There are many things I love about being a Viking now and again, and one of them is the clothes. It may seem strange to some, but for me, being able to just throw a simple linen shift on, belt it, add bling and run around barefoot is fab! No worrying* about 'do these shoes go with this?', no 'Will somebody be wearing the same dress?', and best of all, no chance of any embarrassing events occurring**
When I say embarrassing, I mean in the style of the two following examples.
Moons ago, on a hot summer's day, I was all dressed up to go on a thing called a 'date'. The outfit I chose, was a snappy little off-the-shoulder blouse thingy, with a long flowy white skirt, and a darling little pair of silver, strappy, high heeled sandals. I was nearing where I was heading to, when I heard a whistle from the other side of the road. (This was in the days when men were allowed to whistle without fear of being labeled offensive, btw) I glanced over, and realized that the whistle was aimed at me! Confidence boost = 20 points! The whistler and his friend, smiled, and I carried on with an extra little skip in my step. A few seconds later - another glance led to another smile. Confidence boost = 40 points. Tra-la-la, added a Marilyn Monroe wiggle with the aid of aforementioned high heels. Another glance, another smile, and then disaster.
I managed to get both sodding heels caught in the cracks in the pavement, and went down like a sack of spuds, with the skirt going everywhere.
Confidence boost = gone.
I stayed hiding behind the parked car where I'd fallen and pretended to try and fine something in my bag until they'd gone.
But that was not as embarrassing as what happened to a friend of mine.
We had gone to a pub, where the main seating area was upstairs from the bar. It was autumn, and my friend was wearing a very long velvety shirt, with an elasticated waist. We'd met a couple of rather nice chaps at the bar, and being young and therefore invincible to the pain of hangovers, had decided to try and get slarmy. The blokes bought a round, and not wanting to seem to be taking liberties, we went downstairs to buy them a drink in return.
We ordered the drinks, and my friend set off back up the stairs holding a couple of pints, while I stayed behind to pay. I got to the stairs just in time to see my poor friend had trodden on the hem of her skirt. I thought she'd noticed, but it seemed not, as she carried on walking up, treading on the hem with each step, which meant that the skirt was getting lower, and lower, and closer to the ground the more she climbed up. She reached to the top of the stairs, right next to where the boys were sitting, with her skirt around her ankles and a daft drunken grin on her face.
We didn't stay for long after that.
Moral of tale? Modern clothing = dangerous.
I reckon woad is the best thing to wear.

*Not that I give a rats about that sort of thing, anyway, but.
**Apart from maybe getting set alight by candles or fires, or other Vikings trying to get said dress off you in haybarns.

Additional, 15:57 hours. To the arsehole driver of the BMW that was behind me at the traffic lights at Hanwell Broadway a short while ago. I realize that it was a green light, but the reason I remained stationary, was because of the Police van, that was heading towards us along the main road. That was the big white thing, with stripes along the side, blue flashing lights all over it, that was making the loud waily sound. Now, you may like to dice with death and slowly pull out in front of oncoming traffic, that is going at about 60mph, but I prefer not to, and no amount of parping your horn, or swearing at me is going to make me change my mind, got that? Good.
Tosser...

PS. I forgot to mention earlier, but I've posted up some piccies of Viking stuff, and me hitting some Saxons and so over at Flickr. Also, you have to have a look at Pudsey, with the largest boar's bone evah! She is one happy little doggy.