I think it is clear to anyone that knows me that I am of Viking descent. It is also clearly represented in history books with geographical maps written by important people with grey moustaches and clever looking glasses that the origin of my fore fathers is ancient Scandinavia. Thus this night was chosen to thank Thor and the makers (of the movie) with a feast of Nordic delights. Or what I felt inside could be considered Nordic delights… and I did gain a little inspiration from my real life Uncle Rob, who married a Danish princess of his very own, and has frequented these countries like the pensioner frequents the pet food isle in the local supermarket, or the retired priest frequents the children’s playground, or the dog’s tongue frequents its own genitalia, or absolute bollocks frequents the pages of this blog.

I suggest really delving deep into character for this feast. What better way to do that then to cover your genitalia with nothing but the still bloody skin of your neighbour’s cat, drink a four litre cask of cheap wine (not one of those really expensive four litre boxes…) and drink it really quickly. REALLY QUICKLY. Now if you can still walk, wander into your neighbour’s yard and do a bit of raping and pillaging. Let’s face it, you’re probably going to be fined by the RSPCA for performing indecent acts with a cocker spaniel, and have to return your neighbour’s stash of netball championship medals… less said about that the better.

With all of that out of the way it’s time to cook dinner.

“Get some more dill in there”, was the advice Rob gave me, so dill it was. He also sent me a few links to some awesome looking desserts. But as I was making this feast to appease Thor, no pussy assed dessert would be included. We shalt only finish our meal by suppling on the ample bosom of the buxom wench (the ones with the blond plaited piggy tails, yeah), and quite possibly another plate of salmon.

The fish was stuffed with dill, parsley and lemon and the cooked over a very low fire in a fish grilling holder thing. What an invention. I think it could’ve been given a slightly more creative name though… after three hours of being gently licked (or indecently assaulted) by wisps of smoke from the amber coals, our new found best friend “the salmon” was ready.

On the table with pickled beetroot and onion salad, cucumber, sour cream and dill salad, potato, egg and dill salad, pickled cucumbers and a loaf of rye bread I had made earlier that day (no joke. I have been baking the daily loaf lately and loving it. Jesus would be proud). A meal fit for Nordic god and Icelandic princess alike, and would happily be stolen from them by a Viking who would have loved it just the same!

The end.