Vatnajokull, the glacier that covers about 8% of Iceland and is about the fucking size of Yorkshire. In the fading light we drove down to one of the many tongues that protrude from the main Glacier; Svínafellsjökull. These things are incredible, dangerous and brooding, they seem to want to draw you in to certain doom. The fact that they are constantly moving as well makes them like beasts with primeval malevolence. The vast size and power is enough to make you go mad thinking about them.
The two car convoy set off for the final leg for Höfn, after being freaked out by Ice. We arrived at the Arnanes Guesthouse, a brilliant little place just outside of Höfn. All wooden walls and shit. We bombed it into Höfn to meet Duncan and Roz who were staying at another place in town and found a place we wanted to eat at as recommended by the Lonely Planet. The place was full of Christmas revelers and closed to the public so we took off to another place that wasn't recommended by the lonely planet. This was another example of the guide books lying to us. It said the waiting staff we unfriendly and grumpy, but we found the opposite to be true, we were given complimentary Christmas Lamb on pancakes (too rich...) and the waiter entertained us with jokes and went out of his way to sort out Justin's vegan diet.
Back at the Guesthouse, we settled in for a display of the Northern Lights, which were brought on by Jo falling on her arse, after drunkenly slipping off her chair... The next morning we met up with Roz and Duncan and drove out to a black beach with incredible mountains falling into the sea. The snow was thick all over the beach, something I've never seen before. Also something else I've never seen before was a herd of wild reindeer, come down off the mountains for Winter. The Guesthouse owner had told us about a waterfall nearby which we headed to, despite Jo's protests. The thing was frozen and after a perilous journey, Lucy, Justin and I managed to get behind the ice. It was like being in a magical Ice Queen's palace, but stonier. Roz and Duncan decided to split off and head up the Easternfjords whilst the intrepid four made a beeline for one of the Glacial tongues. We got the car as far we could up a frozen field, before being thwarted by a frozen river and carried on on foot. After an hour's march across a frozen wasteland, bordered on two sides by mountains we reached the Terminal Moraine of the glacier. Clambering over the top the only thing that came to mind was 'Fucking Hell!' The land fell away below us, a frozen lake ran into the foot of the Glacial tongue, which stretched out beyond the horizon. This was the single most impressive thing I have ever seen and we were the only four people there. It was like the end of the earth. The silence was incredible, you could have heard a pin drop from about a mile away.
Night was falling as we set back across the snowy fields and about an hour later we reached the car. Again the guesthouse owner had been a hive of information and had told us about a some natural hot pots in the area. Which we quickly found. The farmer who owned them called past in his truck and told us they were free to use, so we took to the water, under the stars, surrounded by four inch deep snow. The best end to the best day.
Jo, Duncan and Roz headed back to Reykjavik and I decided to gooseberry it out with Justin and Lucy for the rest of the week. We headed east up to the Eastfjords, the scenery was amazing and we passed about three cars in the eight hours we were on the road. With a stop at the frozen sea shore (and a walk out on the ice, as far as I dared...) we made for Djúpivogur (Jub Jub) a tiny little fishing village, tucked away in the fjords. After a quick walk around this tiny place we set back for the Guesthouse for the final night at Arnanes. The guesthouse owners gave us cookies and Quality Street on our departure the next day and we took our leave to Skaftafell National Park. Stopping at the Glacier lake we gazed in awe at icebergs floating in the river and a colony of seals basking in the sunlight. Hitting the road again we climbed up a hill up to Svartifoss were we were confronted by the sight of another frozen waterfall, this time with ten foot long icicles hanging off the hexagonal basalt blocks. another unbelievable sight from this beautiful country. Night was falling again as we headed out to Skaftafellsjökull which was reached after about half an hour's walk from the National Park car park. Again the power and might of glaciers was all too apparent as the moon was rising over the beast and we crossed frozen rivers and ice blocks to as close as we dare get to the thing.
Heading back we nearly walked over two Ptarmigan, the idiotic white (in winter) grouse that inhabit Iceland. Then tried to find a place to eat and a place to stay. Both failed and we ended up at a guesthouse who, although they were shut never turned people away, which basically means they were open. This was inhabited by a man with a claw hand, a fat woman and two pissing dogs. We tried to get some food in Vik, but the place was shut so we headed back to the hotel with only meager rations, scrounged in Hagkaup the previous Friday. A sumptuous banquet was prepared and we all headed to our respective beds.
The next morning was a later start than usual, we were going on a glacier trip and didn't have to be there until 11.30. We arrived about 11.00 and sat around waiting for nearly an hour before the bus from Reykjavik turned up with the other Glacier walkers in it. Strapping on crampons we filed onto a glacier, for the first time in my life. The sights were unbelievable, even with the pissing rain the formations from the water looked incredible.
Piss wet through, we headed back to the Hotel Ragnar and booked ourselves in for the night. A luxurious double bed and the most expensive meal I have ever had (which included Puffin meat fro starters...) awaited these weary travelers. The final day was a trip around the Golden Circle sights, which we had to ourselves and in the snow, which made for an interesting contrast to when I'd seen them before. Then back to Reykjavik full of stories of daring do and incredible sights.
Yesteday (I'm now writing this on Sunday) was a trip around the Keflavik peninsular, snowbound frozen landscapes, lighthouses, drying fish, hot springs and sea Trolls were the order of the day. I was awoken at four this morning by Justin and Lucy leaving, a sad goodbye as I won't see them again for a long time, but a great week in all.
If you've got this far, well done, this is more of a diary reminder for me than of interest to the layman.
On Thursday night we held our now bi-annual Play Night. We decided to up the ante somewhat this time and told the punters to bring their own games, as Jo refuses point blank to play Stratego, the only board game the crazy drunk Jesus freak owns. Lilja, turned up with "Ticket to Ride', which looked fucking amazing, with trains and everything along with some crazy card game and Cluedo in Danish!. Hrönn brought 'The Mad Magazine' game. Atli turned up with the nerdiest game this side of Nerddom. It was some fucking Vampire Card Game. I never understand these kind of card games, like Magic The Gathering and the like. I mean, when I want to play cards, I get some nice simple playing cards. I don't need cards adorned with pictures of fucking werewolves and goblins to enjoy a game.
I digress. Atli wasn't allowed to play with his cards, even though we kept telling him 'Yeah, we'll play after this game, promise!' That wiped the stupid smile off his stupid face. We played Cluedo first (Which Margret kept pronouncing as 'Clue Edo'. Brilliant), everybody raced to the foot of the stairs to reveal it was Fru Paafugleblaa with the Reb in the Billiardvarelse. I don't remember who won in mad scramble to the stairs, so let's just say it was me. Then it was time to play Hrönn's 'Mad Magazine Game' which, no offense Hrönn, was akin to pulling teeth. I definitely remember winning this one and Play Night moved onto Poker. Now, Poker is a game I don't know how to play but have always wanted to learn. We broke out the Jesus Freak's coins and everyone was dealt in. I had a good hand and kind of figured that I did, so I kept upping the betting, I then went all in and everyone else thought I was bullshitting them and matched my bravado. It paid off. I put the smack down on everyone and knocked at least three people out. Underestimate me, would you, you fuckers? I went to bed at the top of my game.
Friday was spent watching videos and relaxing over a few beers in the house. I awoke quite late on Saturday. This is the major problem when the sun doesn't rise until about ten am. I attempted to take a coat back, but the snotty cunt behind the counter said it had been worn and wouldn't take it back. I suppose having a shopping list in the pocket didn't help my argument that I had only tried it on in the house. With that failure I met Jo in town where we proceeded to the Perlan and the Saga Museum. I've already told you my comments on this place before, so I won't reiterate myself at this juncture. This time however, we took the opportunity to half the embarrassment and dressed up as Vikings, with chainmail shirts, coifs and Helmets. There was also a sword involved, I'm not sure how, the excitement was far too heady for me. After this I took Jo on a Battlefield Archaeology tour of World War Two Defensive bunkers. She said this was the highlight of the day, by far!
Hrappi called over Saturday evening and he and I headed out to a gig at Belly's. You'll remember Belly's for being the cheapest pint in Reykjavik, a snip at £67,982! Anyway the gig was a warm-up show for the 'Anti-Christmas' festival that is being held in a few weeks. We arrived to the dulcet tones of 'Dormah'. These were blasting out crushing Death Metal, very good stuff. Then came on the exquisitely named 'Bastard'. Again great Death Metal, with an Australian Singer; so for the first time I understood everything being said between songs. Next up were Forgarður Helvítis, one of the oldest bands in Iceland, fucking excellent Grindcore Punk with a really energetic singer. The next band were a power punk kind of outfit. They were good at what they did, but not really my kind of band. The final band were my favourite, Atrum. Fucking good Black Metal, in the Emperor style. They were all only young kids, but they had the attitude (and corpse paint) and talent to put on a real good show. I was just thinking to myself, wow these guys are just like old Emperor when they launched into a cover of I am the Black Wizards! Fucking Brilliant, it's one of my favourite Emperor songs of all time, ever. After the gig Hrappi and I went and got our Chickenbugers that always finish off an evening these days.
On Sunday Jo dragged me to shopping Hell in Kringlan Shopping Maul. Actually I wanted to go Christmas shopping, I had a few things to buy and knew exactly were to get them from. As it turns out, one of the shops had closed down, another one didn't have what I wanted and the final thing I wanted to buy was too heavy to carry around, so I ended up buying a magazine and two books for myself. Another completely successful shopping expedition for Sotheran.
We had a meeting at work today, during which we had our Secret Santa hoisted upon us. What this means is, we all picked a name out of a hat and we have to be nice to that person for the week, but without them knowing it. It culminates in buying them a present on Friday. We can be nice in various ways, sing to them, write them a poem, send a little gift, etc. I'm not going to tell you who mine is, but they are going to receive pictures of Nazi atrocities, children being raped by clowns and other such niceties. Fuck Christmas and fuck you.
