Barrington Court (right), just about to smash into Strode House at high speed. What were they thinking?
So it was time to be back on parade at Barrington Court for the second of the Henry's Horrid History days. To begin with, on my first few totters around the garden it seemed as though not as many people were attending as yesterday. How wrong I was. Very soon the car parks were heaving masses of badly parked cars, hairy knees were on show in baggy shorts, and frequent cries of "Oi Henry! Where's yer Missus then?" rent the air. I get this call every time I do a show, and I usually counter with "probably at home with the mother in laws!" which raises a laugh. I suppose it is the equivalent of Richard Wilson frequently having "I don't believe it!" yelled at him, or Nicholas Lyndhurst enduring endless barrages of "You plonker, Rodney!" It goes with the territory. There was one gentleman on Sunday who, whenever he saw me, would suddenly launch into a rousing rendition of "I'm 'Enery the eighth I am, I am!" How I dearly wanted to shove him down the grand stair case, but I never got the chance.
The show itself was wonderful today - packed out again, and with a really responsive audience. I also managed to not fluff any of my lines, something I did a bit yesterday. It was also nice to see my friends Jill, Mark and young Thomas Beed from Bridport amongst the audience. They were very complimentary about the whole show. So a cheque is in the post to them. I had one last wander round the grounds and was soon on my way home. I stopped briefly to bid Matthew Applegate bon voyage, off on his family holiday to France today, but soon that was it!
It had been a fantastic weekend, exhausting, rewarding and entertaining. And Donna from Brighton in a stunning red ball gown... What more could any naughty old King ask for? Well a phone number might be a good start. Stop it!