Banging the drum: I’ll be shouting for Norway as my London local goes full-on Scandi

Tonight I’ll be wearing my bunad, the national costume of Norway, to the pub. Every place has its own bunad, distinguished by its flowers or eight-pointed stars, and mine is from the south-western fjords of Sunnhordland, where my family is from.

When I was 14, my mother and grandmother spent weeks embroidering and sewing the skirt, shirt and vest together so that it could be ready for my confirmation, as tradition dictates. It’s by far the most expensive and beautiful piece of clothing I will ever own, and it’s usually saved for the most special of events – such as Norway’s Constitution Day or weddings. Since coming to the UK 10 years ago, it’s been gathering dust at the back of my closet. But what better time to wear, what is essentially a wool dress, than during an unprecedented July heatwave, and when the country I come from faces the country I now call home for the first time at the World Cup finals?

When the Norwegian players sat on the pitch last Sunday, after winning 2-1 against Brazil in the round of 16, everyone knew what was coming. Between beats of a giant drum, Erling Haaland led the team, fans in New Jersey’s MetLife stadium and 100,000 Norwegians watching from the streets in Oslo, including our Crown Prince, in a collective Viking row – all shouting, “Ro!” (“row!”) as they pulled invisible oars towards their chests, as if aboard the same Viking longship. It has become Norway’s defining image this tournament. That, and the viral “We Love Martin” crocheted bucket hats, hastily made by fans after Helene Spilling, who is married to Martin Ødegaard, captain of Arsenal and the Norwegian national team, shared the pattern on Instagram three weeks ago. Just four weeks ago, Norway hoped simply to survive the group stage. Before this summer, the men’s team hadn’t even qualified for a World Cup since 1998. To quote one of Haaland’s recent Instagram posts: “This is bigger than football.”

The Kenton Pub in Hackney, east London, will become its own Viking longship on Saturday. Norwegian flags hang from the walls, decorative trolls line the counter, and the taps pour Moose Juice, the pub’s own pilsner, alongside Håkon’s Island, a hazy pale ale named after the Viking king said to have given Hackney its name. It’s owned by fellow countryman Egil Johansen, who has acquired a big drum in preparation for the match. Together with my visiting parents and friends – notably all non-English – who have happily adopted Norway in support of me, I’m going to row at The Kenton. Whatever happens against England, this summer has already given Norway something it hasn’t had for a generation: a sense of belonging on an international stage. And somewhere on the Elizabeth Line after the win against Brazil, I cried.

Photograph Jamie Lorriman for The Observer