Not everyone is a fan of beauty pageants for a variety of reasons, but predictably enough Icelanders are fairly enthusiastic, in keeping with their tremendous contempt for what the rest of world deems politically incorrect.

With this in mind, thinking it would an interesting cultural insight, I attended the finals of Miss Iceland. Upon arriving I found myself at a table with a few other outlanders, four IT consultants currently serving time at one of the Icelandic banks. Local habits obviously catch on quickly as the table of two Brits, two Germans and one Irishman kicked off the conversation with a round of "So, how do you like Iceland?" This is a question all foreigners in the country will be asked regularly by Icelanders, though one suspects it is so cliched it is now something of a joke, albeit one in the spirit of many a true word spoken in jest. Icelandic guys will ask you this in a forthright barking tone, which invariably reminds you they are descended from Vikings and numerous winners of the World's Strongest Man competition; Icelandic girls will ask you in a flirtatious tone invariably reminding you they are descended from the Celts and numerous winners of Miss World. In either case, although said in jest, I daresay the humour would cease if you were to reply "Actually I think it's pretty bollocks."

Which interestingly enough, is exactly what one of the Germans replied, though I am glad to report he was in a minority of one at our table. His main gripe appeared to be he felt so isolated since he could not get home to Germany as quickly as he would like. When I pointed out that a capital city only three hours from Heathrow could not truly be considered isolated from the rest of the world he complained that there were no direct flights from Heathrow to his home town. The more intelligent, and less Germanic amongst you, will quickly notice that this fact sounds more like Germany's shortcoming than Iceland's. Warming to his theme he continued to inform us how much better everything was in the Fatherland; unhappily for the strength of his argument he was just in the process of explaining that the females were of unrivalled beauty when the Miss Iceland contestants appeared for the first time modelling a choice range of swimwear.

Much to the disgust of runner up Ingunn Sigurpálsdóttir's sister who was sitting at the next table to us, and could have been a contestant herself, the eventual winner was Unnur Birna, a brunette whose mother is a former Icelandic beauty queen. Conspiracy theories abounded and we all agreed that Ingunn was robbed, though silently I was rooting for Margret Elisa Hardardottir. Throughout the judging the sister was encouraging us to call the phone lines to vote, though curiously every time I called the relevant number I got an Icelandic message telling me that the number was not in use. After checking and rechecking Ingunn's sister, without a trace of irony or humour, simply said "Oh, perhaps that's because you're foreign."

Although the comment spoke volumes about Icelandic attitudes, in reality it was as good as reason as any to be disenfranchised on this occasion. As a foreigner the whole experience was difficult to comprehend. Anywhere else in the world there would have been a protest group from the Women's Lib movement but here the most enthusiastic supporters of contestants appeared to be from hordes of females; most of the men (apart from us) looked rather bored by the whole affair as if they were there under duress, having been dragged away from some more manly pursuits such as off roading by their eager womenfolk. Not even the cheerleading outfits prompted a reaction - if this were the Rose of Tralee (the Irish equivalent) such a gratuitous celebration of nubility would have sparked an outrage.

STOP PRESS - Unnar Birna went on to win Miss World!