A Big Trip.

Schloss Haigerloch, just before the Tudor invasion.

I had never done an overseas show as Henry before - not unless you count the Isle of Wight or Wales as abroad.  I know some people who would, but then I know some people who actually like Lambrini.  Well if you recall, or if you have actually been brave enough to read this blog for that long, about two years ago I was invited up to Hexham in Northumberland for a visit to a Shakespeare group who regularly got together with their combined love of the works of The Bard, but have since been working on a project called "The Bard Code", with the plan to build the ultimate database of Shakespearean data and make it accessible for everyone throughout the world.  Next year is the 400th anniversary of the death of Shakespeare and the plan is to launch the Bard Code in time for a concerted effort to get the 23rd April 2015 made into an official public holiday.  I was thrilled to be asked back by the group as Henry to front their latest get together which was to take place at the beautiful German castle of Schloss Haigerloch near Stuttgart.  Once more I would be travelling there with my sister Cathy (who has been working with the Bard Code group as their main graphics designer for quite some time now) and her husband Julian.

I travelled down to Cath and Julian's in Kent on the evening of the 24th April.  We loaded all of our luggage, including my huge Henry VIII suitcase into their Jeep Grand Cherokee and we were off down the M2 to get to Dover for the midday ferry sailing on the 25th.  After we had stopped briefly for fuel we noticed an unpleasant grinding sound coming from the rear right wheel.  Julian had a check and reckoned it was the brake pad making contact with the wheel itself.  It was noisy, but shouldn't cause any problems.  The plan was to disembark at Dunkirk after our crossing and then make our way to Heidelberg in Germany for an over night stop before pressing on to Haigerloch on the Saturday.  We drove ashore at Dunkirk with the local time being 3pm (we had gained an hour on arrival on the continent).  We hoped to be in Heidelberg by about 8pm in the evening.  We soon realised we might be a little bit later than we had hoped.  It was a bright and very warm Friday afternoon and it appeared the good people of Belgium were very much like the people of Britain who as soon as the sun comes out on a Friday there is a mass exodus to ANYWHERE that might constitute a holiday.  The roads were rammed, in particular around Antwerp, whose ring road bore an uncanny resemblance to the M25.  What we had for added entertainment was the Belgian mentality when it came to traffic jams.  It appears to them that you simply can't sit there in one lane and move up from time to time - no, you have to leap from lane to lane, into the smallest of spaces in the vain hope that it might just move you half a centimetre closer to your destination.  The Belgian authorities also had a bit thing for digging up these roads - every time we cleared one section of snarled up traffic, we'd move a few miles and then encounter MORE dug up stretches of carriageway and snarled up lane leaping traffic.  Time clicked on, the grinding wheel on the back of the Jeep got louder and we seemed to never get any closer to Heidelberg. Darkness began falling and we carried on our way.  In the distance you could see flashes of lightning, the traffic thinned out and we finally seemed to make some progress, but the monumental hold ups throughout Belgium meant out ETA at Heidelberg was now nearer to midnight.  We phoned ahead to the Hotel Molkenkur (our venue) and explained how late we were, but they were fine and said someone would be there to meet us regardless of the time of our arrival.  We stopped briefly for more fuel and a meal (a bloody Burger King of all things) and carried on.  The distant thunder and lightning got closer and closer and suddenly we were hit with torrential rain and flashes of lightning and booming rolls of thunder.  Finally we found ourselves in the back roads of Heidelberg, and as the storms slowly passed us by we wound up steep winding lanes to the entrance of Hotel Molkenkur.  It was a fantastic looking building, and I think we might have been a tad more impressed had it not been past midnight and all three of us were utterly exhausted.  We checked in, wandered up to our rooms and just fell into bed.

I awoke to birdsong and sunlight dappling through my bedroom window.  After getting myself showered and dressed I wandered over to Cathy and Julian's room.  They were at the front of the building and their view out down over the town and the Neckar River way below was stunning.  We had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and pausing briefly for a cup of tea and a well earned fag we were soon on our way again.  Heidelberg and the Hotel Molkenkur both looked lovely, but to be honest, including a long sleep we were probably only there for less than 10 hours all told due to the appalling journey down.  We made rapid progress and the final leg of the journey down to Haigerloch was probably only about 2 hours.  The town of Haigerloch is very pleasant and typically German.  Tall half timbered buildings line the winding streets with the Castle on it's rock summit looming over the town.  It was bright warm sunshine on our arrival and we wandered the streets trying to find somewhere suitable for a bit of lunch before we checked into the Schloss. We plumped for a nice looking pizza bar in the centre of the town and settled into chairs round a table. Beers were ordered and beers were drunk.  The waitress didn't speak English and our German wasn't great, but it was pretty obvious what each of the pizza toppings were.  However, somehow the pizza I ordered and the one Julian ordered came out as completely different pizzas, but they were home made and very tasty.  And the beers kept coming which was fabulous.  We finally finished the lunch and made our way up to the Schloss and booked in.  Haigerloch is an ancient castle dating back over 800 years, but has been sympathetically restored and now comprises of function suites, a small theatre, and a luxurious hotel.  After booking in we went up to our rooms - Cath and Julian were on the 1st floor and I was on the 2nd.  I climbed to my floor and turned down the corridor towards my room - I was reading a small leaflet about the Castle and didn't notice the step.  It was a small step.  VERY small.  In fact, utterly pointless.  Why would any corridor need a step of about 1 inch height?  Surely with a bit of intelligent building work you could make it into a barely discernible ramp.  But as it was, it was still a annoying little 1 inch step.  I caught my toe in it.  I next took to that really embarrassing part of falling over, which is the 4 or 5 half running, half staggering steps you take, when you think you're going to remain upright.  It is about this time that dear old gravity kicks in and you just go "sod it" and go with it.  Crunch.  Down I went with a real proper face plant into the carpet. At this point I took to clutching my shattered ribs and thinking "ooh fuck" a lot.  With the noise someone of my build hitting the ground and with the copious amounts of swearing that I was now doing I fully expected to either hear people coming running to my aid, or at least to hear some slates coming loose on the roof.  But no one appeared.  I tottered gingerly the final five paces to my front room and examined my injuries in the mirror in my well appointed bedroom.  Apart from a slightly disappointing graze to my elbow and wrist, there was little else to see.  My ribs throbbed merrily though and would continue to do so for the rest of our stay in Germany.

The main body of the Shakespearean fans we had met at Hexham two years ago arrived via coach later in the afternoon.  The first nights entertainment was in the Castle's delightful little theatre and was a jazz swing band. The event was open to our group and also to anyone from the locality who might have seen all the posters with my ugly mug on the front dotted around town.  My job as Henry VIII for the first night was on a meet and greet basis at the front of the theatre.  It was gratifying that most of the locals seemed to know who I was, which was great, and I posed for a variety of photos.  A lot of the Shakespearean lot had dressed up as different characters, some of them a bit more effective than others. The local big band swung into action and everyone disappeared inside.  Now as regular readers of this blog will know, I am not exactly the world's biggest jazz fan and I wasn't that bothered to see them perform or not.  I wandered up for the first half and was treated to the sound of the big band launching into an astonishing version of Van Halen's "Jump".  It was made all the funnier by their German pronunciation of "Jump" which kept coming out as "Yump".  So we had the leader of the band singing "I might as well Yump!" and the backing band would as one shout out "YUMP!" much to my delight.  "Go ahead and Yump!" "YUMP!" and so on.  Marvellous.  I spent most of the second half of the show sitting on the nice beer terrace at the rear of the hotel across the courtyard from the theatre, but I was back in position when the show finished to do a bit more meeting and greeting.  Or meeting and farewell-ing, I suppose.  My ribs were throbbing a bit and so it seemed only right to head back to my room and bed.  I didn't sleep very well - a combination of my ribs and vastly over soft pillows meant I tossed and turned nearly all night.

Most of Sunday was at our own leisure, so we spent some time in the morning just lounging around on sofas in the hotel reading.  We then had a little stroll round the rest of the Schloss and took some photos down across the town of Haigerloch.  We had lunch in the hotel, which was a tremendously German affair.  We had help with the translation of the menu by a young very camp waiter who bore an uncanny resemblance to Steve Pemberton in the League of Gentlemen when dressed as the German teacher Herr Lipp. Cathy knew she had ordered something with asparagus in a Bearnaise sauce, which is what she got, and Julian and I had ordered something with sausages.  What J and I got was bizarre.  It was a big round plate with a veritable ocean of brown soupy lentils, with noodles to one side that bore a startling resemblance to scrambled egg, such was their colour and texture, and two long thin Frankfurter sausages laid on top of the lentil pond.  It wasn't the most visually alluring meal you'd ever seen, but it filled a hole.  We repaired to Cathy and Julian's bedroom, where Julian flaked out on the bed and Cath and I joked and nattered about life in general.  Cathy had bought some scotch on the ferry over and we used room service to order some mixers and nibbles and got stuck into the whisky.  Soon I was in my Henry garb for the second night of entertainment.  For this one we were back in the theatre but the music was different - not big band jazz but madrigals and plainsong. Two members of the Shakespeare group are composers and had set some of the Bard's words to music. We were entertained by a woodwind quartet and a vocal quintet, with me working as master of ceremonies in between songs.  I went on at the start, unsure how much English the audience could actually speak.  I did one of my usual opening gags and thankfully got a big laugh, which revealed to me that the audience's English was vastly superior to my German.

As you can see from the scan of the back of the evening event's programme I had been demoted from King Henry VIII to King Henry VII, which is slightly annoying.  The nice local German chap who had designed and printed the programmes claimed it was a deliberate mistake to see who was paying attention.  It was a good argument but I didn't buy it.  All of the local Germans who had attended the evening were a delight to chat to, none more so than the very nice young Gothic lady (you know my penchant for Gothic ladies...) plus she had badges showing her interest in Siouxsie Sioux AND Doctor Who.  What more could any healthy elderly Tudor pervert possibly want?  Ribs that weren't still throbbing would be nice.  The show went a storm and we got a huge round of applause at the end.  The German vocal group then came back on for an unexpected encore with a rousing rendition of "Land of Hope and Glory" as a treat for all the British people present.  It was a lovely touch and brought the evening event to a powerful finale.  We stayed for lots of drinks with everyone at the bar afterwards, and it was a bit of a bleary eyed totter back to the hotel at the end.  Still the evening wasn't finished as despite all the beer we had drunk it seemed like a great idea to carry on giving the scotch a further hammering.  I finally wound up staggering up to my room in the wee small hours full of whisky and good humour.  I sat on the edge of the bed and whizzed through all the German TV channels to see if I could find anything vaguely understandable.  Well it was the usual fayre you'd expect - news programmes, football highlights from the bundesliga, a bit of boxing (one of the Klitschko brothers pummelling an overweight dustman from Mexico City into a pulp by the look of it), a Steven Seagal movie dubbed badly into German, "Friends" dubbed badly into German, Victoria Stillwell training dogs with a German translation, more news, politics and then all of a sudden two people stark naked banging away like traction engines.  That I didn't expect.  I was shocked, I was horrified.  And twenty minutes later I as still as equally shocked and horrified.  One of the funniest parts of it was that it was an American naughty movie that had been dubbed into German, so during all the rutting scenes we were treated to the sounds of two German actors giving lots of "oh jah! Oh jah!" and "das iss goot" etc etc. I could just imagine the two poor bastards in a small recording studio somewhere with head phones on and having to make lots of moaning groaning sounds.  It suddenly made me dressing up as Henry VIII for a living seem quite respectable and main stream. Definitely time for bed.

We had breakfast at the hotel, said our goodbyes to the Shakespeare lot and hit the road.  We were booked on the 8pm ferry from Dunkirk back to Dover, but reckoned with a bit of luck we might make the 6pm one instead.  We pushed it hard, despite the continuing noises from the rear right wheel.  After belting through Luxembourg, we stopped at a Belgian service station, had some lunch and blasted on our way.  Rather inevitably as we reached Antwerp we were once again mired in huge traffic jams, just as we had been on Friday afternoon.  Time ticked on and our chances of making the 6pm ferry seemed to have finally gone.  But Julian drove beautifully (fast but safe) and we made brilliant progress.  Sadly though we had just lost too much time and arrived at the ferry terminal in time to see the 6pm ship slipping off into the channel without us. We parked up and headed for the passenger centre with the promise of food, drink and toilets.  What we got was revolting uncleaned crappy toilets, most of which were out of commission, a closed cafe, loads of expensive vending machines, noisy video games and a grey concrete faceless building that resembled a military holding facility.  We headed back to the car.  There were more drinks vending machines outside.  Guess what?  They were out of order as well.  We sat reading in the car till the ferry loomed into view again.  Soon we were ready to load on board.  As Julian started the engine and put the jeep in gear we moved forward followed immediately by a load bang and very loud scraping sounds from the rear right wheel.  We limped on board the ferry to discover the rear right brake pad had shattered and had taken the brake lines with it as brake fluid was pouring out.  No brakes.  At least this had happened here on the ferry and not just after we had left Haigerloch.  As we had two hours before we arrived in Dover it gave Cath and Julian time to phone their roadside assistance group and arrange to have a low loader to meet us on our arrival back in Blighty.

When we did arrive back in England we still had more problems, the jeep was drivable but had no brakes so we had to be very careful.  But we found the low loader, and we were soon on board and on our way.  But it wasn't going to plain sailing was it.  Road after road that we needed to go down was closed, so in the end our journey that should have been about 40 minutes ended up taking nearly an hour and a half.  We finally got back to Cath and Julian's house at Stockbury just after midnight.  A welcoming cup of tea and it was time for bed.  It had been a wonderful weekend,  Good King Hal's first overseas show has been a success.  My ribs still hurt, but I don't care!  

Back to jousting again this weekend - Blenheim Palace here I come.  But thank you Haigerloch, it was great.

How Very Parochial

The Mona Lisa before she had a shave. Notice how the eyes follow you round the room? That's detached retina's, that is...

The school I was visiting on Tuesday, has to have one of my favourite names of any school I go to. This was the delightfully named Amberley Parochial Village School. Anything with the name parochial in it immediately sets me to thinking about Father Ted. But rather than being marooned on the shores of Craggy Island, Amberley is a beautiful Cotswold village, halfway up a big hill in Gloucestershire near Stroud. Strong Laurie Lee country which is always good news for me. However, as the dark morning drive up from Somerset gave way to a pale early light, I might as well have been in Catford for all the scenery I could see. Fog, fog, thick, thick fog. My previous visit to Amberley had been back in 2009 and on that day I had arrived on a piercingly bright autumnal morning. My arrival on Tuesday was in a thick fug of dampness and low visibility. However, the warmth of my welcome was as nice and generous as had ever been. Miss Hyland who booked me at this school was there again and I was soon gulping down generous cups of tea whilst setting up in their charming hall. The group of children, year 3 and 4 combined, were mostly good natured and fun to work with. One little girl burst into tears as soon as I started and continued in this fashion for the rest of the day - usually spending most of her time with her fingers in her ears, but she did laugh a lot as well folks, don't think me some kind of sadistic monster.

On my previous visit to this school I'd had to take a drive out to purchase some lunch, and what with their being no local shop my choice of sandwiches had been reduced to some curling relics on the shelf of a nearby petrol station. Therefore, forewarned against this I had come fully armed this day with a tin of mulligatawny soup (made with real owls) and some crusty bread. Lunch was very warming and spicy and went down a treat.

The afternoon was a little fractured and unsmooth due to a late start back in the hall, and then having to finish very promptly for an end of school assembly. The jousting was fun but ended controversially when a very good lads team had to be disqualified for blatant rule breaking - not a popular decision on my behalf, but rules is rules folks. So with the ladies winning by default the score on our accumulator is now:

GENTLEMEN 7 - 10 LADIES

They're getting away again and the lads are on a bit of a slippery slope it seems. I began the drive home slightly worried - I was driving down one of the hills when my car seemed to start making an alarming metallic grinding noise, almost akin to an angle grinder. I soon located the noise - a man in a garden very close to the road using an angle grinder. Ah, that would be it then. Silly me. I got home in the evening and watched a rather poor Manchester City get deservedly beaten by Napoli in the Champions League, and thence to bed. Did some voice over work for my friend Greg Stevens at Radio Sherborne this morning, and then out again tonight. Tomorrow is a return to another of my favourite schools with my annual visit to Parkfield Junior in Taunton and the near legendary Mr Wynford Sides. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Henry's Royal Jousting Tournament, Leeds Castle. Smashing.

Henry VIII, proving what a stunningly wonderful chap he is by appearing in full colour, while Leeds Castle can only manage sepia. This pic was taken during the week of the jousting tournament by the very wonderful Nigel Wheal. I have to say this as he has my Mother hostage in a safe house on the Lincolnshire fens.

I suddenly realise how old I am becoming. I went to a wedding reception near Sherborne on the evening of Saturday 29th May. Had a fantastic evening boogieing the night away and singing my head off at a really great 80's disco. Then I woke up on the Sunday morning. Ouch. Everything hurt. And I mean everything. Even the toast I had for breakfast was in pain. (That's a French pun on the word pain. I know you're out there, I can hear you breathing). Anyway, after staggering out of bed I packed a big suitcase and then drove up to Essex for an evening with Amanda and James. I parked in the usual side road near their house and settled in for the evening. Halfway through the evening there was a knock on the door. It was one of Amanda's neighbours asking if our car was alright as there had been a collision in the street with some little chap in a car driving into a parked car. Amanda quickly nipped downstairs and checked what she assumed was our cars, but everything seemed OK. So we all slept soundly and happily. The next day we went downstairs to pop over to Amanda's parents when I noticed a note stuck to the windscreen on my car. I suddenly felt a cold chill. The note was nicely written and apologetic and said my car had been hit and badly damaged, and the person who left it had left their name and phone number. I walked round the back of my car. Oh dear. Bumper smashed, rear off-side lights smashed, exhaust system damaged, rear panel pushed forward, even possibly damage to the rear wheel. Oh bother, I sweetly murmured.

So instead of seeing my in-laws I was back at Amanda's on the phone, calling insurance companies. To cut a long story mercifully short my car was not safe to drive any distance, and probably illegal anyway, so Amanda and James had to drive me down to Kent and my stay at Cathy and Julian's place while I was working at Leeds Castle.

Leeds Castle! Two words guaranteed to put a smile on the face of any Henry VIII look-a-like. But a bit different this year - for the first time ever I would be doing an event at Leeds Castle without the ever presence of Helen Budd. She was sorely missed, I have to be honest, but Darlene and her wonderful team did sterling service throughout. I almost couldn't believe it was a year since my last appearance at the Royal Jousting Tournament. I was back on with The Knights of Royal England group, led by the noble Sir Jasper (aka Jeremy). They are a lovely group and nearly all of them are friendly and chatty. It was very good to see Roland again, who plays a wonderful central role as the commentator/master of ceremonies. There was also the deeply wonderful Sir Stephen of Porlock and his lovely wife - who, with a name like that, very obviously come from deepest darkest Somerset. Sir Stephen is a great character, strongly helped by the fact that he looks like the lovechild of a cross between Chewbacca the Wookiee, and Dusty Gibbons from ZZ Top.

Just like last year the weather started badly - cold and damp on the Tuesday. But suddenly - WHAM! Summer was back with avengence. It ROASTED. Each and everyday it got hotter and hotter. On the Saturday (easily the hottest day) I very nearly passed out while in the Royal Box. The heat was incredible. After that show I staggered back to my little hideaway on site and poured two bottles of ice water down my throat without pausing and then poured a third straight over my head and costume to cool myself down.

Most of the people and kids we met were wonderful. Sweet charming and dying to get their pics taken with Henry VIII. I even met a family group from Kazakhstan who knew who Henry VIII was! Surely a first. Amanda and James came down on the Thursday, and had a wonderful time. James even got to meet the Knights and their horses which he really enjoyed. In the tournament he had watched, Sir Jasper had lost out to Sir David of Kent in the finale. James took great delight in telling Sir Jasper to his face "better luck next time!" with an evil grin on his face! Some other friends of James and Amanda, Yolanda and her children, came down on the Friday with a big coach group. The only child I would happily have boiled in oil was a little lad who had been bought a toy bow and arrow set from one of the stalls and decided to shoot me in the face with it from point blank range, before running off. I watched where he went, and clutching the offending arrow wandered over and reported him to his Mother. He was suitably admonished. Then when we did the "parade of the children" in the arena before the next show, guess who was stuck right in the middle in front of my Royal Box? Yup, the errant young archer. Funnily enough he couldn't make eye contact with the King!

It was a great week away being with the Knights again, plus also seeing Cathy and Julian. My car is now being repaired down in Wellington in Somerset and I have a fantastic courtesy car - a virtually brand spanking new VW Golf Turbo Diesel Estate, in black, with tinted windows and all mod cons. Hopefully I should get my own jalopy back sometime in about 2012.

Next weekend - another big event! My parent's 50th wedding anniversary down in Wales! It should be an absolutely wonderful weekend.

What a Blow Out...

Good King Hal's Mazda 323 but with tyres intact and not a pikey in sight.

Back to the south east again! Sunday 7th February I drive up to Essex to spend some nice quality time with my wife and son. We had a nice couple of days, but then come early Wednesday morning I was off at the crack of dawn heading up the merry old A12 towards Norfolk and a return visit to the wonderful Caister Junior School. The journey started off very well and I was making good progress, but it was cold outside and getting colder. We suddenly had a tremendous flurry of snow, but it didn't seem to settle. Getting up into Suffolk there was suddenly frequent announcements on the radio that because of icy conditions, the A47 east of Norwich was now shut - this is where I needed to go to get to Caister. I cut across country and was soon making even better progress - this was going to be a doddle! Then it snowed again. Almost as soon as it snowed the moisture on the road froze solid. A pleasant easy main A-road to drive along immediately morphed into a slick, sheet-ice, hell hole. A long queue of traffic snaked ahead of me and we crawled along at only just over 10 mph and keeping a big enough space to the car in front in case we needed to stop, something that would be virtually impossible on this surface. As 9am approached I phoned the school to explain why I was so late - they were great, very understanding and just said "get here safe and sound, that's all that matters". Well it was worth it when I got there! A big group of brilliant children, bright, sparky and full of laughter. Their costumes were as brilliant as ever. The teachers were lovely and welcoming as well, particularly Snow White! (She'll know who I mean!). The afternoon session was wild and full of laughter and the jousting was deafening! It was a rip-roaring success and ended with a very close finish with the Ladies team just triumphing. This brought our score now to:

GENTLEMEN 10 - 15 LADIES

It's getting interesting now folks!

Amidst more flurries of snow I headed up the now re-opened A47 and headed for Acle and my appointment with a Travelodge there! Now I hadn't stayed in a Travelodge since I did the Education Show at the NEC in Birmingham back in 2006 - well I was very pleasantly surprised. A big comfy room, double bed, en suite shower room, secluded lighting and a posh plasma screen telly on the wall. And all this for just £29! The receptionist was also very pleasant and charming and was very interested in my job as Henry! I veged out in my room for the evening listening to music on my MP3 player and reading the entertaining but slightly melancholy new Sue Townshend "Adrian Mole" book.

Up bright and early and over to Drayton for a return visit to another lovely school - Drayton Junior. Another warm welcome from Angela the lovely teacher and we were soon off and running. It was another superb group, very quiet to begin with but getting brighter and louder as the day went on and in the end we had a roof lifting jousting tournament. The Gents stormed to a resounding victory. This brings our score to:

GENTLEMEN 11 - 15 LADIES

This is getting closer and closer. Drayton was a lovely school to visit and I had a lovely chat at lunchtime with a charming young trainee teacher from Ireland. A wonderful young lady.

I began to head for Basildon and dinner with my wife and son. I made very good progress until I got just south of Colchester. While bombing along at about 75MPH my front right tyre suddenly blew. The car slewed sideways and I ended up rumbling along at about 20MPH desperate to get to a lay by. I finally stopped and got out to survey the damage. The tyre was shredded and hanging off the metal tyre rim in sad looking strips. I checked the spare tyre - it was a emergency space saver, suitable only for slow driving and about 50 miles in total, and I had to get back to Somerset. I was not a member of the RAC or AA. Problems. With several phone calls to my wife, my mother and a friend in Colchester, I was eventually a member of the RAC and awaiting saving. I had been sitting in the lay by for about an hour when a big vehicle suddenly screamed to a halt behind me. It turned out it was the Police asking me if I was OK, which was quite re-assuring. After they had gone the RAC phoned back and said someone would be with me within the hour. As soon as they had gone another big pick up suddenly screamed to a halt behind me. I saw a figure get out and starting circling round the back of my car. This must be the RAC bloke - the figure wandered round next to my door, so I wound down the window and said "hello". The effect was electric - the big figure dashed round to the near side of my car and for some reason began to look into the scrubby undergrowth next to the carriageway, as if looking for something. He then turned round, whistled nonchalantly, and waddled off back to his pick up. He drove off. What the hell was that all about? When the real RAC bloke turned up he said with absolute definition that the man in question must have been a "pikey" checking out my car to see if it was abandoned and if he could ransack it. Nice.

Well I eventually got the car sorted, a new tyre, and finally I was on my way - at just short of 9pm. The tyre had burst at about 5pm. I got back to Crewkerne at about 11.30pm and was just so exhausted that I immediately collapsed into bed. I was glad to be home, but too tired for any good this weekend, so my visit to the Lake District and return visit to see Andy and Kate near Penrith has had to be postponed.

Half term next week and a visit to Wales with my son to see his Grandparents. Should be fun!

Trapped!

Well, would you believe it? I drive in my little red Peugeot all over Britain for a year or so, never once treating the poor little thing to a service or a proper rest. Last week I take it into Popular Motors in Merriot for it's annual MOT and it passes with flying colours. Buoyed by this wonderful piece of money saving news, I then drive up to Essex, then Whitby and then back to Somerset with not so much as a murmur of disapproval from the car's engine. So I drive down to Wales to visit my sister and some other friends near Carmarthen. On the first evening there we drive up to Lampeter to pick a friends daughter up from University as it is her 21st birthday, and guess what? The car breaks down outside the halls of residence. The timing belt and some other parts of the alternator are in pieces. We get towed home by the AA. The local car garage near my sister's house cannot get the correct spare parts until late on the Friday and, as the garage is shut all weekend, cannot even begin to start work on repairing it until Monday. I was due in Essex on Monday, taking my wife out for a birthday treat. She has taken the news I won't be there very well and is only stabbing my voodoo doll with 2 inch pins, rather than the original 7 inch hat pins. The garage cannot guarantee that the car will be ready on Monday anyway, which could have a nasty knock on effect as I am due in Drayton near Norwich in Norfolk on Wednesday. ARGH!

So there you have it. Mike Farley, Good King Hal, News at Ten, Esgair near Cynwyl Elfed, Wales.

(P.S. And I was supposed to be going to the pub with Matthew Applegate on Sunday).

St Cecillia's, Sutton; Riverview, Gravesend, White Woman Lane, Norwich and an apology...

My long week away continued on the Tuesday morning by a very early start to drive to St Cecillia's Roman Catholic School in Sutton. This was my fourth year at this particular school so I knew what to expect from the journey. All went swimmingly until I got within about five miles of the place and then I just got swamped in wall to wall traffic. The final three miles must have taken me about 30 minutes. But it was worth it as it was a great day! Some fantastic children as usual, lovely friendly teachers and a good fun day all round. After finishing I drove down to my sister's house near Sittingbourne in Kent as the next day I was to be on parade in Gravesend. Cath and I sat and strummed guitars for the evening and had a good time.

If it's Wednesday, it must be Gravesend. Up bright and early and up the M2 to Riverview Junior. This was my third visit back to Riverview and I was looking forward to it as the previous couple of years had been great fun, and I was not to be disappointed. Another warm welcome from the lovely teachers and another group and bouncy excitable children. Fun and games all round and more cheers ringing in my ears at the end of the day. I then had to drive to Leeds Castle after finishing at the school to collect the Father Christmas outfit I am using there next week. I have been interviewed recently for an article in The Guardian newspaper and they are arranging a photo shoot of me and want to do it next Tuesday. On that day I am working back at Dunster School in Somerset, but I am due to meet the photographer there, but I needed the costume. I met up with the lovely Helen Budd at Leeds Castle and she gave me the costume. Lovely to see her again. It was back to my sister's for dinner and then up to Essex to stay with my parents.

Thursday and I am up VERY early and heading up the A12 to Norwich and White Woman Lane Junior School in Sprouston. This was another return visit and it was good to be back. They were a big group and quite challenging at times, but worth it as we had a great day with lots of laughs.

Friday I was due at Nelson Primary in East Ham, but my car had other ideas, and instead decided to have a bit of a breakdown on the A12, which took so long to get put right it totally wrote off any chance I had of making it to Nelson Primary. My abject apologies to the children and teachers I let down.

This weekend I am at Barrington Court for a couple of days of walkabouts and then next week I am in Clevedon on Monday, Dunster on Tuesday and Taunton on Wednesday. Thursday morning I start back at Leeds Castle as Father Christmas.