Song To Hall Up High

A funny thing happened on Friday evening which was blown out of proportion by Jo. This is what happened. I arrived home earlier than the others and jumped at the chance to sling my work clothes into the washer, so I stripped down to my pants and threw my site gear in the machine, I went upstairs (Only in boxers, remember) and picked up the rest of my clothes as I intended on jumping in the shower. I went back downstairs and as I was passing the kitchen I remembered I had a piece of chicken in the fridge that was under threat of going off as I was going to be away for the weekend (More of this later). I decided the best place for the chicken would be the freezer, so I located some clingfilm in the kitchen (still in my undercrackers, remember), and proceeded to wrap the chicken in it. It was just at this point that Jo arrived home. As she stepped through the door, I yelled 'This is not how it looks!!' We laughed like twats and I thought the incident forgotten...until... Later that evening we were having a site night out in town, as Oktoberfest was in full swing in Reykjavik. During the evening the incident was brought up by Jo, except by the time she had finished telling everyone, the story had evolved into her coming home to find me wrapped in clingfilm with two chicken breasts strapped to my chest as makeshift lady bumps. Further embellished with chocolate raisins for nipples. According to Jo's version of the story, I was dancing around the apartment singing 'I want to be a girl! I want to be a girl!'

I guess the moral of this story is don't believe everything you hear or read, as some of you did with my last posting...

Anyhoo, back to my news. On Saturday I flew out to Boston for Becky and Mike's wedding. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it, but thanks to the friendship of Becky and her credit card I made my flight from Keflavik. The flight was uneventful and the inflight entertainment of Icelandicair leaves a lot to be desired. Mind you, I did watch about six episodes of the Simpsons that I hadn't seen before. The inflight meal was also bottom drawer, I'm not sure what it was but it tasted like putrefied shark. Mashed up with poison. I arrived at Logan Int. Airport and managed to get the terminal Bob was arriving at and met her with no problems. we took a taxi to the Wynborne hotel, where we were all staying. Becky had assured us it shouldn't have cost much more that 40-50 bucks. The final price was more like $100!! Then we hit the bar as we were waiting for Stan and Dave to arrive so we could get into he room. We ordered starters that the two of us couldn't finish between us and got drunk and laughed like twats, mainly due to sleep depravity. After the other two arrived we had a final cheeky sherbet and hit the hay.

I slept reasonably well, despite HSBC ringing me at 5.00 in the morning, because I'd been trying to get money out of MY account. Cunts. In the morning the four of us hit the Rockingham Mall to get the full US experience. Dave has never been to the States before and he reckoned it looked a bit like Meadowhall, only smaller. I bet that criticism has never been levelled at an American institution before... We also bumped into Freyer and another Becky, both ex-York students who lived with the Beckster in the first year. After a massive jug of Sam Adams booze we got a taxi back to the hotel to put on our make-up for the big day. Needless to say, Dave and I were ready in about five minutes, Stan was still straightening her hair when the lift arrived for us outside the hotel. We all piled in the car and headed up for the church. This is were the fun began. Becky, being Becky would not be able to have a sombre occasion for her wedding. She arrived after the bridal party had taken their places at the front, being led by her father (who looked very dapper indeed), carrying.... a Ball and Chain!! Brilliant. It only got better. The minister giving the ceremony said at one point 'Mike, for a successful marriage, you only need to remember to say three words..' Becky piped up 'Go Red Sox!!'

The ceremony done, all that remained was for the happy couple to walk out of the church, as she passed my seat, Becky shouted 'Nob End!!' LOL? I nearly weed.

The wedding party headed over to a refurbished disused mill building (That one of Becky's Grandmothers had worked in... How's that for a neat tie-in?). As we headed there, we drove through some of the most beautiful woods I have ever seen. New England in Autumn (or Fall...) is the most colourful and amazing place on Earth. The Autumn in the UK just doesn't match up. When we arrived at the reception, there was a little take home box, with everyone's name on it and a table full of sweets for us to help ourselves to! The whole place was decked out in Autumnal colours and it was a tribute to Becky's sister's good taste, who had planned the whole thing. Dinner was four types of curry, which is very unusual in the US (the caterers where surprised to find it was a Mormon/Catholic wedding, and not a Hindu bash, when they were approached to provide the food...) and a free bar provided us with the fuel we needed for a night's heavy dancing. Which we did in spades. Needless to say it was Dave, Bob, Stan and myself who were first up and we hardly left the dancefloor except to drink more. It really kicked off when the DJ played 'U Can't Touch This'. Dave and I had a breakdance-off, just like the old days at Ziggy's. Even a few of the Yanks got involved. We kept the DJ playing for an hour after he should have finished and I think everyone was surprised at how unreserved Becky's British friends were...

Disapointed to find the bar at the hotel closed, we all retreated back to the room, where Becky, Mike and Allan (Mike's brother) joined us for a cheeky sherbet. By this time I was feeling the full effects of jet lag and was too tired to really take part in the conversation.

After breakfast the next morning, the four of us left for the airport, to drop Bob off and go and see some sites in Boston. We met up with Sam, who was looking very Goth with her dyed black hair. Stan only had about half an hour until her flight, so she got a whistle stop tour, whereas Dave and I got a longer tour. Sam was not the best tour guide in the world, but she did show us where Paul Revere had jumped out of a window, whilst wrestling a bear, that had lightening coming out of it's mouth. He won the match by stabbing the bear repeatedly in the brain with a solid gold sword, which he always carried on his person. At least, that's what I think Sam said.

The flight home was as uneventful as the flight out, except the only entertainment was provided by the showing of the film 'Dreamgirls'. I slept through it all, which is exceptional for me as I never sleep whilst travelling....

And finally, it's time for a new section of this weblog: Alti's Quotes of the week!!

On helping me with some tools I was struggling to carry 'Let me take the weight off your soldiers.'

On the fothcoming war with Iceland over the Credit Crisis 'You'll be going home with your tail between your feet.' and 'You'll be crying yourself to bed.'

Reporting on his and Davið's performance at their last seminar when neither had done the required reading 'He would have got a better response out of a couple chips.'

Chaos

Iceland has descended into chaos this week, with the Kroner spiralling out of control. Yesterday the King of Iceland pop, Bubbi, played an impromptu concert in front of the Althingi to help restore order. Things went from bad to worse as several homeless people stormed the stage and declared a New Order. The Icelandic Police turned up and began firing tear gas and plastic bullets into the crowds, breaking them up and then baton charging the disorientated protesters. Several protesters broke away from the carnage and returned fire with an ex-Russian T55, that had been looted during last weeks piracy outbreaks. The Police were forced to withdraw to the safety of the Althingi and began firing anti-tank rounds from the upper floors. A large caliber gun was manhandled to the square and fire was brought down on the Police force. The Althingi was in such a state of disrepair that it collapsed and killed most of the occupants. The surviving Police officers were dragged out of the rubble and the crowd set upon them, pulling them literally to pieces. All foreigners were being shipped out to Denmark for safety and the last I saw of Reykjavik was a burning heap of rubble, smoke spreading over the battered city as more conflicts between the Icelanders and Police escalated into all-out war.

Hail to the Hammer!!

Work this week has progressed as it usually does; cleaning, photographing, mapping and removing the contexts. Nothing too demanding. There was an upheaval on Wednesday when people moved house, but it all soon settled down. On the way home from work on Thursday evening it began snowing. It was a dry and cold day and it began to settle until it was laid thick over Reykjavik. The snow was still on the ground the next day and half of the site was covered. Practically everyone was moved inside the tent and the day was broken up with the occasional violent snowball fight. It was a little like Njal’s saga but with snow instead of swords. Davið provided the best target as he pretty much stood still and took the bombardment.

There was still a lot of snow and ice on the ground on Friday evening and there was a discussion about whether it would be safe to go into to town with the inebriated walk back being a potential death trap. Jo had been housebound for three days after burning her eye with a piece of ash from her fag and was gasping to get out, so that swayed the opinion and we set off into town. This was the first night the Northern Lights had been visible and their shimmering shapes accompanied us on the walk to town. We first went into Kofi Tómasar Frænda, I hadn’t been in this bar yet, but was very glad to do so. It is a really nice little coffee shop that turns into a bar later on. A very cozy little place indeed. After a cheeky sherbet we headed down to the Celtic Cross, after I forbid going in Kaffibarinn, the place owned by Damon Alburn. Jo, Duncan and I had already been in here before and it was full of pretentious wankers then and probably would be now, so I said a firm NO. In the event, it would have been better to be surrounded by pretentious wankers than surrounded by the fart that someone let off in the Celtic Cross, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. After meeting Angelos here, we all de-camped to Grand Rokk, next door. This was full of men and Jo’s idea of an Icelandic fisherman didn’t really live up to reality when she was chatted up by a fisherman who looked like he had a family of Polish Immigrants living in his face. Duncan and Roz went home and Jo, Angelos and I pressed on into further drinking oblivion. We ended up in some bar were Jo was goosed and chatted up by a bloke singing ‘Take a walk on the wild side’.

On Saturday morning Vala loaned us her car for the weekend and we planned a road trip to see some of Iceland’s beauty. The idea was to head up to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula and have a look at Snæfellsjökull, the massive glacier sitting on top of a mountain. On the side of the road we saw a crater and turned off to go and have a closer look, the road didn’t go anywhere near the crater, but brought close to a field full of tiny Icelandic horses. Roz attempted to tempt them with apples, but the first one wasn’t having any of it and turned its massive nose up at the offered treat. After driving for a couple of hours North of Reykjavik we got onto the peninsular proper and turned up the road by the side of the glacier. On top of the plateau was a frozen lake, which we stopped at and Duncan and I attempted to break the ice by throwing massive stones at it. Jo and Roz looked on in disapproval. We headed on and arrived in the tiny town of Olafsvik where we had a meal in a Hobbit inspired restraint/café. This appeared to be the only place open in Olafsvik, besides a discount clothes store with the surliest staff in the world. You’d think that if you lived in a place like Olafsvik and owned a store that the only regular customers were local teenage girls, the arrival of four foreigners may cause quite a stir of excitement. But, no, Olafsvik seemed to have sapped the life out of the staff and they remained nonplussed at our arrival. I bought a shirt for Becky’s wedding and we left. Leaving the desolation of Olafsvik behind we drove on the North coast of the Peninsular to see if we could get a better view of the Glacier. Before we left the town that time forgot we made an attempt at driving up the 4X4 track that led right by the side of the glacier. After several hairy bends and with the girl’s pleas to turn back we accepted defeat and turned the car round to the metalled road proper. The view from the road as we rounded the tip of the peninsular was fucking mind blowing. The lava fields in front of the mountain range made the whole place look like the Plains of Gorgoroth, eerily shaped rock formations jutted from the ground to add a strange and disturbing sense to the beauty of the glacier. We stopped at the crater Saxholl and climbed to the top for an even greater view of Snæfellsjökull. The vastness and intense immenseness of the glacier made everything in life seem so little and insignificant that it was quite a refreshing experience to gaze on it. The sun was setting as we headed back around the glacier and made tracks for home. Hopes to see the Northern lights were dashed as clouds moved in and obscured the sky.

Back at the flat in Reykjavik I readied myself for another evening out on the tiles. This time it was for a purpose. I had been planning all week to see Tyr, the Faroese Viking Metal band on their mini tour of Iceland. They were playing in Nasa in Reykjavik with four other bands. I hadn’t been in Nasa before and had only stood in the queue for a few minutes, so to actually go in the place was another first for me. I met Hrafnkell and Stephan during the first band’s (Perla) rather boring Prog Metal set. The next band, Dark Harvest were OK, they used to be an instrumental only band (Hrafnkell told me) although tonight they had a singer, but they played some of their older instrumental songs which were by far the better songs in their set. After Dark Harvest had cleared the stage Mammút played, Stephan told me he had done a review of their CD for the newspaper 24 Hours and gave it a four out of five. I said why wasn’t it a five out of five? He said, then they have something to work for on their next album… The average age of Mammút was 17 and they were mainly girls. Their performance was a bit lackluster, but maybe this was more to do with the placing of an Indiepop band in an otherwise very METAL line up. They had a few good tunes but weren’t really to my taste. The last of the support acts was Severed Crotch, who’s name led to a discussion between myself and Hrafnkell about stupid band names. Despite their name, they were the best band on the bill that night. Totally brutal death metal, which really got the moshpit whipped up into a fury. It was like the glory days of the Queen’s Hall in Bradford back in the early nineties all over again… Tyr came on and did their thing, and did it very well, but… I still don’t like them. I have been trying to like Tyr for years, ever since their first album came out. They have everything that I should like: They are Pagan, they sing about Vikings, they are from a Norse heritage, they are named after the Viking God of War, they have epic songs infused with Faroese folk songs and are TOTALLY METAL! But try as I might, I just don’t like them. It’s something about the guitar squeals and diddly diddly solos that I find most nauseating. The three of us left together and headed for Hrafnkell’s car where we gave Stephan a lift to the next road over (go figure, it would have been quicker for him to walk to the next bar than have us drive him there, but he took the lift…). Hrafnkell and I went for the now obligatory Klukingerburger and he dropped me off home. I was wanting an early night as Duncan, Roz, Jo and I planned on leaving early in the morning to get the most out of the car, so I was home by three…
After what seemed like two hours sleep my alarm woke me up and we hit the road in Vala’s car. This trip was to go see the Volcano Hekla. This majestic beast has the name ‘the Hooded One’ as it is always shrouded in clouds. It has blown its top several times in recorded history and most of the time it is fucking disastrous for Iceland. She takes no prisoners and one of the eruptions was so bad that the Danish government considered moving the surviving Icelandic population to Zealand rather than try to reclaim the land. Luckily for us, she remained dormant throughout the day and we didn’t have to do anything as extreme as relocating to Denmark. We headed north of Hekla and sought out the farmstead oat Stöng, which was buried by one of Hekla’s eruptions in 1104. It was also Iceland’s first archaeological excavation carried out in the 1930’s. The road to the site is almost non existent and the volcanic ash that covers the area makes it feel like a post-apocalyptic environment. It’s like the Hills Have Eyes and you expect to round the corner to find groups of mutants breaking open human femurs to suck the marrow out. I think we were lucky to get out of there without our heads being stuck on spikes like some grisly trophy for a wandering band of Mad Max style land pirates. The site is covered with a building and preserved with the addition of modern turf walls. The farmstead is surprisingly large inside and would have been rather cozy, with the six foot wide turf walls in place. Roz mistook the pantry for the toilet and this led to a long discussion about the idiot boy Olaf shitting in the butter.

Over the main road and down a better made road was the reconstruction of the farmstead building and the little chapel at Þóðveldisbærinn (try saying that when you’re sober…). Unfortunately it was closed for the winter and we couldn’t get inside, despite banging on the front door for five minutes. Maybe the idiot boy Olaf had lost his keys. After this short excursion we headed down the road towards the hot springs at Reykholt. We had been led to believe it would be a natural rock pool with cascading hot water flowing freely as you sit and marvel at the spectacle of the Northern Lights. The reality was rather disappointing. What awaited us at the end of the road was a grotty swimming pool that was closed for the winter. We broke in and had a look around, then decided it would better to leave and head back to Reykjavik. Stopping at Hveragerði for the worst and most expensive burger in the history of burgers we decided to head down to the Blue Lagoon as Jo and I haven’t been there yet. The place is quite expensive but worth it, in my opinion. It’s a state of the art swimming experience of the highest caliber. It’s quite something to swim in a pool, look down and not be able to see your body because of the thickness of the nutrients in the water. After nearly two hours of being battered by the wind and rain, covering ourselves in some white substance that is supposed to knock years off and sweating it out with Germans in the sauna, we headed back home all dead beat but satisfied. Here endeth the lesson.

The past week was quite a long one, it seemed to drag on. Work was constantly interrupted by the rain. The problem with the rain is that because we are working on clay and peat, any amount of water makes a complete fucking state of the ground and all the hard work is very quickly undone. This can be very frustrating but we are supposed to be getting a new tent to cover the new area that has been opened up. Hopefully this will alleviate the problems some what. The thing with Icelandic archaeology is that when dealing with volcanic island we can quite quickly date deposits due to the documented fall of volcanic ash called Tephra. There are several years throughout Iceland’s history that volcanoes have erupted and laid down a carpet of ash. There is one from the thirteenth century, the sixteenth century, and most importantly the late ninth century. This one, from 871 plus or minus two years, is the settlement Tephra, and can quite precisely date a structure if the Tephra is found on a construction or within the turf used to build the structure. This spot dating certainly beats scratting about for bits of rubbish pottery like in the UK.

I went over to Thingtakk’s rehearsal on Tuesday night, along with Kipp. I have only heard them on CD and they blew me away live. They are all incredibly talented musicians, it makes me fucking sick. For the last half an hour I demonstrated some Sudoku songs: Ninja!, Ninja Is For Life and Do You Wanna Get Pumped? We have an idea to play live at some point; the main problem is locating Ninja costumes in Reykjavik. This is the first time I have heard Sudoku with live drums, being that we only ever played with a drum machine, and it sounded fucking brilliant. At least from where I was standing…

The latest edition to our crew turned up on Tuesday night. Jo has come from London after working for PCA for eight years. I didn’t get to meet her on Tuesday night as I was in bed, but met her on Wednesday when she visited site for the first time. After work, Duncan, Roz and myself took Jo to the local swimming pool. I spent the whole time in the hot tubs.

We have this three week old tradition on site where someone makes a cake on Friday. Last week Lilja made a cake and cookies, she raised the bar somewhat and then chose me to make one this week. So I spent the first part of Thursday night making a cake and some brownies. Jo found a box of icing pens in the house and I used them to write abuse all over the top of the cake, see my Facefuck photos to see the results…

After baking class was over, Jo and I headed over to pick up Duncan and head down to Dillon to see Thingtakk perform. They were supported by a TOTAL FUCKING METAL band, called, I think, Rimmer. They were excellent live and didn’t give a shit about being TOTAL FUCKING METAL!!! Thingtakk put on a great performance, they’re drummer is a fucking machine! I also met Brant Bjork, he was playing on Saturday and was obviously in town a few days before for some expensive beers. I was chatting to him about DAM Pedals.

I was pretty fucked on Friday, I can’t drink on school nights anymore, but I got through the day and I spent the evening in the house with Duncan, Roz and Jo, drinking wine.

On Saturday I was going to go on a Reykjavik Excursions trip on the Golden Circle, but Atli and Hrön offered their services and said they’d take myself and D&R around all the major sites that the tour has to offer, plus a couple of other places too. The first place we visited was the volcanic crater at Kerið, I fucking love craters. There is something so mysterious about them.

We passed a fairy stone that the road had been diverted around outside of Selfoss, and this led to a discussion about Fairies and Hrön telling us her Grandfather had seen one once. What do they look like? Asked I. Like us, but more beautiful and better dressed she told me. So your Grandfather saw a good looking man in nice clothes? I asked. No, they are smaller than us, she countered. To which I replied: So your Grandfather saw a good looking well dressed man, who was standing far away?

We drove on to the excavations on the Bishop’s house at Skálholt that both Atli and Hrön had worked on as students. It was quite interesting, but I am not too keen on Churches, so thankfully we didn’t go in. The most interesting thing was the detail of a painting of Skálholt in the eighteenth century showing the turf houses.

Next stop was Geysir, where all the Geysers in the world are named after. The big one hasn’t blown since the eighties when an earthquake shook it up and it blew off. The smaller Strokker still blows every eight to ten minutes and is amazing to see. As is my usual luck with cameras I was waiting for the fucker to blow and my batteries ran out. A quick visit to the shop for batteries and chips and we finished our tour of the hot pools of Geysir.

The next stop on the itinery was the waterfall at Gullfoss which was breathtaking. It’s at least two tiers of cascading water and falls for meters. The sheer size and amount of water that runs down them is mindbending. I asked Atli if he would consider going over it in a barrel, he said yes as long at it was a metal barrel, with an oxygen canister in it. And a TV.

Driving on a grit road over incredible Autumnal landscapes of lava fields we arrived at Þingvellir were the original Parliament met during the Viking period. It remained in use up to 1798 but was reused during the independence declaration in 1944. The site is set in between a rift in the North Atlantic ridge that rises up in Iceland. It’s the only place in the world where you can cross from Europe to North America in a few steps. It’s also cheaper than flying. Darkness was falling as we left so we threw some coins into the water and made a wish. I really wanted mine to come true so I fucked a handful of cash into the stream.

I got back to Reykjavik and had some food before heading out into town with Jo to go and see Brant Bjork and the Bros at Café Amsterdam. At the bank machine Jo got confused and withdrew 100,000 Kroner, wishing to get about £60 out she ended up getting £600 out… Being obviously nervous about having so much cash in her pocket she headed back to the house to drop some off, I headed into the gig as the first band had started. They were pretty good laid back American bluesy stuff, I wouldn’t buy anything by them but they were good live. The second band were called Brain Police and were fucking heavy. They ended up with a cover of a Kyuss song, which I had not heard for maybe twelve years. The really got the crowd going. Then Brant Bjork and the Bros took to the stage and they played a fucking amazing set. I am not really into them, but have heard most of their back catalogue at Dave’s house. They kept coming back on, and must have played for about two hours. Great value for money. Jo and I hung around in Café Amsterdam afterwards until about four when we headed home, drunk and satisfied with the evening’s entertainment.

Sunday was spent in a café drinking coffee, reading National Geographic, using the free internet access and then coming home to watch Enemy at the Gates.

Goliath and the Vampires

This has been a turbulent week, Roz and Duncan showed up on Saturday but because I was at a party I couldn't meet them in town, so on Sunday I met them and we all went to the Longhouse Museum which is located just over the road from our site. It´s an excellent place full of touchy-feely exhibits. I wanted to go as we may be able to catch some of the outhouses from this structure on our site. I wanted to see how turf walls look in situ. The museum has the fully excavated longhouse totally preserved, so the walls were there in all their glory. We wandered around town for an hour or so, then I headed back to my apartment and food. After which I met up with them both again and we all went swimming in my local pool. Apparently the sauna is the place to pick up gay men in Iceland, so needless to say I stayed away... I spend most of my time int he swimming pool in the hot pots, there´s four of them and the range in temperature from 32 degrees to 44 degrees. I can only take the 44 degree one for a short while before my heart starts beating too fast.

On Tuesday a massive storm hit us, it mainly went through the night. It was so strong that the Iceland rescue team (A sort of Paramilitary armed force that Iceland has instead of an army.) had to be called out to help secure the poles, with the use of the mini digger.

Hrafnkell and I had been taking about playing Sudoku live, here in Reykjavik, in support of his band Thingtakk, so we were supposed to go and practice on Thursday night. It was also a chance for me to go and check out his band. The bassist called in sick, however and rehearsal was cancelled, so instead Hrafnkell drove me over to his house and his wife made us dinner, then I showed him a few ninja riffs.

Friday night was PARTY night!! We had a visit from the archaeology department from the University of Reykjavik, it´s called a science trip, where the students were given a lecture and then we all tucked into lashings of beer. The problem was it all kicked off rather early by Icelandic standards, about 7.00pm. So by the time we´d all got to the pub about midnight everyone was well and truly wankered. Atli The King of Scotland bought me a stupid drink he called a Blue Cadillac, it was four shots; two separate shots of vodka, each topped up with sambuca and tequilla. The sambuca and vodka were set alight, the flame was blown out and I began drinking it through a straw whilst Atli poured the tequila and vodka mix in on top... Needless to say, I didn´t stay out much longer.

I spent yesterday trying, in vain, to buy a ticket to Boston. The fucking ticket office of Icelandic Air doesn´t open on a Saturday... as the airport was close to the Perlan (the building which provides Reykjavik with it´s geo-thermal hot water.), I wandered up to have a look at the Saga Museum that is located in one of the disused tanks. This was a Viking version of Madame Tussuad´s, maybe it would be better named Madame Tussuadsðottir. Various wax models told the history of Iceland in a rather potted way, I was quite disappointed as I was expecting preserved copies of the original Sagas, not some two-bit waxy Viking bullshit. On the slopes of the Perlan I found some, slurp slurp, concrete bunkers from the last war. I don´t seem to be able to go very far without tripping over some battlefield archaeology. I would have took photos, but being the cunt that I am, I forgot to take my camera. And my hat. Which I needed on the way to the airport when it started hailing sideways, when I was walking over some open fields. Then I met Angelos and we had a coffee and well needed chat, then bumped into Duncan and Roz and arranged to meet them both later for a few drinks. We went into town about midnight and went to the cheapest pub in Reykjavik (only 78 pounds a pint!). I wasn´t really in much of a party mood and probably wasn´t very good company, for which I can only apologise to Duncan and Roz.

One week in....

Now I´ve been here over a week I think I am more than qualified to comment on Iceland. The first thing that struck me was the determined nature to encourage binge drinking. In the UK, Diaggio put out warnings about drinking responsibly. Last weekend I picked up a guide to Reykjavik, the back page was given over to an advert for Olivers a bar in town, with a picture of a girl with a drink in hand and the slogan ´PARTY LIKE AN ANIMAL!!´emblazoned across her! I have never Loled so much in my life. Yes, binge drinking is not only encouraged it appears to be a part of the law. Having said that, for all their madness during the weekend the Icelanders are fairly quiet during schooldays. Nobody goes for a pint after work.

Last Saturday I was invited to a party, we got a lift off Atli (the King of Scotland) and arrived at some apartment on the outskirts of Reykjavik, whereupon we proceeded to drink ourselves stupid before going out into town. I was out until 5am, and I was the first to leave the festivities...

The work is cool, we don´t use permatrace or pencils or anyother recording materials except for a Total Station Theodolite, which is a machine that records everything on site for us. It saves spending about half an hour walking round site looking for masking tape.

I can´t think of much else to say at the moment, so I´ll leave if for now...

ROFL LULZ!!!!111!!!!!

I just remembered, last saturday night, angelos and I got chatting to these two girls in the street on the way home the conversation went along these lines:

Her; You´re English? Do you know the Isle of Wight?

Me; Yes of course I do.

Her; I was at a festival there

Me; Really? The Isle of Wight Festival? Did Jimi Hendrix play?

Her; I don´t think so, I may have missed him.

Me; You probably did love, he´s been dead nearly forty years.

Oh yeah, and some guy was taking photos of me Robot Dancing. What was that all about?