It wasn't a pub. It really, really wasn't.

When we walked in, it felt like something out a western. The entire place fell silent as all eyes clapped straight on us, as if we were here to announce they were all going to be arrested and their families taken to some labour camp somewhere.

The first thing both sides noticed first about each other was the fashion. Now, I've been to plenty of places with a "no trainers" policy. Smart casual is usually the order of the day, and nine times out of ten I'd pass in my "auditioning for Cats, the musical" clothes. But this?

"Obviously there's a renaissance fair on or something." Ross whispered to me as we awkwardly moved front and centre to the bar. Maybe he's right, and there's a strict adherence to fancy dress rules in Norway. I don't know.

Ross had obviously forgotten he was wearing a blood drenched Iron Maiden hoodie. The barkeeper, who looked a bit like Ray Winstone, came over.

"Is he ok?" Ray asked. Obviously his name wasn't Ray, but for the purposes of the story, he is now.

"Yeah, err, fine." I replied. As I did, I could see Ross staring at me out of the corner of my eye. "Can I ask where we are?"

"Tvak." Came Ray's response.

"Tvak?" The confusion was evident on my face. Sounded Nordic, all right. "Ok, thank you. Do you have a phone we could use?"

Ross's stare intensified. I wondered what the fuck his problem was.

"A what?"

"A phone, please." I spoke a little louder, assuming he couldn't hear me.

Ray just gave me a blank look.

What's going on? I wondered, pulling the phone from my pocket.

"Look, I have no signal." I pointed frantically. Another blank look.

These fuckers are really into their roleplay...this renaissance fair must be serious shit..

"Chris..." Ross interjected.

"Not now, mate, I'm trying to get this dozy dick to get me a phone."

"Chris!!"

"What?" I asked sharply.

"...when did you learn Norweigan?"