So I’ve started shredding my life. After all, they’re aw gone so no-one will give a shite about whit I got up tae during my time here. So every magazine article I ever wrote, every letter home fae the school suspending me, essays from when I was training tae be a meenister. Shredded. However I did find one thing vaguely interesting. The DNA test.  A wee while before Linda was crippled I did the swab thing and sent it off to the lab.  I’d often wondered if at some point my Irish Great Great to the Power of 10 Granny got tupped by a passing  Viking raider, what with my size and colouring being an anomaly in the family.

And there it was – the 5% Swedish ancient origin. So at least I know which brand of pillager climbed on board. But I’d always assumed that my folks were purebred Celts.  Wrong. Seems that a whapping 40% of my DNA hailed from the delightfully named Pontic-Caspian steppe which corresponds to ancient Cimmeria, Scythia, and Sarmatia.  So that ancestral DNA hailed from the direction of Azerbaijan before travelling through Georgia, Russia, the Ukraine, on into Eastern Europe and to what was to become Germany.

I assume that must have been the origins of whoever my Great Granny jumped before begatting my one legged bastard Grandad. Although the jumping was probably t’other way around given the Ostrogoth / Hun origins.

Which explains a lot.  Irish / Scots alcoholism combined with Eastern European melancholy and a desire to invade unsuspecting small countries.  It all makes sense now.