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About Gardabaer

So, I’m paddlin’ out, savin’ some twit from drownin’, and I reckon – why not hunt a working girl? Not the fancy escort types, nah, I mean the gritty ones, the real deal. Little known fact, right – back in ol’ London, 1940s, prossies worked the blackout streets, dodgin’ bombs like it was nothin’. Tough as nails, them lot. Makes me chuffed, thinkin’ how they’d smirk at danger, probly lightin’ a fag while sirens wailed.

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So, I’m outta bed, and I’m like, “Today’s the day!” I had this plan to explore the harbor. You know, the one by the old fish factory? Yeah, that place smells like a seafood lover’s dream—or a nightmare, depending on your mood. Anyway, I grab my coffee from the local café, Kaffi Krokur. Best brew in town, no cap. I’m chugging it down, feeling all hyped, when I spill some on my shirt. Classic me, right?

Several people injured after bus rolls into river