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

Back in the DHSS

I'm back in the UK now. It took me about thirteen hours from leaving my bed, on Jo, Roz and Duncan's sofa at 4.00am, to get back to Rotherham. Thirteen hours of miserable journeying with a hangover and two hours sleep as my travelling companions. We (Duncan, Roz, Lilja, Atli, Bjarki, Margrét, Hrafnkell, Iris, Jo and I) had been drinking the night before with some goodbye drinks that quickly turned messy. Several sad goodbyes later I crashed out on said sofa until my alram woke me up. At Gatwick I bid Jo a very sad goodbye. I probably won't see her again now until after I come back from South Africa in July. After getting home I dashed out and got myself a chippy tea. It looks like my car has been mistreated whilst I was away as well. The back tyre has a nail embedded in it and the thing was as flat as fuck when I got to it. Not only that it looks like my parents have been running it on empty, there was no fucking petrol in it when I went to get the chips. I give someone my car for four months and you'd think they could at least fill it up. You have to when you hire a car, so I don't see why the rules don't apply to me.

How my car looked on my return..

Lísabet added a comment asking if I had good memories about my time on that forbidding rock in the Atlantic. And frankly yes I do, it may seem as though I was massively unhappy in Iceland, but on the whole the experience was good one. I have no regrets about going and I met some brilliant people, whose generosity and pleasurable company was difficult to parallel. I was bored at work, but then I would have been bored anywhere really, having to trowel off bog deposits. Just one mattock would have been like a God Send. My arm muscles have atrophied, yet my hand muscles have grown out of all proportion. They look like two melons stuck on the end of pencils.

I was also bored in Reykjavik, but some of that was partially my own fault. I could have joined a night class or something similar, but the problems of doing this was illustrated by an earlier post I wrote. Also, the language barrier was always a difficult hurdle to cross besides anything else. I never saw the point in learning a language that 300,000 people speak in a country that I will never settle in. Call me small minded but Icelandic would be no use to me unless I planned to settle there, which was never a thought I had in mind. I actually love the language and I loved listening to it being spoken. The sound of it is very soothing, the use of 'th' sounds gives it a lovely comforting quality.

I mean, really, what the fuck does this say?

I found Reykjavik town a little too small, which is something I also covered in another earlier post, and that lack of escape was quite a problem for my mental state of being. I'm a man who likes his creature comforts and being Iceland only convinced me of this. I never really unpacked my suitcase from when I first turned up. Jo said I should have put some pictures up in my bedroom to make it a bit more personal. The only pictures I had were the ones from Terrorizer magazine. Not being fifteen anymore I didn't really relish the idea of Cannibal Corpse watching me sleep.

Would you sleep easily with these fellas watching you? No, me neither...

Like I said though, no regrets, I got to do so much stuff that I would have never done anywhere else. I played live three times, once clearing a bar and getting thrown off stage. I walked on a glacier, stood on a volcano, saw and ate Puffins, ate Whale meat and Sheep's head (albeit in jellied version...). Finally the country has to be the most unbelievable beautiful place I have ever seen. On a 7000 miles of a road trip across America not one place came close to the beauty and absolute gob smackingness of Iceland, except maybe the Grand Canyon. Outside of Reykjavik one surely can get Lost in Iceland. I will look back on my time there with fondness and good memories.