Your horses are lovely, and your hot springs are pure magic. Or so I’ve heard. But your timing sucks. See, a couple of weeks ago M and I decided we’d had enough of the chilly Finnish spring, and bought two plane tickets to Greece. Are you listening? Greece! We’re leaving next Tuesday and will be spending one long, glorious week in Athens where it’s warm, summery and sunny. I know these concepts are foreign to you, but think of summer as that time in the year when the ice is less cold, and then you multiply it by a hundred and add a singing monkey or two. See, in Athens there’s the Acropolis, and the, well, the Acropolis, and… it’s like the birthplace of modern civilization or something. Fine, I’m gonna do some research, okay? But it’s like totally great, and we’re going there.
At least that was the plan. Enter you, Iceland. It seems like you always have some unplugged hole, spewing crap at the world. First it was Björk, then it was Eyjafjallajökull, and now it’s Grimsvötn.
Björk, dressed in her favorite pet.
Iceland, if you’re reading this, I always get a terrible headache flying through volcanic ash, so I would be very happy if you could hold off any further eruptions until after we get back.
Thank you. *