Balför

So we move into the final week before the annual festival of hanging dead horses in the trees in celebration of the end of the year. I have a been reflecting on a few things this week, one thing I have realised since Justin and Lucy left is how much I miss my good friends back in the UK. Only having a few days at Christmas just isn't enough time to catch up with people. I know I will not be seeing as many people as I want to over the next couple of weeks, but it will have to do.

On Monday I noticed that the Day the Earth Stood Still had been released. Or should I say, re-released. This is the remake of the classic, dare I say it, Seminal 1951 movie. The original is incredibly subtle and mature for the time it was made. It still has resonances 50 years after it was made. Poor old Keanu Reeves had a lot to live up to...

I'm afraid he didn't. It starts off OK, and follows the original quite closely, even thought the effects of Gort are terrible. But it rapidly goes downhill, there are scenes which make no sense (one in a railway station, where Klaatu is seen by a child manipulating a vending machine, but with no conclusion. During the same scene two men brawl over a train ticket, again with no conclusion.), it rolls along to a confused ending with plenty of Hollywood style effects thrown in for good measure. One of the most annoying things is the inclusion of a step-child of the main female protagonist. Not only is she white and he black (flying the flag for cross racial PC bullshit, whilst still being racist. Why couldn't it be a black step father with a white child? Because... shhhh, of ingrained racism in Hollywood...), but he's the most annoying child actor one could hope to spend the misfortune of watching for two hours. Mop topped and feisty he seriously should be left to the fate of falling into the river that Klaatu saves him from. Why do kids in films always have long hair? In my day all the kids I knew had shaved heads, mind you, that was to stop them getting nits off each other and so their hair wouldn't get tangled up in the machinery of the Dark Satanic Mills that we all worked in Up North. I digress.

To be fair, Keanu Reeves is pretty perfect as the emotionless Klaatu, he seems to have drifted happily into these kind of roles since doing the sham that is The Matrix. Anything that allows him to stare absent mindedly into the middle distance like a robot and half whisper some bullshit that is supposed to be profound is perfect for Mr Reeves. He still can't shake that Bill and Ted cloak though, eh? I expect people will be shouting 'Awesome' and twiddling air guitars during his funeral. Poor bloke.

Allfadr Odinn

I have just returned from a week long road trip across Southern and Eastern Iceland. Well, I say 'just' returned, I actually got in last night (unless I publish this on Sunday, then I mean 'Thursday'. Good God, there's a lot of double meanings in this post already...). I have had my first visitors from the homeland since arriving here, Justin and Lucy tipped up on Friday night for week 'olidays in Iceland. I have been planning this trip for the past six weeks and it meant that I couldn't go to the site Christmas party, but never mind. I was ill informed by Bjarki that it only takes 16hrs to get around the entire Ring Road (route Number 1) round Iceland. Three days would be enough time to see loads of things on the way. Now, I have absolutely no idea what kind of fucking rocket powered jet fighter he drives, but there is no way on Earth that one would get around the Ring Road in that time. The original plan was for the two of them to arrive on Friday and we would drive the four hours (Bjarki's estimation again...) to Höfn and arrive about eleven, that would give us the entire Saturday to explore the area and about half of Sunday for further look-see and then the drive back. The best laid plans of mice and men...

Justin and Lucy protested that they would have been on the road since eight that morning so didn't fancy a four hour drive so soon after arriving, so I suggested we stop at Vik on the first night (Friday). From experience, Vik I knew to be about two hours outside of Reykjavik. This they agreed to, we kidnapped Jo and after a short stop at Hagkaup to pick up some mung beans for Justin we zoomed out of Reykjavik. Only to stop at a crazy church with all the gravestones covered in Christmas lights. It turns out that this is not unusual in Iceland, it's something to do with letting the ancestors enjoy Christmas and the delights of being eaten by the Evil Christmas Cat.

Lucy had been driving up to this point and Justin took over, being unused to driving on the other side of the road and in a automatic we wobbled off down the road, to be almost instantaneously stopped by the police for a breathalyser test. Despite having half a can earlier Justin passed the test and we uncertainly carried on. It was now getting towards half past ten and Vik was no where closer to us than when we had set off two and a half hours earlier. Seeing a neon sign for the Hotel Ranga we pulled in desperate for somewhere to stay for the night. as we walked in we realised we were immediately out of our depths, see here for details: http://www.hotelranga.is/ The place was as opulent as they come and we had no business there. But to our amazement the light of Festivas was shining o'er us and the prices were really affordable, it must have been because of the season. Booking in and taking our share of the free mulled wine, we all went to bed happy little bunnies.

After an opulent breakfast of fresh bread, waffles and coffee, we hit the road for Vik. It had rained during the night and was raining as we set off. It didn't look promising, but as we traveled across the coast line the rain cleared but left the clouds, to give an eerie and dramatic quality to the surroundings. We stopped in Vik for the first Pylsur of the day and I called Duncan to see what progress he was making. The idea was for Duncan and Roz to drive out to meet us and then take Jo and I back home on Sunday leaving Justin and Lucy to continue on Eastwards. They had long since passed Vik and were speeding at a rate of knots towards Höfn. We quickly boarded the car and caught them up at a service station, a good enough reason for a second Pylsur. We continued on in quasi-convoy fashion stopping at a frozen waterfall and various other outstanding areas of natural beauty. Rounding a corner we got our first glimpse of Vatnajokull, the glacier that covers about 8% of Iceland and is about the fucking size of Yorkshire. In the fading light we drove down to one of the many tongues that protrude from the main Glacier; Svínafellsjökull. These things are incredible, dangerous and brooding, they seem to want to draw you in to certain doom. The fact that they are constantly moving as well makes them like beasts with primeval malevolence. The vast size and power is enough to make you go mad thinking about them.

The two car convoy set off for the final leg for Höfn, after being freaked out by Ice. We arrived at the Arnanes Guesthouse, a brilliant little place just outside of Höfn. All wooden walls and shit. We bombed it into Höfn to meet Duncan and Roz who were staying at another place in town and found a place we wanted to eat at as recommended by the Lonely Planet. The place was full of Christmas revelers and closed to the public so we took off to another place that wasn't recommended by the lonely planet. This was another example of the guide books lying to us. It said the waiting staff we unfriendly and grumpy, but we found the opposite to be true, we were given complimentary Christmas Lamb on pancakes (too rich...) and the waiter entertained us with jokes and went out of his way to sort out Justin's vegan diet.

Back at the Guesthouse, we settled in for a display of the Northern Lights, which were brought on by Jo falling on her arse, after drunkenly slipping off her chair... The next morning we met up with Roz and Duncan and drove out to a black beach with incredible mountains falling into the sea. The snow was thick all over the beach, something I've never seen before. Also something else I've never seen before was a herd of wild reindeer, come down off the mountains for Winter. The Guesthouse owner had told us about a waterfall nearby which we headed to, despite Jo's protests. The thing was frozen and after a perilous journey, Lucy, Justin and I managed to get behind the ice. It was like being in a magical Ice Queen's palace, but stonier. Roz and Duncan decided to split off and head up the Easternfjords whilst the intrepid four made a beeline for one of the Glacial tongues. We got the car as far we could up a frozen field, before being thwarted by a frozen river and carried on on foot. After an hour's march across a frozen wasteland, bordered on two sides by mountains we reached the Terminal Moraine of the glacier. Clambering over the top the only thing that came to mind was 'Fucking Hell!' The land fell away below us, a frozen lake ran into the foot of the Glacial tongue, which stretched out beyond the horizon. This was the single most impressive thing I have ever seen and we were the only four people there. It was like the end of the earth. The silence was incredible, you could have heard a pin drop from about a mile away.

Night was falling as we set back across the snowy fields and about an hour later we reached the car. Again the guesthouse owner had been a hive of information and had told us about a some natural hot pots in the area. Which we quickly found. The farmer who owned them called past in his truck and told us they were free to use, so we took to the water, under the stars, surrounded by four inch deep snow. The best end to the best day.

Jo, Duncan and Roz headed back to Reykjavik and I decided to gooseberry it out with Justin and Lucy for the rest of the week. We headed east up to the Eastfjords, the scenery was amazing and we passed about three cars in the eight hours we were on the road. With a stop at the frozen sea shore (and a walk out on the ice, as far as I dared...) we made for Djúpivogur (Jub Jub) a tiny little fishing village, tucked away in the fjords. After a quick walk around this tiny place we set back for the Guesthouse for the final night at Arnanes. The guesthouse owners gave us cookies and Quality Street on our departure the next day and we took our leave to Skaftafell National Park. Stopping at the Glacier lake we gazed in awe at icebergs floating in the river and a colony of seals basking in the sunlight. Hitting the road again we climbed up a hill up to Svartifoss were we were confronted by the sight of another frozen waterfall, this time with ten foot long icicles hanging off the hexagonal basalt blocks. another unbelievable sight from this beautiful country. Night was falling again as we headed out to Skaftafellsjökull which was reached after about half an hour's walk from the National Park car park. Again the power and might of glaciers was all too apparent as the moon was rising over the beast and we crossed frozen rivers and ice blocks to as close as we dare get to the thing.

Heading back we nearly walked over two Ptarmigan, the idiotic white (in winter) grouse that inhabit Iceland. Then tried to find a place to eat and a place to stay. Both failed and we ended up at a guesthouse who, although they were shut never turned people away, which basically means they were open. This was inhabited by a man with a claw hand, a fat woman and two pissing dogs. We tried to get some food in Vik, but the place was shut so we headed back to the hotel with only meager rations, scrounged in Hagkaup the previous Friday. A sumptuous banquet was prepared and we all headed to our respective beds.

The next morning was a later start than usual, we were going on a glacier trip and didn't have to be there until 11.30. We arrived about 11.00 and sat around waiting for nearly an hour before the bus from Reykjavik turned up with the other Glacier walkers in it. Strapping on crampons we filed onto a glacier, for the first time in my life. The sights were unbelievable, even with the pissing rain the formations from the water looked incredible.

Piss wet through, we headed back to the Hotel Ragnar and booked ourselves in for the night. A luxurious double bed and the most expensive meal I have ever had (which included Puffin meat fro starters...) awaited these weary travelers. The final day was a trip around the Golden Circle sights, which we had to ourselves and in the snow, which made for an interesting contrast to when I'd seen them before. Then back to Reykjavik full of stories of daring do and incredible sights.

Yesteday (I'm now writing this on Sunday) was a trip around the Keflavik peninsular, snowbound frozen landscapes, lighthouses, drying fish, hot springs and sea Trolls were the order of the day. I was awoken at four this morning by Justin and Lucy leaving, a sad goodbye as I won't see them again for a long time, but a great week in all.

If you've got this far, well done, this is more of a diary reminder for me than of interest to the layman.

Slaget I Skogen Bortenfor

On Thursday night we held our now bi-annual Play Night. We decided to up the ante somewhat this time and told the punters to bring their own games, as Jo refuses point blank to play Stratego, the only board game the crazy drunk Jesus freak owns. Lilja, turned up with "Ticket to Ride', which looked fucking amazing, with trains and everything along with some crazy card game and Cluedo in Danish!. Hrönn brought 'The Mad Magazine' game. Atli turned up with the nerdiest game this side of Nerddom. It was some fucking Vampire Card Game. I never understand these kind of card games, like Magic The Gathering and the like. I mean, when I want to play cards, I get some nice simple playing cards. I don't need cards adorned with pictures of fucking werewolves and goblins to enjoy a game.

I digress. Atli wasn't allowed to play with his cards, even though we kept telling him 'Yeah, we'll play after this game, promise!' That wiped the stupid smile off his stupid face. We played Cluedo first (Which Margret kept pronouncing as 'Clue Edo'. Brilliant), everybody raced to the foot of the stairs to reveal it was Fru Paafugleblaa with the Reb in the Billiardvarelse. I don't remember who won in mad scramble to the stairs, so let's just say it was me. Then it was time to play Hrönn's 'Mad Magazine Game' which, no offense Hrönn, was akin to pulling teeth. I definitely remember winning this one and Play Night moved onto Poker. Now, Poker is a game I don't know how to play but have always wanted to learn. We broke out the Jesus Freak's coins and everyone was dealt in. I had a good hand and kind of figured that I did, so I kept upping the betting, I then went all in and everyone else thought I was bullshitting them and matched my bravado. It paid off. I put the smack down on everyone and knocked at least three people out. Underestimate me, would you, you fuckers? I went to bed at the top of my game.

Friday was spent watching videos and relaxing over a few beers in the house. I awoke quite late on Saturday. This is the major problem when the sun doesn't rise until about ten am. I attempted to take a coat back, but the snotty cunt behind the counter said it had been worn and wouldn't take it back. I suppose having a shopping list in the pocket didn't help my argument that I had only tried it on in the house. With that failure I met Jo in town where we proceeded to the Perlan and the Saga Museum. I've already told you my comments on this place before, so I won't reiterate myself at this juncture. This time however, we took the opportunity to half the embarrassment and dressed up as Vikings, with chainmail shirts, coifs and Helmets. There was also a sword involved, I'm not sure how, the excitement was far too heady for me. After this I took Jo on a Battlefield Archaeology tour of World War Two Defensive bunkers. She said this was the highlight of the day, by far!

Hrappi called over Saturday evening and he and I headed out to a gig at Belly's. You'll remember Belly's for being the cheapest pint in Reykjavik, a snip at £67,982! Anyway the gig was a warm-up show for the 'Anti-Christmas' festival that is being held in a few weeks. We arrived to the dulcet tones of 'Dormah'. These were blasting out crushing Death Metal, very good stuff. Then came on the exquisitely named 'Bastard'. Again great Death Metal, with an Australian Singer; so for the first time I understood everything being said between songs. Next up were Forgarður Helvítis, one of the oldest bands in Iceland, fucking excellent Grindcore Punk with a really energetic singer. The next band were a power punk kind of outfit. They were good at what they did, but not really my kind of band. The final band were my favourite, Atrum. Fucking good Black Metal, in the Emperor style. They were all only young kids, but they had the attitude (and corpse paint) and talent to put on a real good show. I was just thinking to myself, wow these guys are just like old Emperor when they launched into a cover of I am the Black Wizards! Fucking Brilliant, it's one of my favourite Emperor songs of all time, ever. After the gig Hrappi and I went and got our Chickenbugers that always finish off an evening these days.

On Sunday Jo dragged me to shopping Hell in Kringlan Shopping Maul. Actually I wanted to go Christmas shopping, I had a few things to buy and knew exactly were to get them from. As it turns out, one of the shops had closed down, another one didn't have what I wanted and the final thing I wanted to buy was too heavy to carry around, so I ended up buying a magazine and two books for myself. Another completely successful shopping expedition for Sotheran.

We had a meeting at work today, during which we had our Secret Santa hoisted upon us. What this means is, we all picked a name out of a hat and we have to be nice to that person for the week, but without them knowing it. It culminates in buying them a present on Friday. We can be nice in various ways, sing to them, write them a poem, send a little gift, etc. I'm not going to tell you who mine is, but they are going to receive pictures of Nazi atrocities, children being raped by clowns and other such niceties. Fuck Christmas and fuck you.

...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...