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Return of the Yule Lads, Vol. I

Well, dinner at The Virgin may now be crossed off my to-do list. As can the Christmas prezzie thing, plus the kaffihús. Finally finally I find myself getting into the spirit of the season, what with all those jolly people waltzing up and down Laugavegur [not literally], those choirs singing [wearing Santa hats, yowsa], brass bands playing carols [also with Santa hats on], colourful Christmas lights everywhere, and of course the fantastic Christmas platter at Jómfrúin, which was utterly delectable. Really. I mean, the food at that place is a small miracle. Purr.

YES YES, BUT WHAT HAVE THE YULE LADS BEEN UP TO?
Oh, right, I promised. Let’s see… hmhmhm… […see this is what happens when you no longer have kids young enough to believe in the Yule Lads and you don’t have to put gifts in their shoes…] Okay:

December 17: Hot on the heels of his brother Pot Licker came Bowl Licker, or Askasleikir. Now, this needs a wee bit of elaboration. What they translate as ‘bowl’ is actually an ‘askur’, which I don’t believe even exists in the English lexicon. As you can see if you click on the link, it was a wooden bowl, carved, with a lid, and every person had their own personal one that they ate from. Now to clean the askar [this is where it gets kinda gross] people used to let the dogs and cats lick them clean. [Ringworm, anyone?]. Whereas crafty old Askasleikir, of course, darted out as soon as they were placed on the floor, grabbed them before the dogs got there, and licked them clean. [Yeah. Ewww.]

December 18: Hurðaskellir, or Door Slammer. This one liked the sound of slamming doors for some weird reason, plus the sound of creaky hinges. Probably because he was a mischievous sonofagun and just liked to annoy people. It pleased him. Someone should psychoanalyze him and write a dissertation. Son of Grýla: Passive-Aggressive Door Slamming Tendencies In Child Eaters’ Child. Or something.

December 19: Skyrgámur, or Skyr Glutton. What an absolute churl this one was. Skyr is an Icelandic dairy product, like a cross between yogurt and cream cheese, that was produced in the old days and indeed still is. Skyrgámur would break the lid off the barrels where the skyr was kept and gorge himself until he was totally wasted and could barely move – just sort of laid there and grunted. Yeah. Charming.

December 20: Bjúgnakrækir, or Sausage Snatcher. Name says it all. He snuck up into the rafters and nicked the sausages that hung there for smoking. It was all full of soot and smoke up there, but he didn’t care. Oh, and did I mention that the sausages were made of horse meat?

… Which brings us up to date. Stay tuned for further tales of the Yule Lads’ exploits in coming days.

AND OUR SUPERDUPER YULETIDE WEATHER IS…
Still brisk and refreshing and just this side of cold. Temps are 2°C as per usual these days, and the sun came up at 11.21 and went down at 15.30. Solstice tomorrow – Whoo-hoo!

PS lest you’re confused that I’m calling today [as per the post date] tomorrow, it’s NOT that I’m hopelessly dazed and confused, it’s just that it’s past midnight [not to mention my bedtime] so I’m just a little dazed and confused. I’ll catch up to the real date eventually. With any luck before Christmas.

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