...Into the Ardent Awaited Land...

The horror, the horror...

No more have Colonel Kurtz's word rung truer as on Monday night. I was plunged into the very Heart of Darkness, the Apocalypse was most definitely Now.

Atli and I met for a mano-a-mano match of Axis and Allies. For the past few weeks we have been playing with the hindrance of other people, some of them girls even. On Monday night we cast ourselves free of these shackles and went head to head. Atli took the Allies and I drew the Axis powers. The game went well for me initially, North Africa fell to Germany, parts of Russia and China collapsed under the weight of Japanese attacks. The American Navy patrolled the sea bed after sustaining the mighty attacks of the Imperial Japanese Navy. It looked as though the game balance would tip in my favour. But, British forces landed in Western Europe unexpectedly whilst German was starting to apply pressure on Russia. Quickly switching attention to the West lost the German impetus on the Eastern Front. This gave Russia breathing space to renew attacks in the Caucasus mountains and re-enforce all the land already captured. Japan was making great gains in the East, except against Russia who's tenacity in defence was helping keep the Imperial Army at bay. With Germany being pushed in on both sides, I decided to surrender the Axis forces to the mercy of the Allies War Crimes Tribunal. In a final hurrah I shot myself in a bunker under Berlin after marrying Jo in a shotgun wedding.

Atli was not a gracious winner, the next day at work was a living Hell. Every opportunity was taken to mention the war. Every little slip up was pounced upon. I was brow beaten and berated from eight until five. I went home a nervous wreck. I am still discomposed now as I write this. I cannot believe I lost to that simpleton. It just shows what a few simple mistakes can do to a man and his plan.

Winternight

Feeling much better on Thursday night I went along with Hrafnkell to the Global Battle of the Bands. Thingtak were playing and I went along to support. This was more than the usual clapping, the audience also got a vote along with the judges as to who the winners should be. We traveled over in the Thingmobile, to some place on the way to Keflavik. A little industrial estate in the middle of nowhere, where someone had had the amazing sense to set up a sports bar. Two minutes away from the venue, Hrappi turned to me and said 'I can't remember if I said or not, but you might have to pay to get in.' Thanks mate, let me know in plenty of time. A Yorkshire Man and his money are not easily parted. I need some time for this kind of information to sink in. You know, a couple of days to weigh up the pros and cons of paying for something. I agonise for weeks about making even small purchases like a toothbrush. 'How much does it cost, how long will I use it for, how much will each use cost me in the long run?' So to have this dumped on me, scant moments before I have to do the act of exchanging money sends me into spasms, where my pockets become a lot longer and my arms a lot shorter... I resisted the temptation to attack him and duly paid the fee of 500 Kroner (About £2.50...).

The bands that played were a mixed bunch. Of the seven groups I liked the TOTAL METAL band called Elect. They ended up going through to the final, as did the jangley-shit indie band who's name I forget and Thingtak, champions of the audience vote. I got back home pretty late and crashed out.

Friday evening was spent watching the first series of Black Books that Atli had loaned to me the previous day. I had heard a lot of good things about BB, from various sources over the years. It seemed to be the best ever comedy ever made according to everyone who has seen it. It was also written by one of the Father Ted duo, which I love. The first episode came and went. I thought, hmmm, OK, it's setting itself up, getting us familiar with the characters, building plot. At least that's a good excuse for being SHIT and not funny in the slightest. The second episode also came and went. One or two laugh-out-loud moments, but still not enough to credit the amount of praise heaped on the show. I watched the entire series to the end, hoping that something good would come out of it. Nothing did. The only thing I 'liked' was the Bill Bailey skit on Midnight Cowboy in the final episode of the series. I found it very laboured, obvious and lacking any real spark. It was like a sit-com for Guardian readers. Something they can talk about at dinner parties. A real disappointment. Jo went to bed after the last episode and as Roz and Duncan were out I watched something that never disappoints: Taxi Driver. Still brilliant, never mind how many times it is watched.

I met Duncan and Roz's friends, Ben and Ali, who were over for the weekend on Saturday morning. Jo and I went to the bottle bank to dispose of the house bottles then went on to do some clothes shopping. No more on this touchy subject shall I dwell, suffice to say Jo knows what went on and if she doesn't keep her mouth shut, she will suffer for it.

After a delightful Mexican lunch, we both headed home and got caught up in the protests again, they still haven't worked out that eggs don't break windows. Jo put Taxi Driver on and although I'd seen it the previous night I watched it again. About seven thirty we were picked up in the Thingmobile again for the Battle of the Bands final. This time nine bands played (they all played two songs each, in case you were wondering how long the thing went on for), again a mixed bunch, the best one (besides Thingtak, of course...) was a band called Borealis, I think. They played what can only be described as sixties porn music and had two dancing girls and a girl playing a FUCKING THERAMIN!!!! If you don't know what this is, find out on Wikipedia, I can't be bothered to explain, but every time I see one being played live it sends me into convulsions of joy! Thingtak didn't win, they didn't even come second or third, which was a real disapointment.

Sunday brought a new road trip! We were supposed to set off at the crack of sparrows, but since Duncan Roz, Ben and Ali had all gone out the previous night we set off more like twelve o'clock. Duncan went down to hire a car he was gone for quite a while and in his 'still-pissed' state from the previous evening's frivolities I feared that he may have been involved in some nasty accident or at the very least refused a hire car.As it was he was just delayed by the customer in front of him querying the price of the car. He had stuffed a million Fisherman's Friends into his gob to disguise the booze stink and they were duped into giving him a car for the day.

We drove over the Reykholt, via Hvalfjörður, which gave us another stunning and beautiful backdrop to the travel. Apparently the road around the Northern part of the fjord is one the most treacherous, with the wind turning cars over and other such horrific mishaps. Unbelievably we survived the ordeal with the car intact and the right side up. Outside Reykholt we stopped to look at Deildartunguhver, described in the guide book as the biggest and one of the most impressive geothermal pools in Europe. We stopped at what we thought was Deildartunguhver. A chained up gate stopped us getting into an enclosure that had several concrete structures built over a bubbling pool. A less than impressive sight indeed... Hardly the biggest geothermal pool in Europe and certainly not the most impressive. I was more impressed by the sink outside the public toilet nearby.

How wrong we could be... Further down the road was the real Deildartunguhver. Unbelievable. A wooden fence kept us away from the boiling and bubbling water that comes out of the ground at about 97 degrees C. The steam billowing out of the thing was hotter than any bath I've ever had and was almost impenetrable. See my photos on Facebook to see what I'm talking about.

We then stopped in Reykholt, final home of Snorri Sturluson, hero of Icelandic Literature. We looked at the great man's bathing pool and the remains of his house, which Angelos had worked on many a moon ago. Actually, because of these excavations at Reykholt I wouldn't be in Iceland at all. We looked at his statue but didn't go into the museum, we thought it better to save it for another day when we weren't battling against the fading light.

Further on from Reykholt we stopped at Hraunfossar and Barnafoss waterfalls. I tried to get to the edge at Barnafoss, but the ice made it too tricky and I thought better of plunging into what looked like a violent washing machine surrounded by jagged lava rocks. Pressing on we turned onto the gravel Kaldidalur road which would have taken us past four glaciers. The road was blocked with a barrier and despite Ben's insistence that the sign which said 'Impassible' meant 'Road Open' we turned back onto the main road. The light had well and truley gone so we set back to Reykjavik after another great road trip.

And now, a new part of this weblog!

The Funny Things Jo Says!

Jo was complaining the other day that these posts makes her look boring and wanted me to write up all the funny things she says or does. So folks, hold onto your seats as here we go...

On Thursday we were working in the tent and Jo said this really funny thing, no hang on... erm... It was Lilja that said it.

Last Monday during break we were all playing Shithead and Jo came out with this hilarious statement... errr, hmmm, no, it was Margret this time.

Sorry, this is not really working is it. This is the first and last of these.

Asum Ok Alfum Maer...

After a rather lazy Sunday afternoon during which I did nothing of any particular note, we decided as a household to go and see the latest James Bond offering. I was struggling through a post-alcohol haze to work out which cinema was closest to us and what time the film was showing. I tell you, there is something to be said for user-friendly websites... Anyhoo, Roz worked out that the film was showing at 8.00, so we all set off about ten to eight after shouting at Jo for ten minutes to get out of her room and get her coat on. A short walk later we arrived at the Haskolabio cinema just before eight to be told the film wasn't actually on until half past. For some fucking reason I got the blame for this cock up, not Roz, who had told us it was on at 8.00. On the way over I was giving my reasoned arguments as to why I don't like people eating in cinemas. For one reason it is a base and course thing to stuff sugary treats into your gob whilst making more noise than downtown Baghdad during 'Suicide Week'. I hate it. I told the others I hate it, whereupon Roz bought the biggest bag of popcorn she could find. Even though Duncan had tipped half the contents on the floor in the foyer, he still managed to eat the fucking stuff through half of the film. It was like sitting next to the chimps tea party in the zoo. I would have missed vital plot lines had there been any with all the noise he was making. To add insult to injury, even though the door to the cinema was open we all sat in the foyer until about half past. Upon entering the theater we found all the seats taken except for the four on the front left left that faced the wall. In our prime position we settled in to digest two hours of complete bollocks.

Alright, Quantum of Solace had a few good moments, like the end credits for instance, but overall it was complete shite. It was a very poor: It was confused, convoluted and corny. I'm not one who is easily impressed by explosions and gunfire. Mind you, I'm not fifteen anymore. Italy looked beautiful during the first scenes. That is about the only thing I can take away from Bond movies, the stunning scenery. Don't go and see it, you'll only be wasting your time.

Monday and Tuesday both passed without incident, except for cookie baking on Monday night. Jo had decided it was time for some home baking and set about making cookie dough for us all to play with. I made a cookie cock, which Jo promptly stabbed with a knife and called me a horrible boy, so instead I made a cookie cunt. This survived the night of the long knives, so did the Thor's Hammer, the Star Destroyer, the Crucifix, the Hammer and Sickle and the Swastika. Jo made me a ladies face to eat as well. They were lovely, especially the ladies face, which I took great delight in eating, just like Jack the Ripper.

This morning, Wednesday, I felt like shit when I awoke, I'd had really violent dreams on Monday night which stopped me sleeping, this occurred again on Tuesday night. The lack of sleep, not the dreams. So I was pretty under the weather and decided not to go into work. I had a long sleep and felt a lot better, so I cleaned the house and finished my book, which was about First World War Aviators. I got it for my birthday last year, which is on the 14th of July, in case you'd forgotten. The book was good, despite the vast amount of typos in it. I'm not a proof reader but it was getting embarrassing with the amount of mistakes made in each chapter.

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...

Laeknishendr

Not much has really occurred this week since Sunday. It's been a pretty run of the mill old week really. I spent most of it repairing the tent that was fucked in the storm the other week. This really consisted of slackening the straps and moving the poles around until they were in some semblance of an upright position, only to find the opposite one was still skewiff. Repeat the process ad nauseum. This took up all of the days until Wednesday when we finally got down to some hard-fucking-core trowel cleaning. I'm not going to continue with this incredibly tedious inspection of the minutiae of my working week, it is sending me to sleep just writing it, so Christ knows what it doing to you.

We have bee watching a few films this week, The Life and Death of Peter Sellers was one of the highlights. I found it a little post modern, but the repeats of Peter Sellers' characters was enough to hold the film together.

OK, hold onto your seats for even more navel gazing. I was thinking this afternoon about music and the music I listen to. I have had my MP3 player on shuffle and a song from Avro Part's Triodion came on. If you don't know Arvo Part is an Estonian composer who works a lot with Choral music, I particularly recommend De Profundis if you like this sort of thing. I digress.

The song reminded me of the Norwegian band Ulver. Not through the music but because I remember reading a recent(ish) interview with Kristoffer Rygg from Ulver who stated that one of his favourite albums was the Arvo Part offering Fratres. It is strange because I had purchased that album scant weeks before I read that interview. A strange coincidence indeed. I had been listening to both Ulver and Part for a several years before knowing the influence one had on the other. This also happened a while ago, I was reading an article written by Varg Vikernes of Burzum, my favourite 'band' ever. Full stop. Varg wrote that after murdering Euronymous, Snorre Ruch and himself drove back to Bergen with Dead Can Dance (Probably my third favourite band ever. full stop.) playing in the car. As much as I know about Burzum (and I know a lot. Some would say an obsessive amount...) I had no idea Varg had even heard of DCD, never mind he was a fan. Another strange coincidence when two of my musical loves cross paths...

OK enough of this shit, it probably wasn't my strongest posting so far. If anybodies got any ideas what I can do this weekend, please let me know.

Heathenpride

I forgot in the last posting that nobody got it right about the theme of the titles. Since nobody got it right or even bothered giving a decent answer, I'm not going to tell you what the theme is. So fuck off.

OK, this was probably one of the longest weeks that I have ever lived through. Finally it came to an end on Friday with an early finish because Jo and Vala were off for some Thelma and Louise road trip action in the East. I formulated a plan to stay in and drink beer for the night, owing to the fact I was getting a tattoo in the morning. I didn't want to turn up at my appointment shitfaced drunk from the night before and end up getting a fucking smurf tattooed on my cock or something similar. Before the beer, Roz, Duncan and I went to the baths (the last time for ten days, because of my tattoo healing, as it turns out...). Again, rather than actually swimming I sat in the hot tubs for an hour. We got chatting to some Danish Lady about the recession, until Duncan said something outlandish and she left.

Back at the gaff, I settled into the night with beer and Wayne's World. I've not seen Wayne's World for a long time. When it came out (In 1992, fact fans...), I was heavily into Metal and had no sense of humour, especially about the things I held dear. Like Metal. I refused to watch it for years, until I finally watched it and thought actually it's an alright film. Problem is, it hasn't aged too well. It all seems a little bit laboured now. OK, it's not an intellectual film by any accounts, but I do like my comedy a bit deeper than that. It passed a couple of hours anyway.

I got up earlyish on Saturday for my eleven o'clock appointment and got down to Sverrir's Tattoo parlour. What was thought to take two hours actually took three hours, what with all the detailing. During this time, Sverrir and I got to know each other a little better... I found out all about his wife, whom he'd married a year previously, all about the farm he owned in the North and his lack of interest in cows, but saintly offerings of his extra Salmon stocks to the local poor people. I found out all about how he started tattooing, all about how he had started dealing drugs at age fourteen. I found out all about the two men he had killed and the eight months he had spent in solitary confinement during his two year jail sentence for manslaughter as a result. Yes, you can find out an awful lot about a man in three hours. The tattoo looked fucking brilliant when he'd finished, murderer or not, he's an excellent artist.

I was finished about two and waiting outside was Roz, looking extremely nervous, for her appointment. She asked me if it had hurt, I said I didn't know as I'd passed out instantly. She didn't appreciate this, and went a whiter shade of pale.

I left Duncan and Roz to get acquainted with Sverrir and his needles and set off to Atli's gaff, where we were going to play out the war of the century on the Axis and Allied board. Lilja was playing this time, as was Hrönn and one of Atli's mates from Keflavik. Lilja drew Japan, Alti was Germany, Hrönn had Britain, Atli's mate (Who's name escapes me...) had Russia and I drew America. Things started in favour of the Axis, Germany made great gains in Africa and Russia. Japan also pushed the USSR back and knocked out America in China. It looked like the fate of the West was in the balance until the Mighty Juggernaut of American Industry pushed Germany out of Africa, took control of Western Europe, smashed Japan out of it's stronghold in India and the Pacific Islands. Surrounded on three sides, Germany surrendered without a fight and Japan followed suit. Atli will blame the fact that Japan never held India as a feeble excuse for losing the game, but we all knew it was bad tactical planning at Axis HQ that lost the day.

After the VE and VJ day celebrations had quietened down we all headed into town for Björgvin's poetry book release do. Turning up late half through the recital, the four of us sheepishly took our seats and got ready for a hard-core poetry fest. In Icelandic. I'm very sure the poems were great, the audience responded well, the background music, provided by Duncan and Hrafnkell, was good, but the only words I understood was when Björgvin told Roz to stop talking.

After this was over the remaining few of us headed out to a bar I've been in before, but cannot for the life of me remember the name of. I talked about the finer points of the game with Atli's chum and corrected a few of his misconceptions about the First World War. I tell you, I'm a fucking PARTYYYYYY GUY!!! Hrappi kindly gave us a lift home and I crashed out pretty drunk and covered in blood and ink.

I spent Sunday doing what should be done on Sunday's, nothing... I watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail and made a video for a song I recorded last year sometime. It's a cover of a Burzum Classic; Lost Wisdom and can be found here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v="cVNZqjznggo

The video is not too important, it is only there so I could post the song up.

Galdralag

On Sunday evening Jo and I settled down to make a jigsaw, one of several in the house. The one we choose was of Noah's ark and all the animals waiting patiently in line, not eating each other or fighting or fucking, to get on the Ark to be saved. Now, looking at the box lid I was wondering how did Noah decided which animals would make it onto the Ark. I'm not talking about leaving the Unicorns behind, they were shit anyway what I mean is how did he whittle it down from all the millions of animals to just two of each species. Was there some kind of test? Did they have to be good at carrying stuff, if they were, say, camels. Did their shit slinging skills have to spot on if they were Chimps. Even with all the time in the world, just setting up an Olympics style contest for animals would be a fucking task, never mind judging it and deciding on winners of each event. Surely he must have cut some corners, so this must also mean that some of animals on the Ark were not up to scratch. Maybe the two Lions he chose were particularly rubbish Lions. More like the kind of Lion that would spend it's life signing on and watching Jeremy Kyle every morning before popping down the Job Centre to pick up it's Giro. It's just a thought.

Anyhoo, we made the jigsaw, but as it progressed things took a decidedly odd turn. not all the pieces were there. This in itself is not odd, but when fully assembled the Jigsaw took on a new dimension... There was what looked like a deliberate removal of certain animals. Looking on the box to see what was missing we saw there was a rather large Tortoise in the bottom of the picture. Jo did a quick search for tortoise int he bible and found the following:

These also shall be unclean unto you among the creeping things that creep upon the earth; the weasel, and the mouse, and the tortoise after his kind, in Leviticus 11:29.

OK, you say, a weird coincidence, but as Roz was looking through her room for writing paper she chanced upon a large pad. Glancing through it there were several pictures of crude Crucifix's, a picture of Jesus with 'Jesus loves you' written underneath and creepiest of all the letters WWJD? written several times in various styles. If you don't know WWJD stands for What Would Jesus Do? and is a reminder to do what is right in Christ's eyes. Now call me cynical but anyone who needs a continual reminder on how to live their life in the correct fashion shouldn't really be let out of the house...

I sleep very uneasily in that house...

We turned up on site on Tuesday morning to be confronted with the sight of the large tent listing badly, the strong winds during the night had blown half the fucker down. Two of the heaters were smashed to the floor and the poles in complete disarray. The wind was still blowing strongly as we tried valiantly to correct the damage. It was like trying to tie sails down on the high seas during a storm on a boat with only three crew... It had to happen on the day that nobody was in as well. We managed to get the thing secure even after loosing two of our number, both within minutes of each other. Duncan had his finger trapped in a ratchet for the straps and moments later Sindre took the end of his thumb off with the same device. This led to Ace calling him Stubs today, then blaming the new nickname on me...

Speaking of which...
Atli Quotes, when I was making some derogatory comment in Jo's direction: 'You're on slippy ice.' All ice is slippy, Ace. What is funnier is I originally misheard him and thought he'd said 'you're on slippy eyes.'