new year meltdown

happy new year and make sure you have a good one it's been an interesting one and let's not head into meltdown and let's show some love and understanding and proper future planning

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CURRENT MUSIC   - In Rainbows by Radiohead

Iceland

I had such a blast in Iceland.

I was lucky enough to work with a Swedish babe at an Indian restaurant.

I worked with four other people at the newspaper and we were like the lonely interns, always hanging out and eating out, but not making out. I worked out quite a bit too in Iceland.

I used to run by the harbour and sit on a wall and stare out to sea to break up the run.

I was flabbergasted by Jamie, an intern who could never just simply ask for the vegetarian option at a restaurant and would go through each food in turn, stating his approval or more often than not, disapproval. Lunches were interesting.

I hung out most with Desiree, the salt of the earth, the voice of reason and a deserver of a good future.

I lived with Flo, a German intern who came to Iceland late in the summer and who liked Pizza King and anarchist cafes quite a lot.

I was inspired by Stevie and her passion for acting and making a lot of noise whether singing or when she was eating. She always fed me half her plate too.

I found that the Icelandic music scene opened up in a big way at the Airwaves festival in October where I worked with other writers from The Guardian, EMusic and such.

I volunteered at a Shorts and Docs Film festival too and enjoyed the Reykjavik International Film Festival.

I made some great friends in Flo, Jamie, Desiree, Frida, Elin, Vera, Birkir, as well as old faces Jonas, Mani and Teitur.

I had a pretty eventful time in the land of fire and ice and won't be forgetting it any time soon. 

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CURRENT MUSIC - Los Angeles by Flying Lotus

hypem playlist # 1

Quite often I use hypem in 2 browsers and see where it takes me, almost like a improvised DJ set.
Tonight over 4 hours I wrote my article and played these so it's a kind of playlist.

Dungen - Samtidigt 2 (!)
Rodrigo y Gabriela - Temple Bar
Juana Molina - Un da
Radiohead - Everything in its right place (Live)
Pressure Drop - You're Mine (Leftfield Vocal Mix)
Bob Marley - Bauhelm
The Herbaliser - Serge
Benga - Night
Jamie Woon - Wayfaring Stranger (Burial Mix)
TV On The Radio - Crying
Bran Van 3000 - Sex, Love & Peace
Klaxons - Gravity's Rainbow (Van She Tech SP mix)
Walter Meego - Romantic (Tilliander Remix)
Zoot Woman - Live In My Head
Hall & Oates - Out of Touch
Hercules And Love Affair - Hercules' Theme
The Tough Alliance - Lucky
Calexico - Love Will Tear Us Apart
Albert Kuvezin & Yat-Kha - Love Will Tear Us Apart
Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven - Potato Head Blues
The Owls - Peppermint Patty
Belle & Sebastian - I'm a cuckoo (by the Avalanches)
Esau Mwamwaya - Cape Kod Kwassa Kwassa
Amadou & Mariam - Sabali
David Holmes - Melanie
Ennio Morricone Orchestra - World Cup Argentina
Angelo Badalamenti - Twin Peaks Theme
Michael Nyman - The Heart Asks Pleasure First
Junior Boys - Count Souvenirs
Soko - I Will Never Love You More
Bat For Lashes - A Forest (Cure cover)
Sebastien Tellier - Divine
Henry Mancini - Pink Panther Theme (Fischerspooner Mix)
Cut Copy - Feel the Love
Tiga and Zyntherius - Sunglasses At Night (Black Devil Dub)
Fuck Buttons - Bright tomorrow
Michael Mayer - Amabile
Miracle Fortress - Maybe Lately
The Muslims - Walking With Jesus
Primal Scream - Some Velvet Morning
M83 - On A White Lake Near A Green Mountain
Nathan Fake - You Are Here (Four Tet Remix)
Hot Chocolate - Mindless Boogie

worth your salt

Take one a day they say
Eat five a day they say
Don’t eat that they say
Eat that with this they said

Eat up
Eat our Greens
Look up
Drink Up
Young pup
Eat quietly
That’s not dietary


It’s full of fat
It’s full of salt
Full of fat
Full of salt

Full of shit
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CURRENT DEBATE - The presidential one by McCain & Obama

icelandic incidents

This is just to say fuck I'm fine. I got a job at Indian Mango, a restaurant that's close to fine dining. I have been there a month now. There has been a bit of a exodus, I am the most experienced waiter there. Lot of responsibility. The owner George Holmes and that's an Indian - is a fruitbar, a crazy cracker, he whips around all over the place like cream.

He saved my bacon because my backside was going to go through the grinder. After leaving Birkir's place - he was going to grad school in Canada - I got a a place about 45 mins from where I work in 101 Reykjavik. It had no shower, no laundry facilities and no kitchen. The landlady wore a t-shirt saying "All I Want Is Sex" when I viewed the cell, and made me sign a contract. While I would quite happily have fucked her, I preferred to fuck her over. George offered me a job and a place to stay for the same price in the centre with all the facilities a prison can't offer. I got the hell out of there the next morning, the day my rent was due, found a trolley in a gas station and threw in my suitcase, pushing it down the side of the interstate, whistling to Vampire Weekend that blasted out from a car that drove past on this hot sunny day. The landlady ain't got back to me.

One day at work, on another hot day, Icelandic intern Siggi, who looks just like Fernando Torres - said "Marcus I need help moving some furniture". Turns out that the treasure trove of an antique shop next door wanted us to transport a 6 ft wide chest of drawers and an old oak wardrobe across the road. We realized this would be too much for two of us and so called in Jamie to help us. We had to dismantle them, take them across the road, drenched in sweat and put them back together in another crazy shop across the road, all the while thinking "What the shit is going on?" 45 minutes later and the lady in her late fifties who was uncomfortably flirty with us, asks the three of us to help ourselves to a pair of leather shoes of our choice. We spend a lengthy chunk of time trying brown ones, long black ones, ones not our size, trying with socks, without socks asking all kind of questions, american sizes, UK sizes and Bam! A pair of beautiful handmade brown leather boots are all mine and they retail at over 100 pounds. Now that's a slice of good luck.

I had my homesick period. I have spent so much money on eating out and partying at the weekends. I have seen Jonas leave to go to grad school in London. I have made some good friends. I pulled an Icelandic girl. I had a big learning curve about how to be professional when writing an article. I have written enough for tonight.

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CURRENT MUSIC --- Campus by Vampire Weekend

TOP 5 MEALS IN REYKJAVIK
1. Cod in mild Mustard Sauce @ 3 Frakkar.

I had to do a feature for Grapevine about Icelandic Cusine. The freshness of the cod spoke for itself. The simplicity of using the three mustards and cream means anyone can knock this shit up pretty easily. (See photo - right)

2.Lobster Soup with Potato Kebab @ Sægriffin.
The best Lobster soup in the world according to the New York Times. I have never tasted better seafood either. Never. I always drop the spuds in the soup.

3. Jungle Curry @ Ban Thai
Best described as a spicy as shit Thai red curry. Tastes of chili, tomato, lemongrass and paprika blast right through. Tender chicken is the best choice of meat to soak up the juices. Loads of veggies like peppers, beansprouts and more.

4. Hotdogs @ Baejarins Beztu Pylsur
AKA Clintons Hot-Dog Stand, the one he stopped off at when he swung by these parts. The best hog in Europe supposedly, I woudn´t argue, especially whenit comes with onions, dried - fried onions, mustard, ketchup, mayo and good bread.

5. Hashed Fish@ Café Victor
An old mothers favourite here in Iceland. Curried fish with potatoes. Mmmmmmmmm.


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CURRENT MUSIC: Dear Science by TV on the Radio

weeks 3, 4 and 5 in iceland

eating out at least once a day, slamming down gin and tonics, an historic and pink gay pride, renting a vespa scooter for an article, a hardcore album launch music night party thing, catching up with old faces, plenty of new faces, missing out on a trip to akureyri, whale watching, articles for icelandic cuisine, swimming in geo thermal pools, being a city boy, jazz to sooth after work, an icelandic football game, historic silver medal handball olympic success, social security number and credit card agony, the arrival of a brilliant new intern, deep sea angling, erratic weather patterns, a rockabilly house party, being chased by bjork´s son, being amazed by the dark knight, partying hard at the weekend.

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CURRENT MUSIC - Otis by Koru

week 2 in iceland

An eventful time I'm having here in Iceland. My articles have been published, I'm making good friends and I have had some crazy nights out. They call this country 'the land of fire and ice', and it's certainly hot and cold, up and down, thrills and spills - you get the gist.

I am eating at some really good restaurants. The best meal would have to be the Jungle Curry from the Ban Thai Restaurant that blew my brains out with its spiciness. We were talking about politics at the time, Jamie and I, only this time it really was heated.

I got locked in my room with my housemate. 3am. My door frame is jammed. I yanked it. And yanked it. Birkir thought I was being polite. Told me to stand back. He shoulder-barges it open with a lot of force. He steps in. Birkir closes it to see what it's like on the inside. Won't open. Never opens. We're locked in together, in just boxer shorts. We use coat hangers to try and get out. It fails. He calls his friend. His friend is spending the first night with a girl. Damn! They laugh. They start to come over. Eventually. I open a draw for a t-shirt. Birkir tickles the door handle. It flies open. He cracks open a hoegaarden. That's male bonding. But it's been put all over the internet by said friend. Good times?

Another night at our local bar Organ, I sit down with fellow journo Ben at a table with a beautiful baby called Magz who looks like a model. We are at a noise night and are a big bugged out. Magz has a boyfriend with her. She is dangerously intriguing. Ben leaves. Her and her boy scramble ideas up for an afterparty. We go to one. It's a hardcore party. Hardcore as in the music genre. People are racking up lines of coke. I decline. I am a good boy. Magz and bf are arguing a lot. She flirts heavily. She tells me she's 36, but she looks my age. 24. She drags me in the bathroom and makes me take her number. I leave. Confused.

Next night, back at Organ, the sub-editor Steinnun is leaving. She's a beautiful baby too. Anyway don't divulge. We have a free bar for her send-off which is a+, but last night keeps playing on my mind. I get three blank text messages in a row, like bullets from Magz. Earlier in the day she called me while I was in a meeting and then a text - "stay in touch". Weird. Anyway, I get drunk. I meet up with Birkir and then call it an early one. If 3am is early. I left my key in my room. He is all the way back downtown. I sleep in the trash room, only because it's warm. Fucking bum. I get a call from Magz's bf. "Stay away from my gf or I'll come and smash your face in". What the fuck? Thank god they are leaving town. Good nights out have happened though. Restaurant after bar after coffeehouse. It really is good times. I seem to have gravitated towards this hardcore crowd because at another houseparty I went to with a nice barmaid called Victoria, everyone was out in the garden until 7am. You can quite simply find yourself in unusual situations around every corner, and that's why this quirky little city called Reykjavik is all the better for it.

The next day, Stevie had an fairground article to complete. We took a bus - myself, Stevie and her bf James (who's the shit). As we change buses at the harbour, I hurl over the most beautiful view, feeling as shady as Eminem. Apparently it was highly visual and was a shame it wasn't snapped. Next bus. Fairground. Free rides. Waltzers, dodgems, upside-down shit. 3 hungover people. d.a.n.g.e.r.o.u.s. But crucially, not regrettable.

This all sounds nuts I bet, but with a bit of hindsight, it's good times!

CURRENT MUSIC - It's a Jazz Thing by Utah Jazz.

PHOTO= James and I on the 'superbowl' ride at an English family-run fair in Reykjavik.

batter that chatter

Here´s a little story I wrote earlier this year:


Batter that Chatter



You wouldn’t believe the stench of the batter Jack. The customers in the queue were banging on about the stench and when the haddock really started smoking, it created an almighty stink. It was Saturday and that means football time. The away fans brought blue and white into this part of town. FA Cup 3rd round. What an exciting atmosphere. I was in a silly mood again. This was a carnival. Pandemonium mate. Nothing could go wrong. Well okay, I might have prayed there wouldn’t be an upset. Most of all, I hoped the reds would make it through to the 4th round.


People pile in to my chippy on matchday and who can blame them? A big game means big hunger. We don’t sell pies though. They’re just full of crap. I want to make fish go hand in hand with the beautiful game. Fish and chips are still traditional British food - you know what I mean? We’d ordered in pounds of haddock, plaice and potatoes, not to mention the Irn Bru and Cherry Tango for the kiddies. If we sold beer too, we’d make a killing.


Hot oil needs pumping through the fan’s veins. It’s stone cold in early January. Spirits are low after all the money squandered at Christmas. It’s a funny time of year so souls need warming. I prefer running a chippy than a pub. Not as much grief. Sure, you get more banter in the pub, but I try my best. I owned a pub and pissed away the profits but those days are over. Rather not talk about it. Jack you’re a good’un. You’re not like I was. Shame there’s only so much fish that can slide down my neck and into my gut. You can drink one drink after another but fish fills your belly right up. Fuck knows, get me another pint of smooth please matie. That funny ancient book says fish is for Friday’s but nah it’s for everyday I reckon.


The demand on matchday was huge. I didn’t want the pressure to get to me. I had a new lad called Dominic making his chip shop debut - one for the future I thought. But he forgot about some fish that was stuck at the bottom of the fryer, he must have done, he was new. As people were getting hungry, Dom was getting edgy. Sure I was excited by the football and nervous about a big upset but I didn’t want this to rub off on him. I knew what I was doing in my shop. It’s not a fish bar. It’s a fish and chip shop. I’m done with bars. Yes a mild, sorry Jack. Where was I? Oh yeah…. I could tell that something wasn’t right because of the drops of oil that flew out the fryer and crisped my skin like a piece of cod. I yelled out and f’d and c’d in front of Dad’s and sons, which I felt a bit shit about. They thought something fishy was going on. Ha.


This turned into a panic. It was doing my head in. I didn’t want to lose it like I have before. I’m not Ian Beale. I screamed at the kid. I gave him what for. I asked him what the fuck he had done. I swore in front of children. Tell you what, it’s a good job I don’t have any Jack. You know that’s what everyone around here would say. Anyway, what am I talking about? Yep, people started leaving. Loyal blokes an’ all, everyone left because of the stink and the foul lingo. I told Dominic to fucking do one. The fire had just got started at this point, but it wasn’t that bad. I took it upon myself to sort this out. I picked up the Class F wet chemicals extinguisher from the back that you need for hot oil, but it was empty from all the fun I’ve had with it in the past. Practical jokes and that. I grabbed the foam one and the powder one and filled up a bucket of water. From then on it all turned into a catastrophe.


I shot foam and powder in the fryer. Everything was madness now. Total chaos. Fish was still cooking. My pride was cooking now. The smoke alarms were sounding. I screamed as more hot oil mixed together with extinguisher foam and powder and it all spewed out of the deep fry again and battered me. I grabbed my phone. I got through to 999. I stammered. I gave details. I couldn’t nail down the right details. I got burnt some more. All hell was breaking loose as yet more oil gushed out of the fryer.


My business was on fire. My pride and joy. I didn’t want my life to go up in flames. The past was burning down. The heat of the present isn’t worth getting all philosophical about for you Jack! Anyway, no chips for the fans means no income for me and no future. This was even worse than the time when the pub had rats. No doubt it was. But then I realized I had to get out. Stupidly I just stood around, trying to fathom where the nearest fire exit was. That goes back to my days working at Kwik Save where I was the fire warden. Kwik Save went bankrupt. That couldn’t be me. So, I didn’t have a fire exit so to speak. I hadn’t planned this out. All I’d thought about was the catering side. I wanted to feed the thousands like in the old book. Home or away fans, it doesn’t matter. This could have become my second home but it was crumbling to the ground.


All the emergency services arrived apart from the coastguard. I don’t know what he’d have made of it. This didn’t enter my mind at the time of the fire but like you’ve said Jack, I’m a strange one. Funny thing hindsight isn’t it? All the emergency sirens were clashing. I tried to work out what was what, but I couldn’t do it. I forgot about the fire for a moment. It looked like a race, the fire engine chasing ambulance chasing police car. Tell you what; I don’t call them pigs anymore.


Same again please Jack. So they got there quicker than you can say ‘fire in a fish and chip shop’ which I actually did say on the phone but that took fucking forever because of my state of mind. The police wanted to know how the fire started. I blamed the new boy and then they left me alone. The ambulance wanted to treat my wounds but my adrenalin was pumping and I didn’t feel that badly burnt, though I was clearly red raw. I predicted that things would turn out alright after all. But whenever anyone asked a question, I kept fumbling my words. I tried to blame it on Dominic, but all I could do was a little nervous squeak as a bit of spit trickled down my chin. I felt dehydrated. I blame the fire.


As the firemen began to hose it, the phrase ‘ you can’t mix oil and water’ entered my head. Who knows why? Anyhow, my burns were minor. The police asked more questions and I couldn’t answer them, let alone remember them now. The ex-wife said once that I have a selective memory. I don’t even know what that means. I think the services were competing for my attention. The fire boys had it undivided. You should have seen the way they tackled that fire! This was pure inspiration Jack. If I shape up, I think one day that could be me. Ha! You’re right though; I should learn my extinguishers first!


The chip shop was one big fryer now. The fire wasn’t getting any smaller. The fish was getting a royal fry. The panic had died down, but you could still get the whiff of fish. My heart started racing and I started to feel proud again. I was hoping to cook all the fish on matchday but never like this Jack, never like this. Yes please, just the one more, you’ve twisted my arm. Yep, a pint of mild.


The red fire engine and the heat of the fire reminded me of my team. We were going to knock the blues out of the cup today. I was picturing the winning goal but the spray from the jet hose got me in the face. When I opened my eyes they were shooting foam at the shop. It looked like soap as if everything was being washed down for a clean new start.


The fire boys couldn’t get it out. There was even chip oil on the street now. It was seeping out. They called for backup. I had left my mark on the place. The smoke made me cough and splutter. I couldn’t see what was going on. I was choking. I heard megaphones saying to move back. I felt all faint. I heard a crowd of what sounded like away chants. I started to lose my balance. Stability is like a seesaw for me. Some fat shit comes around and weighs you down. Life isn’t swings and roundabouts; it’s a fucking seesaw. I only saw the blue of his scarf. The away bastard grabbed my head and shoved it in the smoke near the shop. I hit the deck and gazed up. I wasn’t out cold or anything. Just gasping for breath. He was pissed off at the game being cancelled. The local news had said there wasn’t enough emergency cover for the game. Some other fat guy in a suit punched the away fan though. I remember the pigs confronting them about it.


The news team turned up and tried to identify the cause. The panic. The confusion. I was confused too. I got up off the floor and a microphone was in my face. I tried to push it away but I had no strength. I heard football fans. Fire hoses. The fire. Walkie-talkies. Panic. Cameras flashing. The news teams. A kid’s voice asked his Daddy innocently what was happening and I felt the same. For what? I felt a pinch in my throat and I wanted it all to stop. The journalist mumbled a long question I didn’t understand. I stammered some nonsense and then raised my voice nervously looking away and screamed into the microphone whilst facing to the side:” I’m sick of you all and I’m sick of your chatter!” I turned away and got into the ambulance. I was starving though and could have murdered a fish supper.

CURRENT MUSIC - Betra líf by Páll Óskar Hjálmtýsson

week 1 in iceland

Welcome to Spaghetti Blogonese.

I made it to Iceland alive. I couchsurfed! Setta, a Reykjavik ambassador for the couchsurfing website,and her boyfriend Bjarni were the perfect hosts. 2 gay girls from Belgium and Switzerland were staying there too, as well as a Dutch girl, and they left on my first full day, so it was all very one in one out, shake it all about. Setta always has people staying over. Setta showed me the Icelandic film Hafið . Setta lives in a cool part of town that´s pretty central. Setta is calm, warm and wise. Setta has a toilet trained cat -that actually uses the toilet!

Then I stayed with Máni for four nights. I met Máni during my year abroad studying in Miami. Máni has a flying machine. Máni has a guinea pig. Maní gave me hardfisk - dictionary definition below - and made me lamb. Máni makes me laugh. Máni has a sister who threw a naughty party where she squashed tomatoes on the wall.

hardfisk, dried fish pieces eaten as a snack with butter (also good with coleslaw)

Then I left there to take up residence in a sub-letting arrangement, again through couchsurfing. I live with Birkir who has written for the newspaper I´m interning at (will move onto that in a moment). It´s a small world. Birkir likes hardcore music. Birkir has a crazy dog like a dingo. Birkir has 3 cats that are good stressballs after a day at the office. Birkir makes good popcorn, despite him denying it when we watched Apocalypse Now. Birkir doesn´t charge high rent.

The first night out I met a bunch of people because I was essentially out on the piss by myself like I did similarly in Nice out on the French Riviera. Reykjavik is absolute carnage on a Friday and Saturday night and it was a total epic...

... It started out with a trip with Jamie to Belly´s, the cheapest bar in town that´s like Moe´s Tavern from the Simpsons. Then Jamie bailed out of the live show I had to review.However, I knocked about with a Swedish couple and the Grapevine (my newspaper) photographer Gulli who calls himself GAS - coolest guy ever. So Steed Lord threw a good party and I bumped into Villborg, from the Miami days who needed the bathroom, then went outside because it was too hot, then back in because it was too cold, as if I´d done something wrong. She´s hot anyway. Whatever. Then it got stranger. I went to Kafibarrin, and met a father and son from Manchester who were incredibly drunk but incredibly good fun. Then Bar 11, a crazy rock bar, and this is some crazy shit...

...I was with James who I just bumped into -this happens in small cities - a British conservation worker who I´d met earlier in the square getting free black beans & cornmeal. I order a beer at the bar and some local fuck snatches it and starts downing it. I ask: "what the fuck you doing?" and he takes off my glasses and headbutts me. I am shocked, time slows down. I look around me and weigh it up; libran boy that I am. Teetotal James and myself VS local drunk fuck and his friends. I pay the tab and get the hell out of there.

In a quirky little courtyard with a blue waterfally arts wall thing, James and I look for something to take my mind of it. And something delivers. Up a huge tree a bit like a willow, but not, is a guy with a beer having a row with another guy looking up from the street How he got up there with a drink is an absolute bloody mystery. It went something like this.

GUY IN SQUARE: What the fuck are you trying to prove?
GUY UP TREE: Fuck you. I love this tree. Iceland doesn´t have too many trees. I hate America too. Get me a fucking beer.
GUY IN SQUARE: You´re confusing your points. And you have yourself a beer. How the fuck did you get up there? You know what, fuck you!
GUY UP TREE (to James and I): I love this tree, someday it could be cut down.
JAMES: Good luck with that man.

And so the newspaper. It´s of the English speaking variety made in the heart of Reykjavik. I want to intern here for 3 months if I can. The office is packed with a record number of interns. Local kids Oddur and Siggi, fellow Brit Steph or ´Stevie´ and the wonderful character that is Jamie. You´re going to here more about them later. It´s the best job ever. I wanted to be a journalist from a very young age. I eventually want to be a private English tutor, but want to try my hand as a writer to begin with. Here is the first step.



PHOTO: - Jonas and Máni, My Icelandic friends photographed in Miami. You´ll here more about them later too.


CURRENT MUSIC - Vitalic - OK Cowboy
- Max Tundra - Mastered by the Guy at the Exchange