Letter from Jo

I have taken the unprecedented step of allowing someone else control of this weblog. I asked Jo to write a piece on her time in Iceland, in the event she's just written about me; which says more about her than me, I think. I would like to say that all the views and opinions expressed in the following are Jo's and Jo's alone. So with no further wittering from me here we go...

The other day I mentioned to Alex “Oooh, I should do a guest Blog for you” to which he jumped wholeheartedly upon the idea and has since forth been harassing me on a daily basis. So here it is, my “Ode to Alex: September 2008 - May 2009”… hold on to your seats, this is a whirlwind of excitement…

My first memory of Alex is when, having managed to locate myself within the vast metropolis in which I had been deposited, I arrived at the Alphingi site on a cold Wednesday afternoon at the end of September 2008. What I remember is that pretty much the first thing he said to me was “Do you want to come swimming tonight? Roz and Duncan are coming too. Do you want to come? It will be FUN”. Anyway, once the initial pervations were out the way and the eternal mantra “still not drunk enough” had been firmly established Alex and I set about forming a pretty firm, sturdy, salt of the earth, wub woo-ing friendship of which only snoring and the threat of the “mask which stirs latent memories” could undermine.

Drunk…

In many ways this friendship probably owed lots to the fact that we were both in our 30’s and were also both single. This is NOT the done thing in Iceland but our social stigma was unfortunately revealed to everyone one day in October when Hrappi asked us “What would you do if… you reached 30 and were single”. Our answers consequently necessitated that we spend October in the “Clinic for Unusual Non-attached Thirtysomething Saddo‘s (CUNTS)” for a period of quarantine and analysis. During this time we bonded over games of ping pong, Rolo’s and the ‘History of Metal According to Alex: Parts 1 - 89’. When we left the clinic we found the entire world economy had collapsed as a consequence of Iceland, which was no doubt a ‘Butterfly Effect’ bought on by the shock waves reverberating from Hrappi exposure of our aged unattached status. High in my Icelandic regrets (alongside the distinct absence of Viking rapage) was the fact that our freakdom didn’t make it into the gossip magazine next to the “swampinfecktion” (thrush) advert.

Swampinfection is probably not something that effects single 30 somethings much

Following our release from CUNTS great days followed. During this time we were living in the Jesus flat outside of central Reykjavik. I loved Jesus and made my very own shrine outside my bedroom to the lovely man. But Alex, blasphemous child that he is, came home one day and inverted poor old Je-Je. Despite the negative karma this inevitably created we still managed to have a lot of… FUN! There was the short lived cinema night, the even shorter lived (at least on my part) swimming pool night and perhaps the night with greatest longevity… Pizza Wednesday. Oh how we loved Pizza Wednesday. We’d always fight about “warming” food as opposed to “cooking” it, followed by a discussion of why Alex had bought shit cardboard pepperoni again. But after this culinary foreplay we would settle down to an smattering of Ramsey‘s Kitchen Nightmares, a sprinkling of Americas Next Top Model followed by a smorgasbord of How to Look Good Naked. Every Wednesday. Without fail. Living the dream. Crazy days Alex, crazy days.

Jesus Loveliness

In January I abandoned Alex and fled home to the UK to overdose on… now prepare yourself… human diversity (not only were there many different colours of skin, but also many different nose types) consumer choices (I never noticed that there are so many different types of deodorant in the UK) and buying alcohol from a shop after 6pm (Woo-bloody-hoo!). He missed me more then I missed him and I have it on good authority that he could be found curled up in a ball, rocking and hugging my muddy work body warmer on daily occasion. Then, after all that we had been through, when I returned to Iceland I discovered I had been momentarily replaced by a teenage infatuation and I‘m not going to lie… It hurt. However, the pain was quickly glossed over by the plotting's of the evil king and queen of Althingi who deemed Roz, Duncan, Alex and I could no longer live together and we were forced to live in separate abodes. Fuckers. On the bright side, whilst conducting the move Alex and I did get the opportunity to walk down the style conscious streets of Reykjavik dressed in jogging bottoms, hoodies and slippers, clutching a sleeping bag, food and Alex’s war games… which was nice. In addition, Roz and I also got a lesson in “How to be a Stepford Wife” to which I paid not one second of attention except to register that it actually happened. I didn’t like the Evil Queen of Alphingi.

Alex and Jo’s Reykjavik Stylee

Anyway, we moved house, me with the Brits, Alex with the Greek (he doesn’t speak much about what went on during that time but, judging by the glint in the Greeks eyes, I have a good idea) and the fast paced life of Reykjavik continued unabated.

Prior to the move I was largely teetotal but whether it was a consequence of our separation or not things changed rapidly during the months of February, March, April and Early May. During this time Alex and I embarked on a shared love of Spiced Rum and Icelandic Vodka to get us through the weekly monotony and not even the undoubted excitement of Suduko ‘Live’, Suduku ‘Teenage fan club’ and Suduko ‘Unplugged’ could distract us from our growing addiction. High amongst the inexplicable consequences was Alex waking up to find he had the number of a rather attractive “cowbell ninja” (AKA Magnus) on his mobile. He denied all knowledge of how it got there, but I’m not so sure. I could be wrong but Cowboy Ninja, Greek activities and his undoubted affinity with Café Babalu are strongly suggestive that “GAY” was at play.

Suduku… halcyon days

At some point during our drink fuelled springtime, FUN day happened. Perhaps we should have been forewarned by the excitement caused by mine and Hrappi’s impromptu SPA day (it is not the done thing to book a day off work just because you feel like it in Iceland. The Germans were also in full agreement) but needless to say we weren’t prepared for how outlandish our feelings would appear and incredulous conversations/arguments with the committee ensued. However, whatever the ’spikiness’ of the run up, FUN day proved to be an unmitigated success and love within the Alphingi forces flowed quicker then the evil nectar of Topas (bleurghh).

The joy of FUN day

Back to site, the hysterical misery continued and Alex and I, despite our runic discoveries (who will find them now?), hatched our ‘Icelandic Archaeological Suicide Pact’. With a notice period of six weeks the vodka and rum consumption stepped up a level and whilst I don’t remember much of it I do know it was FUN. To be fair, at least four of those six weeks were Alex’s ‘leaving do’ which goes some way to explaining the alcohol poisoning.

Too much alcohol to be sure

So we come to the end of the story, thus far. Alex you were a shining light, a ray of sunshine, a cowboy dressed in red, a regurgitated mouthful of… BANG… right in the face. So, see you later crocadilla. Wuuuuuuuuuuuuuuub woooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Love Jo, xxx

“Why do birds suddenly appear…”

p.s The absence of anyone else in this text is not a reflection on them but more a testimony to the megalomania that is Alex Sotheran

p.p.s Alex will never be my god

Valdogg

Continuing the theme of Bjarki's inappropriate behaviour, Bjarki, Atli and Lilja made a video for Fun Day, which they showed on Saturday. It was called 'Episode VII Revenge of the Brits' and was basically a piss take of everything that happens on site, from Angelos not getting into work until midday, Hrappi asking stupid questions about nothing ('Alex, what would you do if you woke up an you were Lilja?'), Hrappi being the biggest brit-licker on site, the inability of a some of us to use the total station, Sindre's explosive temprement, etc. I was chatting to the B man after the showing and he was telling me about the parts he wasn't allowed to leave in by Atli and Lilja. He had an idea for a skit based on him asking the German girl what her Grandfather had done in the war, they would look away all thoughtful, the scene would cut to the part in Schindler's List where the Nazis are herding the Jews into the gas chambers. It would cut back to the girl saying 'Oh nothing, he was to young to take part.' She would then ask Bjarki what his Grandfather did in the war. He would look away all thoughtful, the scene would cut to Bjarki's Grandfather shagging a sheep. It cuts back to him saying 'Oh nothing, he was too young to take part.'

What Bjarki think all Icelandic Granddads did in the war*

I spent Sunday in the company of Jo and The Lady In The Cage. It's a film, not a real lady in a cage. Jo hasn't been sent mad by the 24 hr Polar Light and started kidnapping people, don't worry. Well, not yet anyway... Maybe if she stayed in this fishing camp longer than five weeks she might. Anyway, it's a great movie staring a young James Caan, it's pretty brutal for its time and I recommend it. Jo then began watching Cleopatra (Which I was always under the mistaken idea that it was called Antony and Cleopatra), it's a four hour movie and I need lots of beauty sleep so I left her to it.

A lady in a cage, but not THE Lady In A Cage

Duncan was away on Monday and Tuesday so chaos reigned in Area C. There wasn't his calming and authoritarian figure to fall back on so very little was done. We fucked about half a ton of stones out of the tent, finally getting rid of the frigging things... They have been there for what seems like a life time and I think it's high time we got rid of them. Duncan doesn't agree and just wants to keep taking photos of them. Anyway, we did it when he was gone. Igor and I ripped the massive one out with the mini digger! IN YOUR FACE JESUS!!! See what happens when you go away for a holiday!!

Jo's photograph of the stones that aren't there anymore.... Note the large sacrificial stone on the right used for killing Polar Bears that don't have the right documentation

* Is this too far? I wasn't sure if this was in bad taste

Valgalderkvad

I wasn't privy to the following conversation but I was informed of it by someone else. I forget who, I thought it was Jo but she says it wasn't. Anyway a new German girl has begun work with us. She's a historian and wants to see how we arrive at our conclusions about the past by digging up middens. Bjarki (and myself included) has a passing interest in the Second World War and the new girl was working beside him in the tent the other day. During a quiet moment he turned to her and asked her 'What did your Grandfather do in the Second World War?' Being German and understandably touchy about this subject she implied she wasn't keen on talking about it. Bjarki, being Bjarki, pushed the subject. 'Why? Are you not proud of what he did?' To his line of questioning she responded quite unfavorably and there was a quite uncomfortable silence for a few minutes in the tent. He then turned to her and asked:

'What did your other grandfather do in the war?'

What Bjarki thinks all German Granddads did in the war...*

Saturday was the annual festival held for the company employers. I've been going around calling it Fun Day, an there is an earlier post all about the troubles we've had leading up to it here. Anyway, I went out Friday night to help Roz's brother settle into the Reykjavik nightlife and was out til 4.00am, so I wasn't feeling the best when I awoke about 10 the following morning to go Paintballing with the crew. But I've got to say, I'm glad I did and that it was the best Fun Day EVER! After paintballing we went bowling and then headed over to Vala's for dinner cooked by a couple of chef friends of Bjarki's. The evening got messy, we were shown an excellent video made by Atli, Lilja and Bjarki about the madness on site. The impressions of everyone were spot on... The night was wrapped up by Jo and I duetting on Singstar until we were coughing up blood.

Is this me Paintballing? You'll never know...

* Is this too far? I wasn't sure if this was in bad taste

Skirnir

There is an Asian girl who works in the local supermarket, and it has thrown open a whole can of worms to do with communication. When I buy my produce and ask for a plastic bag I do it in English and she replies in English. Now, I am trying to integrate myself as much as possible into Icelandic culture, but far from being able to speak Icelandic I at least manage to say Hello and Thank You to shop assistants. It's not much but it's better than assuming everyone else speaks English (Which they do, by the way, but one must never assume). Turning back to this girl do I say Thank You in English, Icelandic or Chinese? Now again I'm only assuming she's Chinese, for all I know she could be Korean or Japanese although the Japanese are not generally known for being economic migrates. I would hate her to be Korean because I don't know what Thank You is in Korean. I learnt how to say Thank You in Chinese whilst in Singapore, but I don't want to come across as a patronising bastard who is assuming she's Chinese when she could, in fact, be Korean or Japanese. I know Thank You in Japanese, again learnt whilst in the country, but this really is hedging my bets with her background. I really could end up with egg on my face over that one. I also am not keen on saying Thank You in Icelandic, this is again an assumption, but I'm fairly sure she wasn't born in Iceland. She has an accent that isn't Icelandic, before you start calling me a racist. What do I do? This is a political nightmare!

China, Yesterday

Holy Shit, what a week. We have an impending 'enforced fun day' coming up. You know what I mean, everybody gets together to do some team building activities for the day then retires for a meal and gets drunk and it ends up with everybody telling everybody else what they actually think of them. I was OK with this idea if it was only happening on one day. Yesterday Bjarki unleashed a shit storm by telling us that they (The Fun Day Committee) had decided that we would all be going to a Summer House and staying over the weekend. I immediately refused. One day is fine, but an overnight stay means I have lost a weekend. We then got into a very bad tempered argument where I had to end defending my personal reasons for not wanting to spend a weekend with the people I have just spent the preceding and following five days (a total of twelve days straight) working with in an 8m by 15m tent (We measured it today). I like everyone on site with the exception of one person, (having said that I can tolerate them as long as we don't spend too much time in each others company) but the idea of spending my weekend in the middle of nowhere with the same people is my idea of Hell. I have been working in this career for the better part of ten years. Between ten and about six years ago I would have been the first to be up for this kind of activity. Now I am tired of the this hobo lifestyle that I lead, I am not happy with my particular situation but I have to put up with it. This is like an away job where I am not allowed to go home at weekends. Everyone else on site (With the exception of the foreign workers) can go back to their homes and other friends each and every night. I go home to someone else's house where my only possessions are what I can carry in a suitcase. My friends are ones I work with everyday and as good and nice as all these people are it is bliss when the weekend rolls around and I am allowed my own personal space. I am continually surrounded by and reminded of work so to slightly escape it for even two days is heaven. Maybe I'm a grumpy old man, I don't care, I know what I like and I don't like being forced to have 'fun' in the middle of nowhere with no escape routes. It turned out in the end that the committee had decided no such thing but had simply put the idea of a summer house on the table. Bjarki and I made our peace, so it was OK in the end.

Where I would prefer to be rather than at Fun Day

Thingtak played on Thursday night, they were playing with about four other bands of which the best was a group of fifteen year old lads, who played old bluesy rock covers but finished by playing the Dwarves 'I Wanna Be Your Pimp'. I ran into Ragnar from Skorpulifur who Sudoku supported the other week. He had a copy of the Icelandic glossy Celebrity gossip magazine 'Séđ Og Heyrt' (I have no idea what this means, any Icelandics reading, please let me know). There had been a photographer from the magazine at the gig and they had run an article on Skorpulifur in which Hannes, the singer, mentioned Sudoku. It went along the lines of; we played a few times with Sudoku a Ninja Metal band from Britain who wear Ninja outfits on stage.. Brilliant, thanks lads.

Skorpulifur Yesterday (Photo copyright Jo Taylor 2009)

One final thing before I finish and this gets too long. We moved offices this week, we are now underneath the Green Party's headquarters in a basement. We have to use their toilets, upstairs from our HQ, but because they are clean and we are not we have to practically strip out of our site gear and get hosed down in the yard. Not only that but you have to sneak past reception and through their coffee room looking for the toilet. What was once a three minute trip to the toilet has turned into an Odyssey for a piss. It's like Jason and the Argonaut's quest, except it's not a Golden Fleece waiting at the end but a Golden Stream.