The story of adventures with Katana is inspired.
So, I have a friend who lives in England and also from Estonia. Stylized for the Vikings: beard, leather clothes, a homemade throne made of brass and a bunch of stylized weapons at home. In England, you can’t even walk in the street with a knife – a criminal. further from his face.

I went to a medieval festival in Colchester in the castle park. Well, clear pen, Elia was drunk not a lot. In the evening, on the way home, I remembered in time that there was no whisker at home, but there was an ASDA supermarket on the way. He went in, bought whiskey and cola and ran into the house. And then a machine with two mints, which bountifully jumped out of the car and, fixing the armor, headed to me, asking: "Sir feels good?" I answered them, smiling at the whole bearded eagle: "Let me squeeze, in the sense of I am fine! What is this concern?” The Mint, who stood further away, held his hand on the tavern, and the one standing next to him polite and peacefully proclaimed: “We, the type, are very interested and concerned” and pointed to my right side with a finger. Well, I open up my leather coat and am extremely surprised by my alcoholic forgetfulness - a wrestling two-handed tail given to a friend at the festival is sealed for the belt. "Matt" - I thought and the options came to mind: in the best case - a fine, in the worst - you can sit down. In any case, a night in the room. And he gently says to me, “Please, give me this thing.” I give a tail and remember that there is a bag in the pocket (put the tail in the bag so that the mint does not dig). And the Mente toporik gave the second and invites me to the chariot for a conversation: "Type in which castle lives the venerable Viking? What is the purpose of shops and streets with a fighting shaft? Does the Viking know of criminal responsibility for such acts?” And it was only then that I realized how drunk I was – the seat belt didn’t get under my hands, and the police understood me from the second time. Having finished the conversation, those security guards entered into a dialogue with the dispatcher - where the Viking was caught, weapons and alcohol were taken away, not bullish, angrily drunk. They took me through the night town. As it turned out, they brought me home, asked me to open the door and enter the corridor, and then handed me my whisker and a tail with the words, "Please don't walk in public places with a tail." And here I stand on the threshold with a bag with a whistle and a collar in my left hand and a tail in my right hand, accompanying the eyes of the mints sitting in the car, amicably waving a tail in response to their "good night."