Vikings!

The Norwegian houewarming passed off splendidly, though sadly without any pig-racing, which is hereby exposed as a hollow sham, got up to lure credulous tourists. Instead we had a bizarre collision of Cumbrian & Nordic cultures in a farmhouse near Jarlsberg, where the landscape of neatly tilled fields, forested hills and bright yellow-&-red wooden houses with flagpoles outside reminded me entirely of the United States - until I realised that, of course, Norway is the original of which Michigan is the copy . . .
The Country Doctor was there, having spent the previous week investigating his Norwegian heritage up in the fjords where his grandparents, in between putting up some good first ascents of mountains in the Lofoten Islands, founded the firm of Mundahl & Mudd, exporters of glaciers to the world, in an ultimately doomed attempt to become the Mr Bigs of the early 20th century refrigerated fish business.
The barbecue itself took place in the barn & went on most of the night, featured a host of lascivious veterinary surgeons called Monica & a local delicacy which went by the name of 'fish-cabaret', if we heard it correctly. This provided some ill-judged (& entirely non-camp you understand) Liza Minelli impersonations in the latter part of the evening. When the Musical Engineer began showing off his chainsaw to a posse of admiring Norwegains, clearly all connoisseurs of forestry equipment, I knew it was time to make an excuse & head for bed.
The weekend has given rise to plans for a more considered Cumbrian invasion of Norway next year with a view to mountaing an expedition to the far north, there to see Tromso, the maelstrom and the North Cape. I'm just a bit concerned that the Musical Engineer may decide we're going there in his long-wheelbase 1966-vintage Landrover. As any fule no, the only vehicle for an expedition beyond the Arctic Circle would be a 1964 Chevy Impala with whitewall tires.