On my second night in Reykjavik, I had a choice of dinner – sheep’s head hot pot or fish balls. I’d seen the sheep in the supermarket and they didn’t say ‘eat me’ so I went with the balls. After dinner, we headed down to the local geothermal pool for a spot of hot tubbing. De rigeur in Iceland is a naked, and very thorough shower before you get anywhere near the water. Then, when all your bits are nicely warm and tingly, you slide into your cozzie and run barefoot and dripping outside into the dark, dank Icelandic night and flap around like a headless (and featherless) chicken looking for some sulphorous bubbles on which to park your frozen derriere. I simmered gently for a while in one tub then slipped into the adjacent tub ¬†which was coming up to a rolling boil. It got a bit intense so I went and petted myself in the pool then nipped into the sauna but, as you’d expect, there were a lot of Viking types lying around on sun loungers with flannels over their dangly bits so I called it a night. The next evening I was invited to a Buddhist meeting at a nice little bungalow in the burbs. We did a bit of omming, lots of hugging, then had some nibbly cheese crackers. After that, by way of a spiritual finale, I had my coffee cup read. Apparently, I’m going to meet a 38 year old Icelandic hunk who won’t like me much for the first three weeks then will become like a limpet and never let me go. I am still waiting for this to occur….