Horns growing out my head

I ONCE had the maternal line of my mitochondrial DNA sequence tested by a company that traces your ancestry, all in the name of journalism.

The results were fascinating. My particular sequence had only ever shown up six times in the company’s history and in each case the individual came from Shetland.

This, according to the lab-coated boffin who tested them, suggested my maternal genes were pure Viking. It seemed tantalising, but unlikely. Whoever heard of a female Viking outside of a horn-hatted Wagnerian extravaganza?

And yet this week it was revealed that one of the best preserved graves of a Viking warrior, who was buried with full honours including two horses, a sword and armourpiercing arrows, was female.

Experts are astonished, but I’m sure my great (x500) granny wouldn’t be.

Just fetch me my bear skin and call me Helga.