föstudagskvöld

Last night I saw Sigurður Fáfnisbani on line at Bæjarins beztu.

Or perhaps it was a descendant (though not, obviously, through the patriline), an afkomandi Völsunga. He had an avian friend on his shoulder, a green páfagaukur, and they seemed to chat amiably back and forth as the line crept forward, though of course I only caught half the conversation. I was tempted to alter my usual order:

Eina með öllu nema remúlaði, og aukinn skammt af steiktu Fáfnishjarta, takk!

But at the last minute I thought better of it (and opted against the raw onions as well).

Later, in a bar, with a glass of whisky in hand, I encountered a nykur, a water horse, or in this case, a beer horse.

Sei sei, mikil ósköp. Bærinn allt morandi í sagnadýrum.