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.'

Shores in Flames

Posting a comment wasn't so difficult was it? Now it means you can do it all the time. Come on people, feed my ego... Thanks for all the posting, but I can obviously see some idiots amongst you who are champions of Braveheart... Don't waste your time watching this shit, watch something good, start off with La Haine and work from there. Life is too short for Mel Gibson...

Earlier this week, we machined a large amount of material from Area B, that we would have had to have removed by hand. Now, call me old fashioned but the idea of spending a week trowelling off peat ash deposits fills me with dread for my mental state of mind. So the idea to machine layers off was a blessed relief. After this had happened a few of us cleaned up the entire tent ready for more removal of material. When this was finished I managed to be the only one left in the warm, dry tent to record the deposits. Ha! IN YOUR FUCKING FACES YOU ICELANDIC RACISTS!!! The Brits are back in charge. Everyone else was back in the cold draughty tent whilst I was living the life of Riley in the lap of luxury. I even had butler service. My well needed solitude wasn't to last and a few people were moved back into the tent after I'd finished recording all the layers.

At about eleven on Wednesday night the Northern Lights were the best we've seen whilst being here, I however was slightly distracted, so didn't fully appreciate their incredible natural beauty...

On Thursday night, Jo and I went to the cinema around the corner from the house. Despite having me only having three hours sleep the night before, fucking thinking about fucking things, we went to see 'Burn After Reading'. All I can say is, see it. Then see it again. Clooney and Pitt are so obviously having so much fun making the film it is infectious and I will never see John Malkovich in the same light again...

Friday finally rolled around and despite initial ideas to go into town, Jo and I decided to spend the night in. It was pay day (finally...) and we headed to the wine shop after work. This was a very necessary trip as of this weekend, thanks to the war between Britain and Iceland, prices are starting to go up and booze will increase by 25%!! It's like war-time Britain with rationing and everything. Before you know it we will be drinking powdered wine and shops will be displaying signs saying "Yes, we have no Putrefied Shark!". In Iceland the government controls the sale of booze and decides at what time you can buy it. Which basically translates as any time between about 1pm and 2pm on Wednesday afternoon. Or at least if feels like it. You have to get in there fast and make your purchases quickly before they pull the shutters down. This leads to a situation when you've left the shop realising that you have bought loads of shit you didn't want in a desperate rush to buy SOMETHING. I end with Cooking Sherry, Brazilian Whiskey and six cans of Egil's Malt Appelsin, and that's on a good day. Friday was no different and Jo and I left the Vínbúðin (Booze shop) with a box of 24 Budvar bottles. I tell you, that walk home was a long one... I'm sure Hercules had to do something similar in his twelve tasks, it came straight after the one where he had to clean the Augean stables in a single day. After this heroic task we decided to stay in and drink the bottles until we were stupid. I went swimming with Roz and Duncan first of all. When I mean swimming, I mean I sat in the hot pots whilst Roz and Duncan did some real exercise.

On Saturday, Hrafnkell came and picked us all up for our road trip down south, we went to the recycling centre and dropped off all the bottles we have been accumulating in the house for the past month or so (Owing to Jo's booze habit of about eight bottles of wine a night, we were at the stage of making furniture out the empties as there wasn't enough room left and they were taking over the house...). Then we headed down south to the Waterfall whose name I forget, the frozen path reached around the back of the falls and although Hrappi and Duncan made it round there, the soles of my shoes just weren't up to the task of walking on ice and I had to stay behind. The next call was at the bigger waterfall of Skógarfoss which was frozen but had much easier access. The name translates as Forest Falls, or something similar, but I was fucked if I could even see a single tree, never mind a forest... We climbed to the top of the 60 meter falls and marveled at the wonders of Mother Nature, then laughed as Hrappi fell over in the mud...

After gazing in awe at Skógarfoss we headed on East and turned off the road towards the Glacier at Sólheimajökull, which could be reached by a tiny dirt road across a wide desert like valley from where we could see Mýrdalsjökull, Iceland's fourth largest Glacier. With a couple of hairy moments we reached the Glacier and were all blown away by it's sheer size and majesty. Finally the school party that seemed to have been shadowing us all day left and we had the place to ourselves as the sun was setting. The colours of the place were unbelievable and the skies amazing. We headed onto Vík for some food and with Jo's inane directions and bad navigation searching for a place we finally ended up back at the place we started and I had fish and chips for me dinner.

After a straight two hour drive back the five of us headed out into Reykjavik for drinkies until five, when I headed for bed.

Atli Quotes: On Hrafnkell fancying Jo's Mother 'Isn't that the Octopus Syndrome?'

On the direct translation of New Years Eve from Icelandic to English: 'Old Year's Night.'

On the direct translation of slang for taking a shit in Icelandic 'Playing chess with the Pope.'

Competition Time!!

The past few posting titles have had a linked theme running through them. I'm not going to tell you which ones have the link, but if you can tell me the link you will win a Alex Sotheran pencil and a free subscription to this weblog, just put your answers in the comments...

Baptised in Fire and Ice

OK, before you read this, I have a small favour to ask of you. If you read this entry, please leave a comment. You can write anything, all I want to know is who is reading this shit. You don't even need to sign up for a Google account or anything, you don't even need to be known, just a small favour to me. A small thing, since I am keeping you entertained for free with this thing...

Last week I was talking to Bjarki about films, he said that Braveheart was one of his favourite movies, which led me onto an hour long rant about how bad Mel Gibson was. And Braveheart in particular. I mean, it's not just that it's historically inaccurate, but the plot it completely implausible. I'm not going to go into it this too much, but he says he'll never forget his wife's memory after she is killed, but promptly jumps on the first French Bint who happens to open her garlic encrusted legs. Way to go to remember your wife, William... This is just one in a long list of bullcrap that pervades this film and I don't want to go into it right now. The one Mel Gibson film I did like was Passion of the Jebus, but I do like a good comedy.

I digress. After my rant, Lilja and Davið started talking about getting Mel Gibson to star in a movie about the Cod Wars (for those of you that don't know, the Cod War was three real wars between Iceland and Britain beginning in 1958 and finally finishing in 1976. It was over fishing rights and fish are about the only thing to get Icelanders excited enough to go to war over. Iceland won, if you were wondering.). I got more of the plot out of Lilja today.

There will be three films, a trilogy, if you will. Lilja has only fleshed out the plot of the first movie. Gibson will play an Icelandic Fisherman, who lives peacefully enough (She told me his name, but being unable to even say the fucking thing, the chance of me writing it down is minimal, it translated as 'Thor Cattle') with his family, doing what fishermen do. One day whilst he is out at sea catching Cod and wearing an Icelandic jumper, the dreaded English fleet appears on the horizon and makes for shore. King Elizabeth of England has dispatched the Royal Navy to Iceland to capture one of the famously beautiful women for use as his sex slave. I should interject at this stage and tell you that the English have the appearance of Orcs (Now, everyone must have seen Lord of the Rings, so I don't need to explain what an Orc is...). Picture the scene: an English Sail ship decked out in Black, with Orcs and Goblins running wild all over the decks and rigging. Fighting and vomiting everywhere, this is the English Navy. They land the ship and pile ashore, who's farmhouse do you think is in their path? Yep, it's poor brave fisherman Mel. His wife is well known to be the most beautiful of the beautiful women of Iceland, so who becomes a prime English target? Yep, it's poor brave fisherman Mel's wife... The English lay waste to the farmhouse, kill all six of poor brave fisherman Mel's children (krakki, as they are known in Icelandic...) and capture his wife. Tying her to the mast the English fleet sets sail back home with their prize for King Elizabeth of England. Mel returns laden with Cod for his wife and children and discovers the English War Crime, he flies into a rage and goes to Reykjavik to raise an army of Fishermen to attack England in their fishing boats. They ram the coast of England (the ramming is probably the only accurate bit in the plot, but it was ramming English Navy Frigates in the real war, but when has historical accuracy ever stopped Mel before? The Patriot anyone?) and manage to sink Wales. The Icelandic army of blond haired, blue eyed, Six foot six giants led by poor brave, four foot three, brown haired, brown eyed Fisherman Mel Gibson storm Old London Town and head straight for Buckingham Palace where Poor Brave Fisherman Mel's wife is being held. Thankfully King Elizabeth of England hasn't had his wicked way with her yet and Mel defeats the giant King of England (think of the cave troll in LOTR...) and returns triumphant to Iceland, where the Icelanders are free to continue fishing as long as it's within their 200 nautical miles Exclusive Economic Zone which became recognized internationally on November 14, 1994, after having been agreed at the conference on the Third United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea in 1982.

That was the basic plot for the first film, there are two more to come...

I asked Roz if she was enjoying her job the other day, I think she was in bad mood as she said she'd rather be raped by a shit smeared imbecile than do archaeology.

Atli Quotes: on the unspoken war between Britain and Iceland over the money crisis; 'Do you know how during the Iraq war, when the Americans changed the name of French Fries to Freedom Fries, we [Iceland] have changed the name of a 'Full English Breakfast' to 'Shithead Disgusting Breakfast'

Now, it's over to you. Leave a comment if you got this far...

From Father to Son

In the last post I completely forgot to mention that on Tuesday night, Duncan and I went to Thingtak's rehearsal. Hrafnkell brought his other guitar so we could rehearse some Sudoku tracks as well. I showed the lads a few songs and we played through. Then Thingtak played a few tracks, whilst Duncan and I listened. Fuck me, those lads are good players. Steppi kept saying they were fucking everything up but it sounded fine to me.

After work on Friday I went to the English Pub to meet a few of the heads from site, but I was tired, not having slept so good all week, so only had two pints and headed for home with Jo. After a quick Friday night Kebab we both headed back and watched About Schmidt, the Jack Nicholson movie. I've saw it when it came out in the cinemas and had been wanting to watch it again as it was so good. It's very funny and sad at the same time. I had an early-ish night as I needed sleep.

Saturday saw the heralding of NERDFEST 2008! Ace and I had been talking about playing Axis and Allies (the board game...) all week and the time had finally arrived. Hrafnkell was also persuaded to come along for the ride and although Bjarki was asked he declined. He works as a bouncer and was working til about seven Saturday morning. Hitler never made such a weak excuse when he was about to take the Sudetenland. Atli brought along a mate of his, Jorn, or Jon, I'm not sure how you spell it. I took control of Russia and Britain, Ace had America, Hrafnkell drew Germany and Jorn or Jon had Japan. This is how the game progressed. Basically, Britain and Russia helped one another to crush Germany from both sides, whilst America watched, saying 'It's a European war, we don't want to get involved.' and sat on it's vast reserves and never extended the hand of help. Japan was pretty ineffective in the east except for sinking the American navy and capturing China and small bits of Russia. America still sat by, saying 'It's a Russian/British problem, we don't want to get involved.' British quick thinking combined with Russian determinism pushed the Japanese back to the sea in Asia. After the downfall and suicide of Hrafnkell in Germany Japan was finally attacked by America trying to capture the last moments of glory from the real victors Britain and Russia.Needless to say, it failed. Jon or Jorn surrendered before Britian could mount a final crushing amphibious assault. Both Jon or Jorn and Hrafnkell were executed for War Crimes against Plastic toy soldiers. Britain lost literally dozens of pieces in the fighting, Russia lost over twenty figures defending Europe against fascism. What did America lose? One tank and one bomber.

It was Margret's birthday on Saturday and she was having a party, so we all headed over about ten. It was pretty busy and there was free booze, which is always a good draw... I had intended on only staying a couple of hours, but it was the wee hours when we finally headed for home. Hrappi jumped up and played a few songs on the old Geetar, he played a fucking Queen song and dedicated it to me. The tubby bastard. A good night was had by all.

This morning, Sunday, Duncan and Roz headed into town to pick up a hire car. We had been discussing going over to Hekla this weekend. Apparently it is due to blow, the last time it erupted was in 2000 (I think), and it is well overdue throwing molten lava over the surrounding farms. All reports were that it could go this weekend. So, despite all protestations from the locals, the adverse weather outside Reykjavik, the lack of a map, warm hiking clothes, first aid kits and provision of getting in touch with emergency rescue, we set off. Jo wasn't up for it, maybe she knew something we didn't. Roz, Duncan and I travelled for two hours across icy gravel paths that passed for roads, through zero visibility snow storms, and finally onto the flat valley bottom with the oppressive mass of Hekla staring down at us. We didn't pass another car for what seemed like an eternity. Roz was the first to crack. On a road that we couldn't see for the snow and ice she decided that we were too close to an active and ready to blow volcano and wanted to turn around. Fortunately, Hekla didn't blow by the time we had headed back to Reykjavik. But phew! it was a close shave!

Valhalla

I showed up for work on Tuesday and was promptly told by Sindre that I'd be working in the new tent. A victory for the anti-Racists! I was being moved out of the cold miserable open tent to the new luxuriant, heated and well lit marquee. It was like all my Christmas' had come at once! I trembled with delight and excitement about the new opportunity, no-one else from the UK had been asked to go in the new tent. The temperature had hit an all time low, maybe somewhere in the -40c region.

The previous night the wind had blown all the windows out of the new tent. Our first task was to take down all the walls for the windows to be repaired. I was back in the biting, howling wind. at least the old tent had four walls...

In a further attempt to cement relationships between the two almost warring nations, we had a 'Play' night (as Ace McCloud called it.) . Jo came up with the idea, telling Hrafnkell to come over to play cards one night, it quickly spiralling out of control so that everyone was invited to come and play.

As it turns out, only Hrappi, Ace and Hrönn managed to make the games night. Lilja had promised to come and at the last moment was 'involved in a car accident' so was unable to make it. Even with Hrönn bringing her knitting it still turned into a drunken orgy of violence, brought on by over-excitement during games of Puck!, Cheat and Shithead.

Home of Once Brave

On Thursday or Friday, I forget, we were having a discussion on site about super powers. Now, I have always been of the opinion that the only super powers that you need are: Invisibility, X-Ray vision and the ability to walk through walls. Ace McCloud said the ability to steal other people's abilities, which I thought was pretty good. Duncan said the ability to fly, which a bullshit ability. "But I'd be able to fly anywhere in the world' He said. 'But with invisibility you'd be able to walk onto any plane and fly anywhere in the world.' I said. 'I'd be able to fly home from work.' He floundered. 'I wouldn't even turn up to work.' I countered 'I'd be too busy looking at women in the shower. And I wouldn't need money, I'd just take whatever I wanted, cos no-one would be able to see me.' The stupidest of all the abilities was Roz's ability to talk to animals. 'I'd be able to solve crimes by asking the birds who did it!' she defended her stupidity. Imagine the scene:

a courtroom where a murder trial is taking place:

The prosecution 'I call forward my first witness; a Blackbird.' I can't imagine how quickly this case will be thrown out of court.

'I'd be able to talk to my pet tiger!' She attempted one last plea.

'What about? How it was in his cage? How he'd like to be back in India with his family?'

I am drowning in a sea of dunces.

I stayed in on Friday night and played computer games all night, then got up on Saturday and did exactly the same thing. Until the evening where we all headed down to Angelos and Sindre's gaff for a house warming party. I got pretty drunk and then we all headed into town at about 4 am, so I managed to beat my own record of staying out. I finally got home about 6 am, well oiled....

Sunday began as a lazy day until Jo dragged me out of the house for a walk round the Grotta Peninsular. We stopped off at a supermarket where Jo took photos of stupidly named food products. Ho ho ho, stupid foreigners... At the lighthouse of Grotta the wind picked up and threatened to blow us out to sea. Fortunately all it did was give us slight hypothermia. A hot-dog and a cup of coffee later we decided enough was enough of battling the elements in an attempt to have fun and headed home.

One Rode to Asa Bay

Last week at work, before I left on Friday we all had a hand in putting the new tent up over Area B. The thing went up easy enough, well at least on my part, as I left half way through to go home... When I arrived back on site yesterday the ground in the tent was being cleaned and the new heaters were being installed ready for winter. Also the lights were put in place and the whole thing lit up like Christmas. Once the heaters were turned on the whole place became a little snug haven.

Not for us Immigrant workers though... The Icelandic staff were all moved into the new tent and the rest of us Brits/Norwegians worked in the cold, cold old tent. The wind blew like knives and broken glass through the wind tunnel created by openings in the tent. The frozen ground was like concrete beneath our trowels. The Icelanders had the audacity to tell us we weren't welcome in the new warm tent, we had to suffer like dogs. I spent the day shouting 'Racist!' at all the Icelandic staff. Davið and Lilja dropped by every-so-often to tell us how warm it was in the new tent. Poor King-Of-Scotland Atli had to work with us, measuring stones. He said he had decided to become a Brit and wanted to be called 'Ace McCloud'. Bjarki threatened to set dogs on me when I tried to gain access to the new tent after lunch. I only wanted the camera. All this was coupled with Jo's continual sexual harassment which only made my day worse.

Atli Quotes:


On the decision by Britain to freeze Icelandic bank accounts under the Terrorism act:

'We are going to get a bank loan off Osama Bin Laden to help us out.'