Until the Credit Crunch, Iceland was just a cold place somewhere up north but as the country at the centre of the financial meltdown of 2008, Iceland really put itself on the map.
For the past week – as you might have noticed if you’ve been in the vicinity of the planet Earth – Iceland has again been making the headlines with the unpronounceable and fairly unspellable Eyjafjallajökull volcano spewing shrapnel into the air, resulting in a fair proportion of the world’s aeroplanes getting a well-earned holiday.
The thing that really tickles my anarchic taste buds about this latest story is that because Iceland is, geologically speaking, a spotty little whippersnapper in comparison to many of Earth’s other grand old land masses, the country is really just behaving true to its rebellious teenage form.
Reading and viewing all the arguments over solutions to the ash dilemma is like watching overly stressed parents argue about how best to deal with the fallout from their wayward child. And just like bickering parents, one side has finally caved in to the other and now the planes are back up in the sky.
(I do wonder how the CAA and their equivalents feel about the resumption of flights. I bet on one hand, they want all the flights to travel and land safely but I bet, deep down, they really want a minor ‘incident’ just to prove they were right.)
Even though the parents seem to have called a truce, the sulky teenage dirtbag’s latest zit is still erupting and I don’t think a hefty dose of Clearasil will be much help. Perhaps the UN should send Iceland to Brat Camp.