::The Yellow Book::

An illustrated regular

About Me
name: Katrin
age: 21
location: Reykjavík, Iceland
nationality: Icelandic
msn: trinagunnars (at) hotmail (dot) com
reading: Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen. Old Arcadia, by Sir Philip Sidney.
listening to: My iPod
watching: Buffy DVDs, How I Met Your Mother and Gossssssip Girl
likes: sleep, Pepsi Max, YAs by Meg CabotTV and my late cat, Joakim
dislikes: Techno, mathfish  

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Designer-Dawnwake

 

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Tuesday, May 30, 2006

A free woman!

Yes, as of today I am a free woman! (I images.googled "free woman" and this picture to the right came up.) No worrying about exams or homework or work: just free. Doing nothing in particular - not I can read, watch TV and browse the internet without a guilty conscience over not being studying.
For one week.
Yes indeed, in one week school will start again for me. Although all the other sixth years are completely finished now - they'll only come back for the Leavers' Ball and graduation - I have to go back to school because the next term starts on June 7h. That is, the Advanced Higher classes start then. However, I probably won't be doing much in June; the first three days will be something called induction, which I think is just the teachers introducing the courses and preparing for the next year. Considering that I will only have 8 lessons a week next year, there might be days when I'll only have one lesson, and perhaps even one day of no classes at all! And in the second week, I'll be going to this place called Lagganlia, a sort of a camp, and is in the Highlands, with a bunch of other sixth year girls (who are now out of school), for four days, from 14th to 18th of June. Then on June 25th I'll be going on the music trip to Belgium, with the Senior Vocal Group, the Senior Wind Band and the Senior Jazz Band in JGHS, and we'll return on June 29th, the day of the Leavers' Ball. We'll be taking a ferry between Belgium and Scotland (part of the reason why the trip only cost 260 pounds per person) and arriving in Scotland at about 1 PM. I'm not sure where exactly the harbour where the ferry sails is, but I think it isnt in Edinburgh, so it might take a while to drive home. And the ceremony before the Leavers' Ball starts at 6:30 PM (if I remember correctly - perhaps it is 6!). This gives me about 4-4 1/2 hours to get ready. I've already decided how I want to do my hair; I only have to practice how to do it. Perhaps the tradtion is to get the hair done professionally before prom - I know it's a whole big thing in the US, thanks to numerous television shows, movies and reading on the internet, but I'm not sure if the UK tradition is as elaborate - I'm not sure if there's as much pro-prepping and all. I have yet to ask around about that. Well, it might be so, since the prom will take place at the Balmoral, one of the fanciest and most expensive hotels in Edinburgh, there will be a three-course dinner, and everybody will be dressed up to the nines - girls in gala dresses and boys in kilts - so it is a fancy affair. I just don't know to what extent.
Anyway. I'm sure it'll go fine. It has to - it's the first of the two proms I'll most probably go to! Considering how seldom the school hosts dances or balls - never (in Iceland it's usually the students' associations which organise balls, but there's no students' association here; there is, though, a truckload of committees, including a few students' committee on the school board), I will be taking every opportunity!
Anyways.
I'm sure you know there are a lot of differences between American and British English, and since I learned English from American television, books etc., I had a little trouble adjusting to some words having different meanings. I'm pretty much used to it by now, but I still confuse wors sometimes. Just last week I almost made a mistake which might have cost me a whole mark on the German exam, only because of the different words used. You see, it was in the listening exam, in which a German girl (supposedly) called Kathrina (this is creeheeheepy!) was talking about how health and healthy food was important to her. We then had to answer questions in English about what she had said. Well, I'm sure you all know that the word chips is British for what Americans call French fries (and in Iceland too, only in Icelandic...). But what you non-Brits may not know, is that the word for what in American English is potato chips is crisps. Now that is a weird word, which I cannot get used to using, so I just avoid talking about them at all. Well, the German girl talked about having seen Scottish school pupils eating "chips" at school. In German, the word for fries is Pommes frites, and the word for potato chips is simply chips. Of course I knew this, but not taking into consideration that this was a Scottish exam, I wrote chips. Thankfully I realised this before I finished and changed my answer. Pheew, is all I say. Although, it might have been interesting to see if the markers would have withdrawn marks from me for using the word chips instead of crisps, since they might have known that in the English language there are other meanings! A debatable matter, this is.
Another word which has a different meaning depending in which country you are, is pants. In American English, as I believe most of you know, it means simply trousers. In British English, however, it is mainly used for underwear - as in underpants or panties. This I didn't realise until very recently, when I was watching this then-new talkshow called Davina (this Davina is famous here in Britain - I'd never heard of her before!) on which Pierce Brosnan was a guest, promoting his new film The Matador. They were talking about a scene in which he walks through a hotel lobby wearing only his pants. Now, this I didn't find weird - shouldn't everybody be wearing pants or a skirt or something when they're in public places? Then I saw the clip - he wasn't wearing pants; he was wearing only his underpants - tight, black underpants. This is when I realised that talking about wearing pants, in the UK, might not be such a good idea, unless you really are talking about underwear. Better just to stick to trousers.
Well, there's so much more that I could write but I just can't be bothered right now. Must laze about! Oh, and you might or might not want to know that tomorrow is my 19th birthday. Happy birthday me!
QotD: Patty: "Did we miss anything?"
Piper: "No. Well, uh, we changed the past to fix the future and save the present. That's all." - Charmed
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 22:50:-

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Like a virgin

Here's another first-timer story. Yes, there are more normal things which used to be a part of my everyday life in Iceland, which I have/had not done before here in Edinburgh. Last Monday I rectified one more. I went to the bakery. Despite eating either a croissant or a bun practically every day, I was still a bakery-virgin. When I go out to buy lunch in the format of croissants and other bakery goods, I always just go to the co-op, where they have a nice seletion of 'cuisine France'. On Monday, however, I had no choice but to go to the bakery - the location of which I was even unsure of - because mom wanted to serve Irish soda bread with dinner. And no, it's not bread with soda as in coke and such; it's bread baked with baking soda instead of yeast. And the co-op doesn't sell it, only the bakery. It was about 5:30 PM or so, so there was not much left in the bakery; luckily for mom there was one loaf of Irish soda bread left, but unfortunately for me for me, no baguettes.

On Wednesday I went to get my library card - you have to show two IDs to get a card, one of which has to have proof of your address and at least one has to have a signature. I hadn't known about the proof of address ID when I went there on Tuesdaym but the next day I brought back the filled-out form, along with my Health Board exemption certificate which says I don'thave to pay for my meds; it's the only official proof that I live at this address - both with my name and the address. Obviously mom and BI get all the bills and stuff addressed to them, and I don't have a bank account here so I couldn't go get a bank statement to prove my living here.
Anyway. As I was walking to the library, I was stopped by a missionary. Again. You may remember that I wrote about some monk who tried to sell a CD and religion to Matti and I, and who thought I was Matti's mother? Well, this was a whole different case. It wasn't sunny and I wasn't in such a sunny mood that I felt compelled to smile at everyone who happened to look my way. Oh no. I was just walking, when suddenly this inconspicuous man walking in front of me stopped, turned around, looked back as if he were searching for something, and then with a very smug look on his face asked if he could talk to me for a moment. I, fooled by his touristy attire (when will I learn? It's only in Iceland that you can be certain anorak-wearing people are harmless!) , said "Er, OK." And the guy, smiling in victory because he had gotten my attention, told me that he was from a group of people down in England who "like to jump around, waving [their] hands in the air" to some music and at the same time he pulled out of his bag two CDs called some Hare Krishna-ish name. That's when I realised what I had gotten myself into, and right away started to try to crawl out of the grave I had dug for myself, while there was still time, and said bluntly "sorry, I'm not interested," and when he tried to tell me something else I just repeated that I wasn't interested and started to walk away. But the guy started walking as well, and asked if I could spare some money, which is when I liked that I was in a hurry and walked as quickly as I could without running, to the library.
Actually, yesterday when I was walking home from the library - for it is an excellent place to get some peace and quiet for studying, in this big reading room, which is also a reference and computer room; and everybody whispers or just gestures with their hands if they need to say something, instead - I noticed the same guy working the same place, only now he had a bent umbrella and wasn't even trying to hide that he was selling something. Which of course made people just walk even faster past him. I kept my face down while I walked past him, and didn't look up when he said "excuse me" although I was curious to see if he remembered me.
I kinda feel sorry for these people, who work the streets trying to sell something or getting petitions signed or something. I mean, how often does it really work? Tell me, have you ever bought something from an excuse-me-street-missionary or been converted or something, or signed a petition you're actually interested in? Really, tell me. I wanna know.

QotD: Michel: "Well, you know what happens when you assume?"
Lorelai: "What?"
Michel: "I don't know, something about a donkey. It is a stupid American phrase." - Gilmore Girls
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 15:26:-

Thursday, May 25, 2006

The happy triangle

On Tuesday I went to the Edinburgh Central Library for the first time. Can you believe it? I have been living in this city just short of ten months now, and never even thought of getting myself a library card. I, who used to spend a big portion of my free time at the Reykjavik City Library (all of my free time when I was 9-10). Now I just buy books. True, I had started buying every Meg Cabot book I could find in book shops and more before I moved here, but now it is (was) my only way of getting new reading material. Also, my recreational reading has gotten to be a bit monotonous, that is to say, I only buy books I know are going to be good and/or I just have to own, e.g. by Meg Cabot, Louise Rennison, Jane Austen and Cecily von Ziegesar. I seldom buy authors I haven't read before (well, maybe a dew, which I have bougth on a gut feeling and/or after a strong recommendation, most recently Jay McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City), and have therefore not tried something completely new in a while. I've rarely taken a book off a shelf, having noticed an interesting title, read the synopsis on the back/cover flap and decided to read it - see what it's like. You see, this is the problem with having money. You see something you want and you have to buy it, but at the same time you're hesitant about buying other things you want, in case they turn out to be something you didn't want at all.
This is true about me, books and money. It's like a love triangle. Sometimes we're all together and all's good, but sometimes I vacillate bewteen the other two - do I want the book and let go of the money, or do I want to keep the money and let go of the book. So it's likethe money is my husband - let's call him Cash - because I've had it longer and amvery attatched to it - we're pretty much married (wedded bliss since after the 114,000 isk gross after the confirmation of 2001), and the book is like the "other one", being new and exciting and something I'm uncontrollably attracted to.
Nice simile, eh?
Well, this doesn't have to be the case anymore. Now we can all live happily together ever after. No sir, no more monogamy for us. Armed with a brand new library card, I can get any book I want - up to 12 at a time for three weeks - and still keep my precious money! Ain't love grand?
Of course I will still buy the Meg Cabot books I don't have and are yet to be published, but there are a few other authors whose books I've been wanting to take a look at - but not enough to exchange some Cash for them - such as Tess Gerritsen, Michele Jaffe, Sarah Dessen, Susan Juby, Marian Keyes and perhaps Neil Gaiman.
I've still got that long list of books that I already have and want to read first, but there's no harm in borrowing the odd Jaffe or Keyes book in between, right?

Yes, we certainly are a happy triangle, Cash, Book and I.

QotD: Anya: "Anyway, I took the money from working with Giles, and I tripled it."
Tara: "Tripled? Like, first money, then money money money?"
Anya: "Yes. I'm thinking about something very expensive. Maybe an antelope." - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 21:15:-

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

It's the end of the world!

Aldis Maria sent me this interesting link to a flash site which explains how the world will end. Do check it out.
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 17:13:-

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

World Cup 2006

Well, Coca Cola is sponsoring the football World Cup 2006, in case you didn't know, and they have started producing a new promotional coke bottle. Shaped like a small football. Observe: And this is how small it really is:

QotD: Emily Bates: "Beth's mom said the school is closed today because it's flooded, and there's faeces everywhere!"

Susie Bates: "What are faeces?"

Emily Bates: "Baby mice."

Susie Bates: "Aww." Donnie Darko

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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 22:51:-

Monday, May 22, 2006

Birthday girl

So it was Sigrun Ugla's second birthday yesterday. See the photos here. She looked sooo cute in her new dress. But then again, she looks cute in all her clothes. She got some nice presents, including a small crib from Sigrun snr, for her BabyBorn doll, some toys, lots of cute clothes (some from me), books (one from me) and from her parents she got a rocking horse. Mom and Bjorgvin said the rocking horse's name was Skjoni, a common horse name in Icelandic, but I said Skinfaxi, also a common name for a horse, would be better. Of course they refused to call it that, but I persist. So it has two names, really. Sigrun Ugla was kind of afraid of the rocking horse at first; she barely dared to remove the blankets that had been draped over it (easier than wrapping it all). After some encouraging, and a little demonstrating, timid she lifted the blanket on its front and peeked under, but the sight of the head startled her a bit. She put the blanket back down, looked at her with a weird expression and said "'eddu?" which is her word for "horse" - it's "hestur" in Icelandic. We tried for, like, ten minutes to get her to remove both blankets, until her father gave up and just took them off for her. Still afraid. It also took more convincing before she dared to sit on it; at first she just petted its nose and side, but after I had asked her several times if she wanted to sit on it she gave in and didn't say "nei!" - Icelandic for "no". She's been using that word a lot lately. Of course she was tentative at first and I had to rock the rocking horse for her, but she figured out right away to position her legs on the petals and how to hold the handles sticking out of the head, right behind the ears.
There wasn't a big party - mom and Bjorgvin baked two cakes, an apple cake and a chocolate cake, which I had a small slice of; it was a joyful occasion after all! Mom convinced me that a tiny exception could be made it this case. But I am determined not to eat chocolate or anything of the like - not even the chocolates Sigrun snr brought me from Iceland! - on my birthday. I'm just going to as mom to make pancakes, and I am going to relax. Chill. Because on May 30th, the day before, my last exam will take place. Media Studies, which will probably be hard, but maybe predictable and therefore it is possible to prepare well. I just hope I'll get some work done! I'm going to go to the school library after the German exam on Wednesday, Thursday and Monday, and do my best to get up before 10 AM, to make the most of the time I have.
I had my History exam today, which went alright, not great: just OK. I didn't finish the second of the two essays we got exactly 80 minutes to write (SO unfair! They do this just to torture us! I know it is to see how much we've learnt, but come effing ON! At least give us some TIME to show off!), but I think the first one and the Paper 2 went alright, and I'm pretty sure my Extended Essay will help my grade since Mr Swinburne wrote on my first draft practice copy that it would achieve an A in the final exam (!), so I don't expect to fail. I hope. I didn't realise until just this morning that I had always put it off to talk to some teacher about getting extra time; if I could convince them that my English was bad enough that I needed a dictionary to get throught the exam, I could have got 10 extra minutes. You think I could have pulled it off? I'm sure. Anyway. The teacher who chaperoned us while we were sitting the exam (I think his title would formally be "invigilator" but he was just a regular teacher as far as I know) was really old and looked very much like he'd been there at JGHS forever. And he probably has been; he seemed to recognise everybody except me and some Indian guy (I think he's Indian but I'm not completely sure). The teacher asked him what his name was, and he said he couldn't see it on his list! But then the guy showed him and he was all "oh, alright, pardon" and decided to read the list to check if everyone was there, just in case. Naturally, my name was at the bottom of the list, which I anticipated. The teacher looked relieved when I raised my hand right after he started struggling through my first name - he was probably glad he didn't even have to attempt reading out my surname! Apparently it's kinda complex, to everybody except Icelanders of course. There, it's one of the most common surnames. Duh.
My wrist hurt after the first half of the exam (Paper 1) and I actually felt dizzy after writing so much and so fast. After the Paper 2 exam I felt even dizzier, but that was probably a mixture of exhaustion from writing competing with the clock, hunger and the fact that never again I will have to think or worry about history, except maybe for the history that is being made right now. And perhaps some history of literature, classic and modern, because I, after all, want to study literature at uni. But that I am actually interested in, as opposed to the basic history of British politics, 1850-1928. I'm more of a culture person, myself.
Oh man, this is dragging on.
More later,
much love,
Trina.
QotD: "Have you ever been to South Dakota? It's the most boring state in the nation. As I was flying in, I swear I saw one of the heads on Mount Rushmore yawn." - Richard Gilmore, Gilmore Girls
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 20:04:-

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Night of the Long Legs

Well, the Eurovision Song Contest was won by the Finnish Lordi, and I do think they deserved it entirely. The song was actually good (yes, I do have some appreciation for hard rock/metal in me) and the costumes totally topped off the "Eurovision is a big joke and we will treat it like such"-impression they gave. That's really in these years; performing a joke act at Eurovision - Silvia Night did it, though she didn't get very far; Lithuania did it, "We Are the Winners" they called the song, and finished pretty high though I don't remember what place they came in at; and obviously Lordi did it, with complete success, fighting over the first place with Russia's mullet-singer-with-ballet-dancers-and-chalk-faced-woman-in-the-piano act and Bosnia & Herzegovina's white-clad ballad. My mom hated Finland's entry, however, and was shoked that they won. Everytime a country gave Finland 12 points, she went "Oh my god, I cannot believe they are doing this! The song is horrible! What are they thinking?"
I'd say they were thinking: "Screw the dignity of this institution, this is a funny and good song, let's vote for it and go to Helsinki next year!"
I personally voted for Norway and Denmark, not because they are Nordic countries and therefore I felt obliged to vote for them (the usual cameraderie between all us Nordics) but because I truly liked the songs. Norway's Alvedansen was original in the way that it was sung in Norwegian; the last few years the only countries which sing in their own languages are Eastern Europe, France (duh - the people who are still bummed because French isn't the universal language instead of English), Spain and sometimes Portugal. Mind you, those seem like a lot, but this is out of 37 countries altogether. Another reason why I voted for Norway was that the violins gave me goosebumps - the only goosebump-worthy song in the competition, and that counts for a lot. Denmark's 17-year-old Selma-doppelganger (perhaps a long-lost daughter of Selma!) Sidsel Ben Semmane (Danish: the language in which "Ben" can also be a girl's name and "Kim" is a boy's name) sang a cheerful "Twist"-song, which made me want to twist just as much as the original famous twist song.
Speaking of a doppelganger. I've actually forgotten which countries they were from and the songs themselves, but there was one woman who looked very much like a Gwen Stefani-wannabe, and then there was another one who looked - and dressed - exactly like Fergie from Black Eyed Peas. And the German singer (well, she was actually Australian singing for Germany)! She sang a country song, and actually looked just like Dolly Parton, the Early Years, before she had too many enhancements. Maybe one. And she wore a pink sweater-set coupled with a pink '50-s style skirt (think Olivia Newton-John in Grease)! The song itself was actually kinda OK, though mocked endlessly by Terry Wogan (like all the other songs. I would have loved to hear what he'd say about Silvia Night!). And to play along with the country-style entry, the German presenter who announced the German vote was actually straddling a live cow, or perhaps it was a horse. I couldn't tell - I was sitting on the sofa a few metres from the 20" television.
Swedish Carola sang "Invincible", a song concocted precicely from the Eurovision song recipe, and understandably she did quite well. The Swedes were certainly counting on her to be a big success like the last time she participated in the contest - she won in 1991. She looked better than she did then - obviously more mature - but I personally thought the wind machine was used a little too much. Like un-merciful Terry Wogan said, it looked like she was going to be blown off the stage any minute. Any of the three minutes that is.
Terry Wogan's sarcastic and mocking commentating was funny and amusing at first, but then it got sorta redundant, for example when there were about five songs left to be performed, he was always "oh gosh, FIVE songs to go... will this ever be over? Still four more! We are falling asleep here!" and so on. It was amusing, though, when he drew our attention to (although he wouldn't have to after a couple of seconds) how often the presenters said "amazing!" I swear, this is probably the only adjective they knew, and so they used it excessively. Another worthy comment of his was that there was a lot of leg in this year's competition - last year it was all about navel-revealing outfits, and this year it was flaunting long legs. Night of the Long Legs, he dubbed it. (You know, like the Night of the Long Knives.)
Oh well. History exam tomorrow morning! Am I frightened? A bit. Am I glad that at 12:05 PM tomorrow I can forget all about the political history of Britain 1850-1928, the rise of German nationalism, and the events preceding WWII? YES!
QotD: "In order to find his equal, an Irishman is forced to talk to oGod." - Stephen the Irishman, Braveheart
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 21:22:-

Friday, May 19, 2006

Sad... or is it?

Well, it seems that Silvia Night will not be participating in the Eurovision Song Contest finals on Saturday. OK, it dosn't seem that way; it is so. And surprisingly, I don't really care. I personally think the acts which got through deserved it more than she - the only reason I wanted her to get through was because she was Iceland's representative and it would have been nice to get a little more 3-minutes publicity. But I guess it wasn't needed anyway; it appears she caused quite the scene anyway, but did unfortunately not portray Iceland in a good light. At some press meeting, she insulted some Greek organisation, or perhaps the organising of Eurvision - I'm not quite sure - and therefore earned herself a big "booooo" both before, during and after her performance. Even though she apologised for it, but the Greeks either didn't care and/or hadn't heard of it. I'm sure parts of the audience simply thought the act sucked. This is just sad.
But anyway the wind blows, it all boils down to this: Iceland will not have another chance to prove its talent before millions of Europeans until next year.
I misunderstood Arnot the librarian's invitation a bit; I wrote that I assumed she had invited more foreign sudents, but it was not so - just us! It was all nice and cosy; we laughed at the same acts, were quiet during the same acts (not many...) and criticised during the same acts as well. I don't remember which country it was from, but I thought the singer was a bit... strange. He didn't look strange or anything; it was just that the commentator said he was only 18, but he had a full beard which made him look waaaay older, and the commentator actually said that "his beard was a lot older than he." Perhaps such a full beard isn't that uncommon among 18-year-old boys; I wouldn't know since I haven't been around 18-year-olds for about one year. None of the 16- and 17-year-olds that I've been going to class with have that "full and manly beard," at least. (Although more than a couple have unsuccessfully and awkwardly tried.) I tasted some drink which is made of Elder flower extract mixed with water, and surprisingly it tasted like flowers. Weird. I've never taste flowers before; I thought flower-scented liquid was monopolised by the perfume industries.
Even though Iceland is not in the finals, I am looking forward to tomorrow's contest. Terry Wogan's commentating and all. And it also means that I can actually vote for the country which I think has the best song. And Iceland was not that. (Please don't shoot me!)
QotD: Giles: "I'm not supposed to have a private life?"
Buffy: "No. Because you're very, very old and it's gross." - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 20:35:-

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Oh, and happy Norwegian Constitution Day!
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 22:29:-

Vote for Silvia Night!

Yes, if any of you who read this are European or currently in Europe - not in Iceland i.e. - I beseech you; watch the Eurovision Song Contest semi-finals tomorrow night, and however good or bad you find the Icelandic entry, please vote for our dear Silvia Night! I personally don't care whether she wins or not on Saturday, when the finals are; I just don't want to see Iceland humiliated yet again by not even making it to the finals. I think Selma's song last year wasn't considered bad at all; indeed, many critics predicted she would come in at least in the top ten, if not top 5, and then she didn't even make it to the finals, and actually came in in the 16th place or something like that in the semi-finals!
I also would just like to know what the rest of Europe's reaction to Silvia Night's narcissistic yet humorous song will be - will they think it's horrible and think all Icelanders are like that (like it or not, but people do tend to generalise) or will they realise what a hilarious parody both the song and Silvia Night are. Obviously we can expect many votes from the other Nordic countries, as always.
Eh, as you can see, I have been bitten by the Eurovision-hype-bug, which originated in Iceland but somehow has managed to travel half-way over the Atlantic. Too bad it only got to me, and perhaps some of the approx. 300 Icelanders residing in Scotland, and not any Brit at all. As far as I know, Brits look down on this contest, as illustrated by Terry Wogan's annual commentating, and show little or none interest in it. That is one of the reasons it would be great to see Iceland getting to the finals on Saturday; here in Britain the semi-finals are broadcast on BBC3, which is only accessible to homes which have cable, satelite or digital TV, but the finals will be broadcast on BBC1, which all homes which have a television set have access to, ergo more viewers. We, for example, only have the five free channels (why mom and Bjorgvin can't see that we need more channels I don't understand) and will therefore be going to Arnot McDonald's - the librarian at the School of Scottish Studies, Edinburgh University - house, the same place as we went to on Easter in fact, to watch Eurovision. I believe there will be other foreign students there again, and I hope we (mom, BI and I) will be able to at least convince the American and Canadian students to vote for Iceland. I suspect the Europeans will be wanting to vote for their own country.
I am happy that this will be the second time this week - also the first time ever - that I can vote, and my vote just might count for something! My vote might actually help Iceland, I mean, since you can't vote for the country you're in, so I can vote for my beloved motherland.
Well, it appears I've still got some space for another story.
My last Higher History lesson was last Tuesday - May 9th i.e.. I might have told you before about how Tuesdays and Thursdays meant double History in 5th and 6th periods, and to take a little break from all the tedious and tiresome knowledge-absorbing, we had a "biscuit break" for about 10 minutes halfway through. Well, to celebrate the very last double History (I don't think anybody was in mourning ;)), the biscuit break was extended a bit. 50%, perhaps. Not only did people bring biscuits, but also sweets. And even more. About five minutes into the lesson, two boys asked if they could go to the toilet. Mr Swinburne said go ahead, but I don't know if he thought the same as I, and probably the rest of the class who weren't in on the secret, that they were up to something. It does not bode well when two or more boys want to join each other in the bathroom; it's usually the girls who do that. And sure enough, they came back 25 minutes later with two red-hot Pizza Hut boxes. Two seconds later the whole class had gathered around the front desk, pushing each other out of the way, trying to get a slice before they were all gone. The Brits' patented queing-ability sure didn't shine through there! Or maybe kids just don't bother to queue when there aren't any adults with disapproving stares around. I myself didn't feel up to parttaking in this classroom riot; both because I wasn't hungry at all - I had already had luch - and because it amused me watching the kids desperately reaching for the delicious-looking, salivating-smelling Pizza Hut product, sitting there in a business class seat with a close-up view. Although they didn't mind cutting queue (if you can call that a queue), the kids politely left exactly one slice. It was apparent that none of us others who had sat still in our seats didn't want a taste, but they still were considerate enough to leave one slice, just in case, instead of somebody snatching two - there were a couple who did that. It reminded me of how I always used to leave just one biscuit in the packet or only ten drops of coke in the bottle, because I was afraid that mom would know that it was I who had, without permission, finished the chocolate biscuits or emptied the coke bottle. Now I don't care.
More later,
much love,
Trina.
QotD: "Sure. We saved the world, I say we party." - Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 21:47:-

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Mission:Impossible

I should have known. I should have known I can't even go a few days without writing - blogging that is. Luckily, though, I have forgotten about half the things I wanted to write last week; that can happen when you don't have a piece of paper right next to you (e.g. my student planner, which is ridden with bullet points of possible blog post ideas) at every moment. So kudos for me, eh?
I guess I should do this in chronological order, but what the hell: yesterday is priority. Why? Because yesterday, Monday the 15th of May, was a turning point in my life. How so?
I voted for the very first time. On May 27th, local government elections will be held in Iceland, but people who live abroad can vote now. So yesterday mom, Bjorgvin and I drove to Liberton House - an old castle or something like that, apparently - where the vice consul of Iceland lives and works, to vote. The vice consul is a woman nicknamed Limma and has lived here for 38 years, no more no less! It took us a while to find her gigantic house, even though she had the Icelandic flag on the flag pole on top of the roof, because it is a bit secluded, hidden from the road by large trees, and the driveway is about a couple dozen metres. We drove past the gate a few times before realising that this just might be the place - even though we could barely see it. When we finally arrived and had found Limma, she took us into her kitchen - huge and antique-ey; looked very much like a done-up 17th century kitchen! - where she kept all the voting papers. We wrote the letter of the party which we voted for (the correct party, of course, not the right one :)) on a small slip of paper which had this black scribbling on the back, so you can't see through the paper from the other side. This is, obviously, highly classified - we don't want people to know that we voted for the correct party, now do we? The ballot we had to put in a small envelope, which we put in another envelope addressed to the Reykjavik City Hall department which takes care of this, along with a form which we had to fill out with our basic info - name, ID number (man, I do not know how long it's been since I had to include my ID number on a form!), legal residence etc. This we had to mail ourselves, then. I have to say, voting for the first time wasn't quite the experience I had expected, but then again it wasn't exactly the traditional going-to-the-polls-waiting-in-line-writing-your-vote-in-private-stall-putting-ballot-in-box procedure. Actually, this wasn't technically the first time I voted; when I was a kid, my mom sometimes took me and Matti along and let us write the vote, one line of the X each. However, yesterday was obviously the first time that my very vote counted for something (I hope!). Parliamentary elections will be held next year, so hopefully I might be able to come to Iceland for that, at least.

Ah well, that's it for now - I'll take it just one short post at a time.

QotD: "Sorry to barge in. I fear we have a slight... apocalypse." - Giles, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 22:38:-

Sunday, May 14, 2006

I think I'm gonna...

...take a little break from blogging. I don't expect the coming to be eventful, since I'm gonna (try to) spend it revising for the German and History exams, so I won't be overloaded with writing about two interesting weeks.
Also, as you have noticed, the posts about the London weekend trip have been kind of long, and I think if you dear readers are really interesting in reading them, you might just want to take them small parts at a time.
I put the posts into a Word document so I could use the word count to see how long they are put together.
Guess.

Come on, I dare you.

You sure?

Final guess?

I bet you were wrong:

the answer is exactly 5223 words, and out of that number, the last and third part was 3116 words. Put together, this is about the same length as an average university essay. I wish it was as easy for me to write even school essays as it is blogging!

QotD: Xander: "I happen to be very biteable, pal. I'm moist and delicious."
Spike: "All right, yeah, you're a nummy treat."
Xander: "And don't you forget it." - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 20:48:-

Friday, May 12, 2006

London part III

On Saturday morning, Sandra and I got up relatively late; we were ready to go downstairs for breakfast at about 9 AM. Apparently the rest of the hotelguests had also slept in, so there were no free tables, and we had to ask a nice 40-something woman if we could sit at her table. She said of course sure, and we had a nice chat with her. She told us that she was a doctor from Holland and had been working all over the world. She is the second Dutch woman Sandra and I have met; the first one is our uncle Kari's long-time partner, Ria. We failed to ask the woman her name, but we did exchange some information on where we all were from and such. Sandra told her that she was from a small town, where about 3000-4000 people live, and she told us she was also a smalltown girl; her hometown in Holland inhabits about 150,000 people. She did not blink in disbelief when I told her that I considered myself a citygirl, having grown up in Iceland's capital, in which approx. 170,000 people live. On a universal standard, Reykjavik is kinda small. Even Edinburgh, where about 400,000 people live - 100,000 more than in all of Iceland - is considered a rather small city!
The weather wasn't as splendid as the day before, so we took suitable precautions and wore trousers, with at least five pounds reserved to buy an umbrella should the need arise. After all, rain had been predicted. Our itinerary for the day was as follows: Madame Tussaud's, Notting Hill (Portobello) market, Harrods, and a little clothes shopping; Sandra wanted to buy a t-shirt she had tried on the day before at Dorothy Perkins, and I felt I hadn't bought enough clothes already (only one dress).
Madame Tussaud's was interesting, surprising, admirable and fun. Sandra was surprised that the queue didn't start until inside; when she and Benni had visited the last time they were in London, they had to start outside! Even though it started inside, the queue was a little bit longer than I expected; we had to wait for about half an hour plus. But it was worth it. It is incredible how realistic the statues look! I took close-ups of Albert Einstein and Madame Tussaud herself (man, did she have a big nose!) to show how well made they are. Sandra took pictures of me with Julia Roberts, John Travolta and Samuel L Jackson, The Beatles, was interviewed by Oprah Winfrey, and best of all: Sarah Michelle Gellar, a.k.a. Buffy Anne Summers. I also found Sleeping Beauty, Marilyn Monroe doing her famous airgrid-wind-blowing-up-her-white-dress pose, and some guy who happened to be posing with her, lying between her legs and looking up; I also took pictures of young Mozart, Oscar Wilde, Mary Queen of Scots (gosh, either she was really really tall or she just wore ten-inch heels), Einstein, Picasso and van Gogh, the two young princes, creepy Michael Jackson, Britney Spears pole-dancing, Kylie Minouge, Elvis Presley, Humphrey Bogart, sir Anthony Hopkins, sir Sean Connery, Pierce "Bond, James Bond" Brosnan, and many many more. It was fun!
After Madame Tussaud's we had lunch at some self-service restaurant: I am proud to say that I had salad for the main course. And I liked it, fyi. Then we went to take the tube to Notting Hill, and I must say that when it comes to the tube, Englishmen are not as keen to queue as they are said to be; even the Scots queue better when they are merely waiting for the bus! Maybe it was just that there were a lot of tourists there, most of whom have no clue of the English's queing habits.
Notting Hill market, which is actually called Portobello market, lost some of its famed charm because it was raining - I bought an umbrella with a print of Union Jack. However, I did manage to buy a pair of earrings and a cute little leather notebook with handmade paper, tied together to close it. I have a notebook-fetish; whenever I see a really cute one, I simply have to buy it, even though I already have way to many to fill in the foreseeable future! Sandra also made a bargain (I assume) on a neat gift for Benni, and on the way back I found this adorable flower-print skirt at some shop called Uttam London. We also sought shelter from the pouring rain in a small vintage clothes store, which had loads of awesomely cute and b-e-a-utiful '50s dresses, all of which were either too expensive and/or too small for me, and of course I've already bought my pretty ball gown for the year. Which I do not regret, by the way. (On a sidenote: I finally found the perfect shoes to go with the dress - they're violet and have faintly green stripes between the violet ones, perfectly matching the ribbons on the dress, and they also have small rhinestones. I have been such a girl the last two weeks; Friday before last I bought the sandals when I was shopping with my grandparents, then I bought two pairs in London, and the dressy shoes today! That makes four pairs! In two weeks! But I digress.)
After browsing Portobello market for a while, we headed again to the city centre to take a look at Harrods. Of course we started in the souvenir department, where you can find things from teddy bears to aprons, mugs to bags, all labelled "Harrods". We were both really tired - even though we had walked for much longer on Friday and were similarly tired as after that day. Perhaps it was the rain; it can affect people's feelings and mood in all ways; some sing, some get depressed, and some get tired. Anyways. After a round in the souvenir department, we took a look upstairs where the ladieswear is, if only to look at the prices. I was not exactly shocked to find hats and scarves priced for over 200 pounds. When we had gasped enough over the expensive socks at Harrods, and my eyes were about to pop out because I had opened them up so wide everytime I casually looked at a pricetag, we went to Oxford Street to browse a few shops. Sandra bought her t-shirt, but unfortunately I did not find any clothes to my liking and nor did I find shoes - I was actually pretty bored with looking at shoes; I had tried on and seen nd rejected so many pairs already, and I had pretty much given up, deciding to just save the shoe-shopping for Princes Street in Edinburgh. Before relishing hamburgers at a restaurant called Garfunkel's - for some reason I kept connoting it with Simon & Garfunkel, though they had nothing to do with each other - we checked out yet another Waterstones and Virgin Megastore. I was silly enough to still cling to the hope that I might, just might, find there what I was looking for; the two "new" Meg Cabot books, and season 5 of Buffy (which I did not find there, but the Buffy DVD set I found at HMV at St James Shopping today). Obviously they did not have them, just like the other bookstores I had visited there, and all the Waterstones in Edinburgh which I've visited.
We got back to the hotel rather early (of course we took the tube); at about half eight-ish. I was kinda glad about that, because it meant I could wath CSI:NY on Five, which I had not set the VCR to record. Unfortunately, the television in our hotelroom did not get a good enough reception, so we didn't have Five. Therefore we watched Who Wants To Be a Millionaire and How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days, which I have seen at least two times before. I quite like that movie, except for when Kate Hudson is deliberately trying to be annoying, in order to chase Matthew Maconaughey away from her. While we watched TV we packed our bags, and it was quite the struggle for Sandra, who had bought so much during her stay in Edinburgh and there that she really had to ponder hard about how to squeeze all that stuff into her bags - one small "stewardess" suitcase, and one big backpack; after all, she was backpacking through Europe. I had less trouble; my suitcase was kinda big - we don't have a smaller suitcase at home, save for the tiny stewardess one that mom bought when she had to go on a weekend trip to London to read from her book to members of the Icelanders' Society in England - and I had more than enough space for all the stuff I bought.
Since my flight was scheduled to leave at 6:35, Sandra's at 7:30, and check-in always starts two freaking hours before, we set the alarm clock on our mobiles to 2:30. AM. Two hours after the time that I must, for routine reasons, be in bed by. Therefore my mother was quite worried that I might have a seizure. But I didn't - perhaps because I wasn't worried at all. Silly me.
On Friday night when we got back we asked the clerk at the front desk to book a cab for us on Saturday/Sunday night. He was a Pakistani or from somewhere around there, and it can really be easier to understand non-native speakers of English, because they take pains to pronouce everything clearly. This clerk called a cab company, and asked us how many persons there would be - "two persons?" - and how much luggage - "three luggage?" - more than twice, just in case, and also the exact time when we needed the cab - "three o'clock?". When we came downstairs on the night, the same clerk was working, and seeing as how it was 3 AM, he was kinda sleeping. Can't blame him. He still opened his eyes every 30 seconds or so, though, but I think that might just have been some reflex. The cabbie must have been an acquaintance of his; he was also Pakistani I think. Not that I think all muslims know each other; it was jujst a coincidence which didn't seem like a coincidence, since it wasn't a regular cab; it was a really comfortable black 6/7-seat SUV with tinted windows. It didn't have the traditional yellow taxi sign on top or above the front window. Therefore I concluded that this may have been a cab driver who regularly drives people from that hotel in the middle of the night, and therefore is acquainted to the clerks on duty at those ungodly hours.
Moving on. Arriving at Victoria station at about 3:15, from where the Gatwick Express would be leaving at 3:30, Sandra and I found that all the doors were locked. Understandably we were bothered by this. If you haven't been there, you need to know that Victoria station is bihihig. It took us a while to walk just half-way around it, dragging our suitcases, obviously tourists, with worried expressions which prompted a nice young woman to ask us if we needed any help. We told her of our dilemma, and she told us that Victoria was closed at night! However, sometimes there were guards at one of the entrances who let in the people who need to take the train that early in the morning. And voila: she was right. We walked a little longer, and around the second corner there was a group of people waiting outside the main entrance, and just as we came some guards came to unlock the gates for us. Of course we had to show our tickets - we had bought roundtrip tickets.
Sandra walked with me as far in the check-in queue as possible, and then waited for me. Her plane would leave from the North Terminal, but mine from the South one, so she stayed with me for as long as possible - until I finally had to go through the security gate and she had to go and check in. Before that, we bought ourselves a kind of a breakfast; I a bottle of water and a couple of Keloggs nutrition bars - the biggest sugar-free eatable thing that the tiny WHSmith in the terminal outside the security gates had - and Sandra just some water and sweets; she was lucky, as British Airways serves food on their flights, unlike EasyJet. So I didn't have a real breakfast until I got home at around 9 AM. After parting with Sandra, a sad thing because we won't meet again until August, I wandered aimlessly around the dutyfree store, and bought some eyeshadow, just to buy something. I was a little unrestful, as the screens which showed the flights, the times of it and the gate numbers, and next to the name of my flight, it only said "Please wait" in the Gate column. I was bothered because there was, according to signs, at least fifteen minutes to walk to all the gates! And I thought that the gate number wouldn't be announced until, like, five minutes before last call. Therefore I just wandered around the area where the screens were, at 6 AM waiting for the gate number to come up. Finally it said "Board gate 4". I started to panic, since I assumed the boarding had already started and there were at least 15 minutes until I could get to the gate! So I walked as fast as I could, through the empty hallways which lead to gates 1-10. Unfortunately I misread the gate number on the screen, and went to gate 2, where a plane to Barcelona was boarding. I panicked even more, since this meant I had to go back to the main terminal to see what gate it really was that I had to get to. I didn't realise that I was at the wrong gate until I showed one of the women who were there checking the tickets of the passengers, and she noticed that the ticket was for "Edinburg". I was all "Oh shit" (latter word silent of course) and confusedly looked around to see if there was another screen there, because it was a long walk from the other gates. I asked the women if they knew where the gate for Edinburgh was, and one of them kindly checked on the computer for me, and told me it was number 4 and in which direction I had to go. While she was looking it up, the other woman asked me jokingly, "Are you sure you don't want to go to Barcelona?" When I finally got to the right place, there was no one there, only two guys at desks who checked the passengers' tickets. I was the first one. There was no reason whatsoever for me to panic. The clock was still about 15 past 6, and although the woman who checked me in at 4:35 had said boarding would be 30 minutes before departure, I was the only person conscientious enough to at least try to be on time. There was no hurry - the flight attendants didn't show up for a while, and I just continued reading my Vanity Fair (though I should have been re-reading The Great Gatsby, as this was 5 days before my English exam!). On EasyJet planes, you don't get any specific seat number, only an A, B, C and D, which is the order in which you can board, that is: if there are a lot of people, they are let in in groups, to avoid crowding. I had A, but there were probably about 20 people tops on that plane, so I could get a whole row all to myself (tree seats i.e.). I couldn't sleep then, either - just continued reading.
I took the FlyBus from Edinburgh Airport, but since Waverley Bridge, likewise many other streets in the city centre, was closed on account of the Great Edinburgh Run, the last stop of the bus was on some street above Princes Street, whose name I don't recall. This would have been OK - I could just hail a cab from Princes Street, which I proceded to do; however, it was pouring rain, and when I say pouring, I mean POURING! And I was wearing a skirt, sine pantyhose. Like the cab driver - a young woman to my surprise - said, "They are mad to be running in this!", referring to the people who were running in the marathon. Still, we did not see a single person running within the banner-closed parts of the streets; many of them must have cancelled on account of the rain. I don't blame them. The cab driver told me that the runners had been preparing all over the Meadows on Saturday, when the weather had apparently been beautiful. She was nice, the cabbie. I asked her to just get me as close to Leven Terrace as possible, since I knew that my street would also be closed. Thankfully, she managed to get me all the way to Leven Street, put me out by the King's Theatre, so I only had to walk for a couple of minutes. I tipped her almost a pound - partly because I was thankful and partly because I couldn't be bothered to find the exact fare in my purse and then the traditional 10% tips, which would have been about 50p.
At long last I was home - had to let myself in since everybody was still asleep. Mom came into the kitchen as I was shovelling cornflakes into my mouth, hugged me, asked me how the journey had been etc., then when I had got up, and ordered me to take a nap. Which I did, and joyfully I slept until 1 PM.
Well then. I bet you're all tired of reading this - if you could even be bothered to read the whole post through. Please tune in again soon, as I will be recapping the interesting events of the last week, and a bit of what's still to come.
Thank you, and I hope you can mention what you thought of this; there is in fact a link right below, on which you click, and then a pop-up window appears and you can write whatever you want in the box in the window!
Thanks again, and goooood night everyone.
QotD: "We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing." - Elizabeth Bennet, Pride & Prejudice (book)
(so true!)
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 22:57:-

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

London, part II

It was fortunate that breakfast at Wedgewood Hotel was served between 7:30 and 9:30, because I know I wouldn't have been able to drag myself out of bed early if I hadn't had any incentive to do so. Other than making the most of my short time in the capital of the United Kingdom. On Friday, May5th, Sandra and I were up and about at approx. 9 AM, having taken showers to wash off the jet lag from the previous day, and went downstairs to the tiny basement to have breakfast. The breakfast room was kinda cosy; a bunch of typical home-dining-room-tables stuffed into a room not much bigger than our kitchen and dining room put together, divided into two parts by a small wall. Every table had a plate with a bunch of small boxes of jam - strawberry, blueberry, blackcurrants etc - and butter, and then when people sat down a person from the kitchen would hurry and bring a plate with two slices of toasted bread. It tasted good - better than the cornflakes over which I had poured milk that had grown lukewarm from the time when it had been brought out to the table where the cereal was - about 7 AM.
We were out of the hotel by 9:40 (if I remember correctly) and since the weather was so stellar, we decided to walk to Oxford Street. It was so hot that I was able to wear my summer dress and sandals/wedges without even feeling a little chilly. I took a lot of pictures on the way, and you can see them and all the other pictures I took in London here. I didn't think Oxford Street was open to cars; I expeced it to be only pedestrian, like Stroeget in Copenhagen. But as you who've been to London know, there are a LOT of big clothing stores on Oxford Street, and it was fun to browse the stores without looking for something special, except the perfect pair of dressy shoes to wear with my Prom dress (which I did not find by the way; I'll just have to find it here, which probably won't be a problem considering the plethora of shoe shops that are here). And I had a lot of money to spend freely. You see, my granparents Kata and David gave me a hundred pounds for my birthday - enclosed in an envelope which they allowed me to open before my birthday, since I planned to go on a shopping spree in London. Therefore I felt I could spend way more money than I was going to, which delighted me like you can't imagine. It's so much fun having money, especially money which you've been given and don't have to get bad conscience for spending your precious money on trivial things like clothes and stuff. But then again, to me, a girl, clothes and stuff are not trivial; in fact, clothes and stuff are very important to me. I'm shallow - I admit it. So shoot me. (Figuratively speaking.)
Anyway. Through the course of the day, I spent more than 150 pounds, if my calculations were correct, though I didn't buy as many clothes as I wanted. I bought one really pretty hippie-style summer dress at Next, uber comfy; so comfy that I put it on in the bathroom at Marks & Spencer. I also bought two pairs of shoes - the first one because my left shoe was hurting me and I needed a new pair to wear for the rest of the day, during which we walked a lot, and the second was a pair of white low-top Converses which I bought on a whim when Sandra was trying on a similar pair, only violet/purple-ish; I saw a white shoe on a shelf, thought "oh what the hell", asked to try on number 6, it fit perfectly, and within ten minutes the shoebox was in an unusual Shellys London bag on my shoulder. It only cost 30 pounds. When I bought my black high-tops in the summer of 2004 they cost me 7,990 isk or 6,990 isk, which is about 60 pounds. So this was obviously a bargain, though I am conscious of the fact that prices in Iceland are totally blown up; that's why Icelanders like to go to London, Glasgow or Copenhagen for the weekend for the sole purpose of shopping.
Anyway. During that long day on Oxford Street I also bought 3 Jane Austen books (there was 15% discount for students at Borders, so although I didn't find any of the books I was looking for, I felt I had to grap te opportunity), earrings, underwear, birthday presents for SUB (you cannot imagine how cute the toddler department at M&S is!), a small purse for my keys, a hairband, and also something to drink while not shopping. At about 7-7:30 PM Sandra and I were fairly hungry, so after walking past a bunch of restaurants that were either too pricey or too fast-food-chain-ey, we settled on Pizza Hut. Even though it's a big chain with restaurants all over the world, the food tastes good (probably why it's so popular!), and there's always free soda refills! I am proud to say that that I ordered the vegetarian pizza, even though I' m not a veggie; I just wanted to eat some greens. I ordered medium size, and devoured most of it with the ferociousness of a vulture that hasn't eaten in a week, but still left two slices. The waitress asked me if I wanted a box for those two slices so I could take them with me, and I figured it would be nice; if I'd get hungry again later that night or the next morning. These slices weren't that big anyway. I didn't end up eating them at all - they suffered the same fate as the yoghhurt; I left them in the hotel room when we left.
On the way back to the hotel after eating we took a detour so I could see Trafalgar Square and Buckingham Palace. Nelson's Column is being repaired and completely surrounded by scaffolds and not even visible, but I took a couple of pictures of it anyway, just for the hell of it. It was rather late when we passed the home of the Windsors and really dark, and apparently they wanted privacy for some reason, because the palace wasn't lit up, though we could see light from three windows in the palace, each one far from the others, so it can't have been some big event. Maybe the three princes wanted some alone time... if you get my drift... :)
On a more unpleasant note: I was stupid enough not to relieve myself of liquid before we left Pizza Hut, even though I had slurped two big glasses of Diet Pepsi, so I had to hold it in for a half hour approx., before we found a small pub next to Hard Rock Cafe somewhere (Sandra had the map, so I didn't pay attention to the street signs on the way back). I went inside alone, while Sandra played mule outside, loaded with all our bags. The bathroom was surprisingly clean and sanitary for a pub toilet.
Well, in conclusion: Sandra Run and I walked for about thirteen hours on Friday, only stopping to eat dinner and havinga quick sit down when trying on shoes. It was obviously tiring, but it kinda felt good to be so exhausted. Also, the weather had been so good and I hoped my cheeks had turned justa tiny bit red. All in all, the shopping day of Friday the 5th of May was quite good, fun and saitisfying purchase-wise.
More later,
much love,
Katrin.

QotD: "Oh, listen to Mary Poppins! He's got his crust all stiff and upper with that nancy-boy accent. You Englishmen are always so... Bloody hell. Sodding, blimey, shagging, knickers, bollocks. Oh God, I'm English." -Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 23:15:-

London, part I

Well, time for a London story.
The plane was supposed to depart at 17:10, but when Sandra Run and I checked in at Edinburgh Airport we were informed by the EasyJet clerk that the flight would be delayed for an hour and ten minutes. It was a little after 15:00. So after browsing the shops and the dutyfree store for a while, we sat down by the gate, Sandra with the book Northern Lights (in Icelandic it's called The Golden Compass) and me with the May issue of Vanity Fair, a special "Green Issue". There were a lot of interesting articles in there, and since then I've read most of the magazine.
Anyways. Though the delay was only supposed to be an hour and ten minutes, we weren't off the ground until about 18: 35 (if my memory serves me correctly), and I think we were in London (Gatwick Airport to be exact) at about 8 PM. This was a little later than planned, but we could deal. We were on the train to Victoria station at 9 PM (I can see from the time stamp on my trainticket), which took about half an hour, and then I don't quite remember how long it took to take the tube from there to Paddington (anyone remember the Peruvian bear by the same name who was found there with a note around his neck: "Please take care of this bear"?), but I do remember that there was a group of Swedes who were in the same carriage. That was funny. Halfway there were some technical difficulties and the train had to stop for 10-15 minutes. But hey, what were a few minutes more; according to the website of the hotel, it was only a three minute walk from Paddington.
WRONG.
It took Sandra and me about forty minutes to find it. We asked half a dozen people for directions, all of whom pointed in a different direction towards the street, Leinster Square, which we couldn't even find on the map! In the end we gave up and took a cab, and even the driver had to ask us twice for the address. Now keep in mind: while this all was an adventure to be remembered, we hadn't eaten since half past two, and my stomach was screaming for at least a biscuit. For some reason Sandra wasn't hungry; she just said she doesn't eat much when she travels. The reason why I didn't buy a sandwich on the plane or something was that I assumed we'd soon be at the hotel and then we'd be able to go find something to eat. Little did I know that when we finally arrived at Wedgewood Hotel the time would be 22:45. Well, when we had shed the bags in our room, we went out, managed to find a tiny tiny shop which was about to close - we were just in time to buy three litres of water. This shop didn't have any ready-to-eat food, so we walked a little farther and found a Sainsburys where I bought a four-pack of yoghurt and a bottle of hair conditioner. I slurped two of those yoghurts that night, but didn't eat the other two at all and just left them at the hotel room when we left early early on Sunday morning.
A word about the hotel. It was small. It was not bad or anything - just small. The lift especially reflected that. It was so small that Sandra and I couldn't both fit in with our luggage - and I only had one suitcase and she had a large backpack and a small suitcase. Without the luggage we managed to squeeze ourselves inside. It was supposed to hold 4 people or 300 kg, but I suppose that was back in the day when people were way smaller. No way four people our size could fit in there, anyway. These pictures Sandra and I took of each other inside the lift - and we're so close because that's the furthest away as we could get! We're both leaning against the wall of the lift. It's a good thing that my suitcase wasn't bigger; if it had been a few centimetres wider it wouldn't have fit inside the lift, and towing it behind me down the hallway to our room might have presented a small problem.
Oh gosh. Time sure has got away from me. It's time for this busy little bee to go to bed.
QotD: "You're in a band. That's like a business class ticket to cool with complimentary mojo after take-off." - Xander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 00:50:-

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Now that I have your attention...















I came back from London this morning. London was an adventure, one which I'll write about later - I'm tired and just can't be bothered at the moment.
By the way - abstaining from ice cream, sweets and chocolate of all kinds is going well, although standing in the duty free store at Gatwick this morning surrounded by shelves trodden with sugar gloating at me really tested my self-control. But I resisted, and only bought an eye shadow duo (Chanel Irreelle Duo 80 Sunset - Gold; yellow and black). And I even had salad for lunch yesterday! And not as a sidedish; the only thing I consumed with it was Orangina Rouge (not as good as the original, unfortunately).

QotD: Mary (v.o.): "After a threatening letter from the State Board of Eduacation, they finally broke down and created a sex-ed class. A little too late, I might add."
Pastor Skip (to class): "So. It's all about populating the planet, and good Christians don't get jiggy with it until they're married." - Saved!
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 16:31:-

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Kitchen update

This is what the kitchen ceiling looks like today:
Some men came a couple of weeks ago and put up this nice plastic sheet to cover the hole and make it a little less noticably hole-y. Mother, of course, didn't want her parents to see the full amount of damage that was done to our ceiling. Actually, the plastic sheet has another purpose, not as important though: before, tiny bits of plaster and cinder and dust would scatter down when something was going on upstairs (which, of course, rarely happened, since Mrs Fersch is 92 years old and walks with a cane. However, before the plastic sheet was put up, Mrs Fersch had the idea that getting a new floor in her kitchen would be good, because it had flooded and all. So she called some company and had a couple of guys come over and nail down new floor boards or something, but didn't even think to tell them that OUR ceiling had a giant hole in it, from which chunks of wood and plaster were falling when the guys were hammering the floor. Mom was in the kitchen, and she went upstairs to see what was going on. She was, obviously, surprised that Mrs Fersch would do this before our ceiling was fixed. She took the guys downstairs to show them our kitchen, and their mouths were agape with shock, because they thought this was their thought. Mom let them think that for a while before she told them this had already happened, but that their hammering was bringing some down. They realised that it wasn't a good idea to go on with the floorboarding until our kitchen had been fixed, which will be starting sometime next week or the week after. We still haven't heard from Ryden Lettings about where we will stay, but mom is going to call them tomorrow about it.
In other news: Sandra came on Sunday, and I will be going together to London the day after tomorrow. On Sunday we went with mom to this event, which was really cool, though crowded (think Culture Night in Reykjavik meets "utihatidir um Verslunarmannahelgina"). I can't really be bothered to write about it, so if you're interested you can read about it here.



QotD: "We do not joke about eating people in this house!" - Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 20:17:-

Monday, May 01, 2006

Time to...

...comment! It's that time of the month people; last time anybody commented was on Easter, and it's been quite a few posts since then. Is my writing too much like a rhetorical question something that can be responded to?
Tell me.
(That was pretty straightforward, was it not?)

QotD: Anya: "Planning this marriage is like staging the invasion of Normandy."
Xander: "Without the laughs." - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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-: Trina illustrated her blog at 21:01:-

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