I spent the day being fairly domestic. I did laundry, cooked, washed dishes. Went for a walk. Read. Napped on the eighties sofa. Nothing terribly exciting, though I’m looking forward to my clean laundry. There are no driers in Iceland, or at least there are very few. All the washers are frontloaders, and all the basements have rows of clotheslines strung across their width. At least, all the ones I’ve been into thus far.
