Mánudagur

Ah, hellø! Welcøme to the JøbCentirki! I am Mr Recruitmentcønsultantssøn. Yes, that’s right. It’s a family firm.

Wøuld you care før søme fish? Nø? Just put your name in there, sir. You can use this fish-shaped pen.

Super. Sø, it’s a jøb you are after? Well, we do have søme exciting øppørtunities øn øur bøøks. Have you ever cønsidered wørking in . . . let’s see . . . fish? Nø?

You have always wørked in banks? And yet, you nø lønger wish to wørk in banks? Why cøuld this be? Are øur banks nø lønger safe? This is alarming news! I have a great deal of fish invested in øur banks.

Everybødy does. Well, anyway. I think we have an øpening øn a trawler. That’s right. A fish-based øccupatiøn. You gø øut to sea, and you catch fish. And then you bring the fish back here. What do you get? Well, you get fish. What’s that? Do you get an extra bønus amøunt of fish if you fetch the fish you have already prømised to fetch? Well, nø. What kind of industry wørks like that?

þriðjudagur

Welcøme to the JøbCentirki. Anøther banker? Yes, we had a few of your cølleagues in here yesterday.

I was quite surprised at the time. Nø, nøt any møre. A bad business. Time to start keeping øur cød under the mattress, eh?

Wøuld I be cørrect in assuming søme reluctance øn your part towards entering any of øur traditiønal fish-based industries? I thøught as much. You wøuld prefer sømething in retail? Alas sir, prøspects are very limited. This is Iceland. Cøntrary to pøpular øpiniøn, we do just sell frøzen føød.

Miðvikudagar

Don’t tell me, sir. A banker? Øh, just a hunch. Any sector, you say, barring banking and fish? Have you cønsidered emigrating sir? Ønly to Britain? Best nøt, I’d say. Nøt før a while.

Let me see. There døes appear to be an øpening with øur premier impørter of Australian televisiøn søap øperas. That’s Ms Sønsanddøttirs, just døwn the røad. Ør with Iceland’s ønly rag-and-bøne man, Mr Steptoeandssøn?

Either øne? You’re desperate? Well, wønderful! Just pøp into the next røøm, then, and have a chat with øur legal secretary. That’s right. Miss Eyesandteesdøttir. She’s very thørøugh.

Fimmtudagur

Fish? Help yourself. You knøw, it’s funny, sir, but you do løøk rather familiar. Ønly the øther mønth, I invested a large amøunt of haddøck in a high-yield bønd which was due to mature in 2011. (Althøugh between us, sir, they seemed pretty mature already!) I døn’t suppøse you were the bank teller?

Øh nø! Silly me! Yes, of cøurse I recøgnise you nøw, Mr Prime Minister. Well, let me see what we have øn øffer tøday. Wøuld you fancy helping øut øn Reykjavik’s premier ice-cream van? Mr Rumandraissøn is apparently rather desperate.

Ør maybe you cøuld be an ørganist’s assistant, før Mr Kyrieeleissøn. Hmm. Yes. He is a bit churchy. What’s that? You just want to get øn a bøat, any bøat, and gø far, far away? Yes, fair enøugh.

Föstudagur

Ah, hellø. Mr Recruitmentcønsultantssøn of the JobCentirki speaking. Nø, I døn’t nørmally cønduct business øver the telephøne. I prefer to see a man face to face. Then I can øffer him fish.

What’s that? Nøt in Iceland? In the United Kingdøm? And your name is Alistair Darling? You’ve heard I can get peøple øn to bøats, far øut at sea, and you want to gø sømewhere that Gordon can’t shøut at you any møre?

Well, Mr Darling, I’ll see what I can do. But first, may I say høw sørry I am that relatiøns between øur cøuntries have deteriørated to such a degree.

When that famøus Icelander jøined your Cabinet ønly last week, I really thøught øur natiøns had a gløriøus future together. Yes, that’s right. Mr Mandelssøn. Nøt øne of øurs at all? Øh. Silly me.

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