Hi

Think Iceland - think geysers, volcanoes, sheep and cod-wars. Think again mate. The days are gone when the only things to come out of this North Atlantic island were fish and Vikings. Nowadays it's more likely to be parties than plaice, hip-hop than halibut.

While mainland Europe and North America wallow in violence and economic stagnation, Iceland throbs with energy. It's an energy that sends thousands of terrifyingly active youngsters into the streets every weekend where they drink, dance and copulate with wild abandon - and they do it peacefully.

The great thing about this place is the lack of aggro. You don't have to start dodging knife blades every time you bang into somebody on a dance floor. Bump into a guy in a pub in my hometown of Dublin and chances are his beer glass will come to rest in your face. Bump into somebody in Reykjav’k and chances are they'all want to sleep with you.

Ah! The relief to be away from it all. The relief of being here. Not that I'm naive enough to consider Iceland some kind of post-modern paradise. Everywhere has its ups and downs. One down, a huge down, with Iceland are the prices. Five pounds sterling for a pint of beer! The mind boggles, the mouth stays dry. But the strange thing is that despite the criminal price levels this country boasts a standard of living that puts the industrialized big boys to shame.

There's only a few things lacking in Iceland, beggars and bag ladies are thankfully among them. But enough. For the truly ignorant among you here are a few hard facts as way of introduction to Iceland. By the way, the data comes courtesy of the Central Bank of Iceland. So, if you spot any howlers or screw-ups, don't get on my case, take it out on the bankers.

Geography: Iceland is the second largest island in Europe, and the third largest in the Atlantic Ocean with a land area of approximately 103,000 square kilometers (39,768 square miles). There's lots of lava and trees are few and far between. Swimming in the ocean is not recommended, unless you're a pain loving pervert.

Population: With a population of only 270,000 at the end of 1996, Iceland is one of the least densely populated countries in Europe. By the way, here's a piece of information NOT given by the Central Bank - a significant proportion of the female population of Iceland is made up of stunning beauties, delectable babes and mouth watering nymphets (sorry girls, I'm just an average healthy male with an interest in these things).

I know absolutely nothing about the aesthetic qualities of the Icelandic male. If you want to conduct research on the men then you're going to have to come here and do it yourself. Iceland also boasts an estimated sheep population of 37 million.

History: Very complicated.

Language: Even more complicated.

Politics: Iceland is a republic with a parliamentary system of government. Icelandic politicians are as unsavory and untrustworthy as anywhere else in the world.

Animal life: Many thousands of species. Can usually be spotted in downtown Reykjav’k between Fridays and Sundays. Most male animals are tall, live in sports cars, adorn themselves with tribal tattoos and wear ridiculously large wrist watches. Icelandic male animals have a strange mating ritual where they consume ludicrous amounts of distilled alcohol, collapse screaming on the ground in public, and howl at the sky. Iceland's female animals are also tall, would like to live in sports cars, and howl at the sky all the time.

The female animal has equally odd mating rituals. She usually sprouts long smooth-as-silk blonde hair on Fridays and reduces her body-mass ninety percent in order to squeeze into tight black trousers. This trouser squeezing habit has long puzzled observers, as the point of wearing the pants in the first place is to attract a male animal strong enough to peel off her trousers. A strange lot.

Then there are the interesting animals of doubtful gender. They congregate in a certain well-known Reykjav’k watering hole and gyrate all weekend to the beat of ABBA songs. Some of these animals have been known to transform from male to female and vice-verse in the course of a single weekend.

Economy: Er... fish, fish processing, fish-farming, fancy fish, fried fish, filleted fish, flying fish, fish you were here.

Cultural life: A tough one this. Although everyone seems to be computer addicts, most people can read. But I have seen a few lips move as fingers painfully underline newspaper headlines. Icelanders are big into visual art. The country boasts a standing army of graphic designers, sculptors, painters, conceptual artists, ceramic moulders, clay dabblers and color d daubers. Iceland is also home to a lost tribe of confused teens tenderly referred to as 'art students' by the tax-paying public. Female art students are easily identifiable by their moustaches and matted hair. Male art students can be spotted a mile away getting thrown out of pubs by normal people.

There are a lot of newspapers in Iceland. That's all good and well - but the drawback is that where there are newspapers there have to be people to write for them. Yep, you've guessed it - Iceland is crawling with journalists. And I really mean 'crawling'. If you're ever lucky enough to make it to Iceland for a weekend, you'll probably come across lots of scruffy young men with vomit on their shoes. Be not alarmed! They are the gentlemen of the press. Please do not interrupt these fine young men when they stagger in the gutter and start muttering to themselves. This is their natural environment and they are only preparing their articles for the following day.

Other beacons of culture are the writers, the authors, the pen-men and pencil-women, the literary lions. Iceland's writers are easy to spot. They line the walls of posh coffee houses, totally immobile for hours on end, espressos going cold. They will spring to life however if you creep up behind them and shout 'Arts Council Grant' or 'Government Subsidy' into their ears.

Climate: The Icelandic climate is refreshingly simple. Instead of messing about with four inconvenient seasons, the Icelanders have shortened them to a sensible two: a mercifully brief summer and a most invigorating winter.

Ah the Icelandic winter! Words fail me. How can I possibly convey the sensation of being blasted by Arctic winds from all directions at once? And when it rains? Well actually the phenomena of Icelandic rain is quite a turn-on. You see, it rains horizontally in Iceland. Honestly; big angry black clouds from Alaska and Siberia rush towards each other and come to a crashing stop above Iceland. The collision then releases Biblical amounts of rain onto the unsuspecting people below, but before reaching ground level, howling force-ten winds transform the moisture into sharp metallic pins which assail one STRAIGHT INTO THE FACE. Check it out some time, it's like being trapped inside a freezing car wash.

As for the winds! It gets so windy here that bus shelters are rooted a meter into the ground with reinforced concrete to stop them blowing away. Other, more boring, countries have flags fluttering in the breeze. Iceland has old-age pensioners and children swaying in the gales, their knuckles white with terror as they cling for dear life to garden fences and traffic signs.

But there is relief. The summers are fresh, and occasionally the mercury makes a tired, desperate effort to climb up the inside of the thermometer. But in all seriousness, summers in Iceland have a surreal feeling unmatched anywhere else in the world. Imagine dancing your goalies off all night, trapped in a sweating heaving mass of nubile girlie, only to stagger onto the 3 A.M. streets... and its bright as day!

More than one foreigner has been known to break down in tears upon leaving a club, gnashing his teeth in fury, shaking his fist at the nighttime sun, screaming "will it never end, will it never end!" The downside to summers here are the duration. Fully aware of the dangers of skin cancer and over-exposure to ultra-violet light, Icelanders make sure the summers last precisely twelve weeks. Just to make sure nobody goes over the the top, and driven by that famous sense of Nordic fair-play, the authorities have taken the sane course of rationing sunlight. Each citizen is allocated a maximum of one hour of sunshine per week, with plenty of rain in between. Surely other nations should follow the Icelanders' example.

Sex: Erm... what's that? Oh that kind of sex! the old rumply-dumpy, bumsie-bumsie, the beast-with-two-backs, the funny business, getting in the saddle, having a shag, getting your end away, hiding the sausage, the missionary, the doggie, the on-top, the hairy haddock - the what? Sorry, that last one's an Icelandic speciality.

Well, I knew I couldn't avoid the tricky topic of carnal knowledge, so here goes. Yes, Icelanders do have sex. There are even unconfirmed reports that some actually make love - but hard evidence has not yet been produced. Contrary to popular belief Iceland is not an open-air brothel - in brothels you have to pay. The reason why Iceland, as with the other Nordic countries, is thought of as promiscuous by others is because of the country's healthy, down-to-earth approach to sex. It really is down-to-earth - if a girl likes the look of you, she'll jump on your back and wrestle you down to earth. Nuff said.

Food: Icelandic food is very cosmopolitan - it combines the imagination of the English pub with the ingredients of the Sushi bar. Fish, in a bewildering variety, dominates. Vegetables are looked upon with suspicion. People have been arrested trying to smuggle carrots and cucumbers into the country. It's amazing where smugglers will hide their cucumbers - the lengths some people will go to for a few vitamins.

Sport: Have you ever seen a cod race? The lack of suitable space makes the construction in Iceland of a conventional race-track for horses or dogs impossible. But the resourceful Icelanders have overcome this disability by building special six-lane fish-tracks complete with dining areas and bookie shops. Races are held every Saturday morning at ten tracks around the country.

It goes like this: Fishermen select promising look young cod from their nets, and instead of ending up as fish-fingers, the lucky marine animals get a chance to prove themselves as racers. The chosen fish are sent to a training center in a remote part of the country where they learn, through the judicious use of electric shocks, to swim as fast as they can in a straight line just below the surface of the water. Most fish are ready for their first race after only four weeks training - they literally start at the deep end. Come race day the fish have little plastic flags attached to their backs so that spectators and gamblers know one cod from another. The standard distance for a cod race is 100-meters, but for some unknown reason the fish seem livelier in the summer and 200-meter races are not uncommon on sunny days. Races with hurdles, although scorned by the true racing enthusiast, is catching on in popularity, especially among young people. Iceland's official Cod-Racing Board of Control is currently considering allowing flying-fish races in order to attract tourists to this little known but exciting sport.

A good champion cod can cost as much as $100,000, and the sperm of a proven stud-cod goes for about $100 a gramme. Iceland's most famous racing cod was "Good Cod Almighty" who won six national championships between 1985 and 1996. Unfortunately "Good Cod Almighty" broke a fin in last year's "Oh My Cod Cup Challenge" and had to be put down. We will never see his like again.

If I don't stop now I'll end up writing an entire book. After all, a man can only write so much nonsense at one sitting. I want to place a small bet on the 10.15 100-meters, I'm backing a young novice racer called "Cod The Father". Wish me luck.