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.