Went out this afternoon to meet a friend. We took her dog for a walk down by the sea in Kópavogur but it was blustery and nasty cold with flurries so we hurried back to her place and had coffee and chocolate until she had to leave to go dance Tango with her boyfriend. On my way back home I popped into Penis mall* for a quick boo at how the January sales were coming along and within the space of an hour managed to spontaneously consumulate** a) a vacuum cleaner, b) a new watch, c) a new pair of Asics running shoes, d) two CDs.

‘Hello, my name is Alda and I’m not a shopaholic. Much.’

An hour later YT was bopping around kitchenside, diskman attached, listening to Led Zeppelin IV, freaking out over Stairway to Heaven all over again. Only this time, with the accumulation of Years and Experience, I was actually alert and aware as to how Brilliant that whole entire record is. Rock on!


Icelandic telly screened a new documentary this evening in which various foreign personages were asked about their impressions of our fair land and nation. These included Icelandophiles Terry Jones (Monty Python fame), Victoria Abril (various Spanish movies fame) and Damon Albarn (Blur fame). Whell. What an eye-opener it was. Turns out they think we have ugly architecture (humph!) and we’re rude, don’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ enough and we all look the same because we all wear the same fashion all the time.

[Oh, er… forgot. That’s them, the Icelanders. YT, as has been documented, identifies with the positive aspects of the Icelandic national character only.]

On the other hand, once you get inside our homes (they say), they are amazingly warm and inviting. And the men in the crowd agreed that Icelandic women are very beautiful (oh stop!) particularly, I gather, as we have this direct and straightforward quality that men find attractive. Or something. And that this is a wonderful place to raise children because they can have so much freedom, which makes them independent at a very early age, which accounts for the Icelanders’ supposed boldness and independence of spirit.

I could go on but I should probably stop now because otherwise this posty would get too long and there would be a collective snore from out in cyberland wafting through my computer speaker. And YT hates snoring.


Temps currently –2 Celsius and there it is a fantastic, dramatic blizzard happening. The kind of weather that makes you relish being cosied up inside your warm and inviting Icelandic home. Daybreak today: 9.46, sunrise: 10.52; sunset: 16.24, nightfall: 17.30.

[Note, if you will, the change and how specific I have become with the sunrise/sunset times. This because there seemed to be a general misconception that it’s pitch black up here until sunrise and then the day is light and then, come sunset, it’s pitch black again. Which is not quite the case. And also because I got a better calendar.]

* a.k.a. Smáralind. It is shaped exactly like a penis. Honestly.

** I am perfectly aware that this is not a word.