There's been another complaint.

Squire Derek hesitated to show me but eventually handed the letter over and quickly withdrew. Some yeoman or other had taken exception to your king's thoughts on football. 'Pathetic middle-aged nonsense' he called it.

Please. 'Pathetic *dark-aged* nonsense' if you don't mind.

Squire Derek reckons the problem might be that humour has changed over the centuries, and that what was funny in my day isn't anymore. People, he says, are more sophisticated now. He suggested I do some research by going along to an 'open mic comedy night' at a local hostelry.

So I did. I stood at the back, in the shadows, a pint of ale (on expenses) in my hand. I don't think many noticed me, though my horned helmet got a few sidelong looks.

Not gonna lie, I didn't get many of the jokes. There was no tumbling, no beating of anyone with a stick, and no riddles. A total wash-out. People were laughing, yes, but they seemed to be laughing *with* the jesters rather than *at* them. Where's the fun in that?

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and strode up to the stage. These peasants needed reminding of what real comedy was. I'm no Bard, but I was famous for regaling my subjects with amusing stories. They always laughed, even if their eyes looked a bit dead when they did.

"Knock knock", I said.

"Who's there?"

"Sutton"

"Sutton who?"

"Well, I'm from near there, yes"

Tumbleweed. I was, as you say, gobsmacked; that one was a guaranteed belly laugh in my day. I tried again:

"A Pict walks into a tavern and starts daubing himself with blue paint. He says to the innkeeper: 'A beer please! And one for the woad!'"

Nothing so much as a titter. Pict jokes always used to work so I went with another one:

"What did the Beserker say to the Pict?"

"You give me woad rage."

Blank stares. What was wrong with these people? Then I tried one Squire Derek had suggested:

"What do you call a Celt, a Saxon, a Pict and a Viking, all singing a song about inexpensive accommodation?"

"The Pillage People."

I didn't get it myself but there were a few groans, which was better than nothing. The master of ceremonies ushered me off. Shame was I didn't get to tell my last joke. Wanna hear a genuine Dark Ages joke? 'Course you do:

Loki is leading three mortals - a Pict, a Celt, and a Saxon - across the thousand steps of the rainbow bridge of Bifrost to Asgard, home of the Gods. Loki tells them, mischievously: "Every 10th step I'll tell you a joke. But you must not laugh or else you cannot enter the realm of Asgard." The Pict went first and started laughing on the 60th step, so he could not enter Asgard, and fell back to Earth. The Celt went next and started laughing on the 320th step, so he could not enter Asgard either, and fell. Then it was the Saxon's turn. When he got to the 999th step, he started laughing. "Why are you laughing?" Loki asked, "I didn't tell a joke." "I know," the Saxon replied. "I just got the first one."

I guess, like the Saxon, I've got some catching up to do. Squire Derek is right - times have changed and humour with them.

Nothing lasts forever. Not even my kingdom, eh? I should be so Loki.

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