I'll just leave this here.....

At my door the leaves are falling
A cold wild wind Will come
Sweethearts walk by together
And I still miss someone

I go out on a party
And look for a little fun
But I find a darkened corner
'Cause I still miss someone

Oh, no I never got over those blues eyes
I see them every where
I miss those arms that held me
When all the love was there

I wonder if she's sorry
For leavin' what we'd begun
There's someone for me somewhere
And I still miss someone

Oh, no I never got over those blues eyes
I see them every where
I miss those arms that held me
When all the love was there

I wonder if she's sorry
For leavin' what we'd begun
There's someone for me somewhere
And I still miss someone

and I still miss someone

Valgalderkvad

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bukkeferd

Duncan doesn't send many text messages but when he does they are belters. Texts from Duncan in the past few weeks have included these two, the first was after we were moving out to separate houses. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye properly, and sent a text saying goodbye to which he replied with:
its been great livin with u. Will miss havin u around in the evenings. I hope the pad works out. If u ever need a beer, or a cup at our place and a chat then just say the word. Peace. D
The following one was sent straight after the disastrous Sudoku gig on Saturday at about 4.00am:
Sorry if I fucked things up the computer. Didn't know how to stop the f ucker [sic] mid song. Away that was a massive step up in class with the other bands. Don't Lose heart. Cheers 4 lettin me play. D

The Church of Latter Day Saints of Duncan Alexander awaits your call!!

I was coming out of the site office the other day an noticed a few new things. The massive spoil heap that was sitting next to the tents and has been threatening to crush us all like Welsh Schoolchildren has not only increased in size but managed to make its way around the side of the tent where I am now working. Mind you, as I was told before Christ's Mass, when I raised the issue, this is special Icelandic gravel that doesn't collapse like that poxy London gravel we use back in England. It only collapses in heavy rain. Or maybe an earthquake. Both of which are never known to happen in Iceland... Also since moving out of the old Office a construction company have taken over the building. The first thing they did was put a 'Danger Asbestos!' sign and I have seen a man coming in and out in a full chemical suit. I feel a strange itchy feeling in my lungs... Jo's photograph ably demonstrates the risks we are living under.

Naglfar / Ragnarok

This weekend Sudoku prepared themselves for what may be our final gig in Reykjavik. After a quick practise on Friday night, at my place, we all called over to Stephan's on Saturday afternoon. He and his missus fed us lovely food and we got down to practicing only being interrupted by Stephan's daughter and her friend fighting and crying. We had a gig on Saturday night, supporting several well known Icelandic bands, Thingtak, Skorpilifur, Agent Fresco, Vicky, Bad Carburetor and What About, at the new big club Sodoma.I'd seen all of these bands before at some point. The music scene is not as big as you first imagine it to be here. We didn't go on until about three in the morning, we were the last on the line up and the place had pretty much emptied again. Mind you, the crowd was much bigger than what we normally expect and I saw at least one person dancing during the set, one other guy stood and stared in disbelief as well. We hammered our way through Ninja Porks a Babe, Ninja is for Life, Do You Wanna Get Pumped? and Das Ninja, before the club owner turned the power off on us. He threw us off stage and shut down the sound. The sound engineer was overheard saying he wanted nothing to do with it, the club owner said it wasn't fit for humans! It was brilliant! I have achieved a major goal, annoying as many people as possible with my music. My music is so bad it's offensive! One minor criticism from my point of view was that I thought we really should have practiced more. I mean, if we had we would have all been playing the same chords at the same time to the same beat, which is not really what happened during the performance.

How some viewed Saturday night's Sudoku performance

I handed my notice in today, I finish at the end of April, for a job in York after a tour round the Westfjords. The last bit of Iceland I haven't seen yet. The only downside to working in York is having to live with the abusive and alcoholic John Clay. He will also be working with me, so I expect I will be kicked up and down the site on a daily basis and then further thrashings when I get home. I know he will also make me fill in all his context sheets and do all his work for him with broken fingers. He will be too drunk by eight o'clock in the morning anyway.

John Clay, when his alcohol abuse finally catches up with him

Kledd I Brynje Og Smykket Blodorm

Since living in Iceland for a while now, it has occurred to me that I am becoming more susceptible to the idea of Trolls, Elves and the other Huldrafolk that inhabit Iceland. When I arrived I scoffed at such fanciful ideas that there may be more than just humans inhabiting this rock along with a few other animals (but not Polar Bears, oh no, they get shot on sight. NO POLAR BEARS IN ICELAND!!).

This Polar Bear swam 300 miles, only to be refused by Icelandic Immigration officials with extreme prejudice. Draconian, but fair

I laughed at Hrönn when she told me one of her relatives had seen a fairy. I poo-pooed the idea that we were not alone. Having now seen most of the areas around the ring road in Iceland, besides the Westfjords and the Interior, I feel I am in a better place to reassess my take on the other folk. I have reached the conclusion that the massive boulders that lie strewn across the land must have been thrown there from trolls in the mountains. How else have they got there? I can't think of any other explanation. Carried by water? I don't think so! Deposited by the retreating glaciers? No way! Trolls is the only explanation. Angry trolls throwing stuff around.

Photograph of a Forest Troll, seen outside Reykjavik

Lauren, Steve and I were at Dimmuborgir and were looking at a mountain shrouded in mist in the distance. Lauren said 'it looks like caayke (cake with a Sheffield accent)', Steve started boring us to death with his brainiac 'scientific' explanations of water droplets reacting with the mountainside. I instantly thought it was a load of evil wizards boiling their cauldrons on the top of the mountain. Which just goes to demonstrate how I view things now. Having said all that, I am far more interested in the trolls than the elves and the rest. The faeries and elves don't really do much except hang out around rocks, preen themselves like peacocks and try to dupe you into marriage. Pretty much like most of the residents of Reykjavik. Trolls seem to have something more about them. Back at Dimmuborgir it felt very eerie and our imagination ran away with us. The place looks like a Troll Palace anyway, but when your there alone and wading through knee high snow the prospect of a troll suddenly rearing up is a very frightening one indeed. I've seen trolls that have been turned to rock by the sunlight, there is a couple down on the Reykjanes Peninsular and a few off the gravel road outside Keflavik. So they definitely exist.

A whole Troll family, as seen off the coast at Vik

The Frozen North of Ultima Thule

Steve and Lauren visited last Thursday; they were staying for a week and we had planned on a road trip to the north. Lauren, being the Goth she is, wanted to see Dimmuborgir. They arrived pretty late on Thursday bearing gifts of Rum and a 'Yorkshire Tea' milk jug and apron, sent from Andrew Chamberlain of Sheffield University. After a quick cup of tea we headed into town only to find everything shut, so we couldn't have a celebratory drink for their arrival. We came back to my gaff and Lauren and I gossipped about everyone we know, so if you know Lauren and you know me, then we talked about YOU, yes YOU. For some God only known reason they wanted to spend Friday checking out the fishing camp that is Reykjavik, so I took them to my site first of all. As we walked away I could hear Atli asking why all my friends are so short. We went round some of the museums, first the National Museum, then the Settlement centre where the enthusiastic guide enthused over horse fighting, telling us specially trained Icelandic fighting horses go for the jugular. He told us the horses were sent into a frenzy of fighting because of the presence of a mare. I suggested it was like most towns on a Friday or Saturday night. The Manuscript Museum was excellent and I hadn't been in there before so that was good for me at least. We headed out for a few drinks on Friday night with Jo, Roz and Duncan.

After picking up a car on Saturday morning we headed out on the well trod path of the Golden Circle, after first of all going around the Reykjanes peninsular to see the bridge between continents, then getting the car stuck in the only patch of snow in the south-west of Iceland. After about an hour of attempting to dig the car out with the jack handle, three burly Russians appeared in a 4X4 and pushed the car out for us, completely emasculating Steve and I in the process. The rest of the Golden Circle tour occurred without incident except for Lauren and I standing upwind of Geysir and getting soaked. Neither of us were expecting that to happen. We thought better of visiting Þingvellir due to the failing light and the sideways snow being blown by a 100mph wind. Instead of going to Duncan's housewarming party (Roz ad Jo refused to have anything to do with it...) we crashed out early, ready to set off north in the morning.

After a quick tour around Þingvellir in far more agreeable circumstances than the previous day, we struck out north stopping at Borganes and the fantastic Egil's Saga Museum which turned out to be a brilliant but basic guide to Egll's Saga through the medium of wood. The best things were the Scorn Pole and the werewolf statue of Egil's Grandfather.

Egil, probably...

It took a while to find because the simple girl at the garage drew us the most random map of how to get there, then failed to even give us the map. The journey north continued and despite Steve's misgivings about the 'Road of Death' we arrived in Varmahlið alive. The hotel was empty except for us three and with the snow laid thick around outside it threatened to turn into a scene from The Shining. I'm sure I was woken up by someone scratching on the door whilst muttering 'Red Rum, Red Rum...'

Here's Johnny!!

Monday brought us to Akureyri and even further north to Húsavík, so Lauren could see the biggest collection of penises (penii?) in Iceland in the the Phallological Museum. She's always gasping for cock, that one. It turns out that the museum is shut for the winter, it must be something to do with the cold weather and the exhibits shrivelling up...

Lauren and Steve outside the Phallalogical Museum, closed due to Shrinkage

With a loss for anything else to do in Húsavík we visited the excellent Whale Museum which was being used by the local Derby & Joan (Derbyson & Joandóttir?) Club for their golf tournament. We learnt all about whaling, whale spotting and whale biology whilst dodging golf balls.

Golf? In a museum? Only in Iceland...

Om Nom Nom

Leaving the many varied sites of Húsavík behind (if I were in charge of the tourism in Húsavík, I think I would go with the town logo; 'Húsavík, at least it's not Olafsvik') we headed back south and took a wrong turn that dropped us outside of Dimmuborgir. We left the car on the road and began the descent into Hell. The snow was still very thick and was covering even the site gate when we arrived. The place was empty except for us three and we trudged through waist deep snow to try to reach the formation known as the Church. After exhausting ourselves just like Scott of the Antarctic we decided it would be best to turn back as Icelandic weather is not something to take for granted. Also, trolls can be a very real and present danger in a place like Dimmuborgir and I didn't fancy trying to outrun one knee deep in snow.

Lauren and Steve get ready to outrun Trolls at Dimmuborgir

With a late meal of Pizza in our bellies we headed to a bar for a drink, where Lauren was accosted by a farmer who liked her accent. I asked him if he was a snow farmer, which didn't go down very well. I crashed out in the semi-luxurious surroundings of the Hotel Akureryi and woke to a massive breakfast of cereals, toast and waffles. Well, you've got to gorge yourself when it's free.

It took us ages to build this snowman and I still don't know where Lauren got that massive carrot from...

A quick wade through more waist deep snow at Goðafoss and the pseudocraters at Skútustaðir, we called in to book a chalet at the Dimmuborgir Guesthouse. Promptly getting the car stuck again, this time in Volcanic ash rather than snow, we needed the assistance of the owner of the guesthouse to pull us out, whilst his dog ran around our toes with a log it seemed fixated on.

Not again Steve...

Hverir and it's otherworldly appearance were next on the list. After wondering what the fuck was going on at Hverir we spent the rest of the afternoon in the relaxing nature baths at Jarðböðin which we had to ourselves for the most part. The snow even lay thick around the baths, so Steve and I had fun rolling about in it then throwing ourselves into the 42 degree hot pots. The evening was spent eating pasta, playing cards and seeing how bad a loser Lauren is.

Om nom nom...

Lauren tried calling the Phallological Museum on Wednesday morning to see if the owner was back from Reykjavik yet. She told him she was gasping to see his Penis(es), but he wouldn't be back until late that day, so we decided to begin the long drive back to Reykjavik via Reykholt. We got to Reykholt late on, but the nice lady at the reception allowed us to stay as long as we wished after she found out I was an archaeologist. She even showed us the library upstairs and the apartment that students can use when staying there. She finished the personal guide with a quick tour of the church. all this and she didn't even charge me the entrance fee. A quick look at the hot springs at Deildartunghver later we headed back to Reykjavik only stopping for some food shopping. After a massive meal Duncan and Jo headed out to meet us in Dillon for a couple of drinks and we all fell into a deep and drunk sleep.

My Friend Lilja

I was chatting to Lilja the other day and she said this weblog was boring because it didn't have enough about her in it, so her is a posting all about my friend Lilja. Lilja, or Lil-J as she likes to be known on the streets, was born and raised in East Harlem, into a family of sixteen she was the second oldest and spent most of her pre-teens raising the rest of the family. At eleven she was initiated into the local gang, KSR (Kriminals Seeking Respect), she still has the teardrop tattoos on her face now. At age twelve she took her first life in a drive-by shooting on a Taco Bell. There was no other rival gang members in the place, they did it 'for shits and giggles.' After a 5 year stretch in the Pennsylvania State Correctional Facility she was released once again back onto the streets. After a two year descent into crack addiction, fueled by pimping out her younger siblings, Lil-J gained a place at Harvard University by forging a neighbours application. The three years of violence and corruption that marked her 'studies' left Harvard in a state of shock. Threatening the Dean with a 9mm pistol gained her a first in African-American studies. Her threatening behaviour knew no bounds and she dragged her on-off boyfriend, Andre (AKA Prof. Dre), over to Iceland. A land untouched by drugs and corruption would be an easy target for the power obsessed Lil-J. She flooded the schools of Reykjavik with cheap Crack and Heroin, the Chinaman's Nightcap. In order to keep Police interest away from her she took a job as an Archaeologist on a Government funded excavation. This is were I first met her last September. On introducing herself to me, she held a pistol to my head and pulled the trigger. The gun was empty and she stood there laughing over me as I lay in the foetal position. She casts a shadow of fear and oppression over the rest of the work force. In one instance, she forced Atli to shove three billiard balls into his mouth, then punched him so hard in the face that his front teeth shattered. Lil-J is short in stature and she makes Bjarki, the tallest man on site, carry her around all day on his shoulders to make sure she towers above everyone else. This humiliation is complete by Bjarki being forced to wear a saddle. Once whilst playing 'Shit Head' during lunch, Jo beat Lil-J at the card game. Lil-J became so incensed that she bent Jo's thumbs back so far they snapped. She stabbed little Vala for looking at her 'wrongly'. Margret was kicked repeatedly in the stomach after she failed to laugh at one of Lil-J's jokes. Roz innocently asked Lil-J to pass her a pen to which Lil-J reacted by pulling down a shelving unit full of hammers on her head. These are just a few of the horrors to which I have been witness whilst in the company of Lil-J, the tyrant of Icelandic Archaeology.

Lilja, on a six day Crystal Meth binge come-down

In other news, here are the film reviews, I watched Marylin Monroe in 'The Misfits' on DVD, the film after which one of my favourite bands are named. It's excellent, a great portrayal of human wreckage floating down the swollen river of life. Speaking of which, Monroe certainly looks swollen as she neared the end of her life, completely sozzled on pills and booze. Who killed Marylin? Was it the Kennedys? LAPD? Make it look like suicide, make it look like suicide.

The Misfits, the band, not the film...

If you want to see a film worse than Star Wars Episodes One through to Three then I thoroughly recommend Fan Boys. Sounds great on paper, four Star Wars fans drive across country to break into Skywalker Ranch to steal the pre-release version of 'Episode One, the Phantom Malaise'. I would have released a better film had I taken a shit on a piece of paper and set fire to it as the script. The film is so cheap and lame-ass that the producers didn't even secure the rights to the original score. Even the British TV show 'Spaced' managed to get a few bars of William's iconic tunes. I was really disappointed and so was Atli, because we forewent 'Play Date' to sit through nearly two hours of torture. The best thing in it was the Guards from THX1138. If that means nothing to you, then you are not bound by the Jedi creed and are no friend of mine.

What Jar Jar Binks thinks of Fan Boys, which says a lot...

Finally Milk, film of the year. I have been trying to work out which was better, Valkyrie or Milk and I think it's Milk. I like Valkyrie because of the content, but Milk is just a way better movie. The story is based on the San Fransisco Gay Rights Activist Harvey Milk. Having been a Dead Kennedys fan for more years than I can remember, this film filled in a few gaps in my knowledge. The Kennedys' reworking of The Clash's I Fought the Law and I Won, is directly about Milk and Dan White, his eventual assassin. The cover of the Dead Kennedys first Album 'Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables' has a picture of burning cop cars that were ignited during the 'White Riot'. These occurred following the judge's decision of giving White manslaughter charges rather than murder. There is even in the film the appearance of Anita Bryant, the Right-Wing Christian Zealot who opposed Gay Rights. She makes an appearance in the Dead Kenendys song 'Moral Majority' in the lines 'Ram it up your cunt Anita'. I never knew who that was referencing until I saw Milk. Go see the film, it's brilliant.

Listen to the Dead Kennedys!!