None of the crew at Survikjækta are now ready to write, so when we're going to send Christmas cards, we think it's nice to tell you about it.
When we open our Christmas card at Primstaven on the ninth of December at four o'clock in the evening, we'll tell about the slaughter of the old pig up in Nolistun, which had a shoulder that was three inches thick and looked like pine bark, and about when Graut-Simen pulled the Christmas goat, which was so close that Simen was the last one to be seen, and about the old men's race in Framværran that ended so close together.
I don't know what Sigrid at Primstaven particularly wants, but I've told her that if she fights with that spiky girl from Beitstadfjoln who's black inside her leg and tastes dry fish, it might be the same with the whole Christmas card.

You can buy the tickets when you buy them, and they cost a hundred and fifty pounds a month. Welcome!