Ultima Thule

Friday evening finally came into view after two pretty frustrating days at work. All the rest of the household went for a drink, but as I am not really into doing this in the UK I didn't go. Besides which, I'd just spent the previous eight hours with the cunts so why would want to spend any more time with them? I bought some beers and headed home. The rest of the evening was spent watching Family Guy and then Die Hard whilst consuming alcohol. I haven't seen Die Hard for a good few years, but it is still ridiculous. I seem to remember thinking that it was an 'alright' film. Friday night proved me wrong. It's tripe. I mean, the Heckler and Koch MP5 that Bruce is using fires at a cyclical rate of 900 rounds per minute. The magazine is a 30 round box, so mathematically that means that the magazine will empty in 1.5 seconds on fully automatic fire. The amount of firing Bruce does means that he must be carrying about 50 clips (I said clips, not chargers, it's an American film after all...), but I only saw him pick two up along with the magazine already in the gun.

Complete garbage.

After a lovely lie in on Saturday morning, I discovered that the shower was fucked, water was pissing out of the pipe that had been holed somehow. Maybe Jesus didn't like me inverting all the crucifixes in the house. But I couldn't get a shower because of this and neither can I go to the Swimming pool to get a shower there as my tattoo still hasn't healed sufficiently. Stinking like a pair of tramps, Jo and I headed into to town as Jo wanted to go clothes shopping. After a quick look in a few shops we stopped for some lunch in a Mexican place. I had a chicken 'sandwich like no other' and we decided not to have the Nachos with cream cheese, sauce and 'a bunch of other stuff', because Jo said she didn't want too much. After being fed and watered we wandered down to the flea market at the harbour 's edge. This is a pretty nice little market where you can pick up any kind of shit you need, be it dried fish or statues of witches, both of which are in demand in my life. I was trapped by a vast collection of record stalls, whilst Jo disappeared off to try to find some vintage clothes. I ended up buying a Village People album and the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, for the bargain price of three of your English pounds.

A coffee and tea in Kofi Tómasar Frænda later, we started to head back to the house only to be enveloped by the protest going on outside the Althingi about the current state of the Icelandic economy. The main protest was over, but a massive crowd was still in force pelting the building with eggs, melons, toilet rolls, snowballs and Skyr. I said to Jo, they want to be careful wasting all that food, they may need it in the weeks to come... I was also wondering why nobody had the bright idea of throwing rocks at the windows. We ran into Björgvin and he told us it was the largest protest that Iceland had ever known. Maybe that's why no-one was throwing rocks. They were still experimenting with what missiles worked and what didn't. Last week it was probably rotten tomatoes. 'No, these don't work... let's try eggs next week!' 'Ah the eggs just break when we throw them, what about snowballs? Let's try those this week...' Maybe next week someone will have the bright idea of launching a rock through the window and it will start a hail of stones! After the rioting had calmed down Björgvin, Jo and I beat a hasty retreat to the Green Parties headquarters where they were dishing out free waffles and coffee for hungry and tired rioters.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the company of Family Guy and Youtube until about ten when Jo, Duncan, Roz and I headed out to Grand Rokk for the Fuzz Fest. Duncan and Roz left us at the door and Jo and I went in to see four of the finest Stoner Rock bands Iceland has to offer, actually they're probably the ONLY Stoner Rock bands Iceland has to offer. Ashton Cut were up first they were OK, a bit young, but OK. Then Dust Cap came on, they were pretty fucking good alright. Very heavy and good riffing. Jo didn't like it one bit, which proves they must have been pretty good. After they'd finished Hrafnkell turned up. He was just in time to see Cliff Clavin, a band Thingtak had been beaten by in last years Battle of the Bands. It obviously still hurt and it was painful to watch a grown man crying, on his knees screaming 'Why? Why?' I thought them to be a little too changey in the first three songs style, but then the rest of the songs sounded very similar, if you know what I mean? You may remember I have seen Brain Police before, when they supported Brank Bjork and the Bros. They were good then and they were good this time as well. The singer has real charisma and he milks it, which what you need from a good front man. Hrappi and I tried to get a mosh pit started but the Icelanders seemed to be as unresponsive as the cunts in Sheffield and it was like trying to flog a dead horse. Mind you after last years incident at Sepultura I have always had to a bit wary of my ankle, even slipping on the barrow runs at work is enough to set it off. But I got a bit sweaty and got a bit of aggression out so everything was fine!

After the gig, Jo, Hrappi and I went over to Prikið to meet Duncan and Roz. We all carried on drinking and ended up in Kofi Tómasar Frænda (second time in one day... Two totally different experiences..) were I danced to Rage Against the Machine and MC Hammer, then had a pint poured over me by some stupid cunt, with whom I then had an argument about who's seat was who's. Duncan and I were only survivors of Kofi Tómasar Frænda and we went to pick up the obligatory kjúklingur borgari, nothing ends a night like chicken flavoured sawdust! We went for one final pint in some bar that I keep thinking I have never been in but have actually been in loads of times... Finally hit the hay about six, I think...