Swede with everything

I firmly believe that, on the balance of probabilities and given the hard facts, I am a Viking.

Consider the physical facts, oh ,and my surname Thomson is a bit Scandinavian.

I have green eyes. Not too rare but more commonly found accompanied by red hair. My Father was a ginger and it is thought that the colouration skips a generation. My eldest daughter has pledged to have any red headed offspring adopted if she has the misfortune of having one.

The ginger lobbyists have done well to spread the myth that they are artistic and creative and that they are the new blonde. Very clever. Adversity as we all know does breed considerable ingenuity and guile. If I let myself go a bit of a weekend there can be seen a slight ginger tinge in my stubble and certainly in any unruly eyebrow or nasal hair that escapes scrutiny.

I also love all things Scandinavian.

I was only really at ease driving a Volvo.

I found Ikea initially fascinating and stylish but now rather bland and a bit yesterday. This is likely to be due to some dilution of the ethos of Ikea to meet the market demands of the rest of Europe and not because of a lack of flair from the very talented designers, I think one of them is called Billy Bookcase-coincidence or what?

TV dramas and especially crime thrillers grounded in Copenhagen, Malmo or Trondheim are of great interest to me and I revel in hearing the tone and flow of the native language whilst concentrating hard on the subtitles. The Bridge, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Wallender have kept me enthralled and squinting simultaneously for hours.

I am drawn to women of Scandinavian bone structure and my wife is a clear illustration of this strong genetic trait. She is four generation Swedish.

I like swedes, the root grown version. They are amongst my favourite vegetables, boiled and mashed with butter and pepper.

After they knocked England out of the European Championships I supported Denmark out of a strange feeling of brotherhood.

I currently have the same make of leg brace as Zlatan Ibrahimovic. He must be slumming it on that basis.

I like being on the water, especially stood at the prow of a boat. This could of course be confused with admiring the acting talents of that Di Caprio guy rather than Eric the Viking or Noggin the Nog.

Pillaging, or as they have restyled-it, car booting is a particularly favourite activity.

One of my favourite movies is The Vikings with Tony Curtis and Kirk Douglas from 1958 although I was shocked by how rubbish it was when recently shown on TV. I had of course built it up to epic and classic status in my mind and was quite embarrassed after watching it with my son. Lame or what?

So, the evidence is very strong to suggest that I am of Viking descent. This does explain certain events and emotions during my formative years such as liking pickled fish, snow, smokey atmospheres, trolls, Daim Bars and wearing sandals in winter. My newly grown beard is very Scandi-Hipster or is it Wild Man of the Arctic.

I am reluctant to go for the test to determine within reasonable probability my genetic composition because I could not stand the disappointment that my name is not, according to one of those find your Viking name sites, Petr Sheeptipper