Greetings of the Season to you all. King Guthrum here again.

Gotta say, I lerrve Christmas. Worth converting to Christianity for. And you've kept a lot of the old heathen traditions, which makes it easy for me.

'Yule' we used to call it. Lots of feasting, wine, ale, and general excess. Over twelve days straight. Plus holly and mistletoe. And reverence of trees.

I mean, how do you explain the Christmas Tree? Why a tree? In the house? A bit random, right? Well, just Google 'Yggdragsil'.

And a jolly old white-haired bruv in robes flying over the houses? Jólnir we called him. A version of Odin.

Yes, you can thank us Pagans for all that. I mean, er, those Pagans. I'm legit Christian now, obvs.

One Christmas tradition that hasn't lasted though is the telling of stories around the fire. Shame, that was a good kräk. Now everyone just stares at their phones.

So here's an old Norse Christmas tale for you. Put another yule log on the fire and settle down with a flagon of mead...

Long ago, when I ruled Hadleigh and all of East Anglia, one of my fiercest warriors was Ölf the Red. So named because of the blood he spilled on the battlefield. He was tall, handsome, but with the tongue of a soldier. Prone to profanity, you might say, even for a Viking. All the wenches admired Ölf, but he was only interested in fighting, drinking, and swearing.

One of my nieces, Eawynn, was particularly lovelorn. She moped around the court, pining for a suitor. Or a 'swain', as we used to call them back in the day. Swear down, we did. Google 'swain' if you don't believe me.

Anyway, my niece was quite taken with Ölf. She would wander around my hall telling anyone who would listen how handsome Ölf was, how brave, how witty. Everyone tried to tell her Ölf was too into his fighting, drinking and swearing to be interested in any woman, but she wouldn't have it.

Eventually, Eawynn came to me and asked if I could arrange for her to marry Ölf. What with me being King and all. That's how it was then.

I had to tell her no. I let her down gently. I said: "Rude Ölf the Red's no swain, dear."

Merry Christmas!