Ilchester, Squire! Quite staggeringly popular...

A tense moment at the Chelsea Flower Show, when John Terry (just out of picture) brings down Monty Don on the edge of the area with a late sliding tackle, a kick on the butt and three savage rabbit punches.  When questioned by Police he grunted "I slipped."  No charges were brought but a petunia was squashed.

And so it was, with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart (a drugs test will be implemented shortly) Good King Hal sallied forth from his man cave in Crewkerne for the short jaunt to Ilchester and a return visit to Ilchester Primary School.  I had last visited a couple of years back and remember it being a very cold dark morning driving over there.  Today was completely different - bright, sunny and full of early spring promise.  I plumbed in the post code for the school into my sat nav and began the journey.  I was at first suspicious of the sat nav when it tried to make me turn off the A303 ages before the Ilchester exit.  It seemed to be hell bent on getting me to visit a small field on the outskirts of Ilchester where there was no buildings at all.  Now I know Michael Gove's management of schools in the UK has been about as effective as a condom machine in the Vatican, but surely even that incompetent rubber brained arse faced twat couldn't make a complete school disappear... could he?  No, he couldn't.  Michael Gove couldn't even walk upstairs and fart at the same time to be honest.  I remembered on my previous visit driving down through an estate and past a small Nisa store that looked like something out of an abandoned Soviet town from 1973 - and, ah yes!  There it was.  I drove past some very familiar looking houses and then found.... The INFANT school.  Not the Junior school like I wanted.  I went in and asked a breakfast club assistant where the Junior school was.  She informed me to go back to the next roundabout and go straight over.  I did this and now found myself in another completely anonymous faceless housing estate, with not a sign of any school.  My sat nav was by now doing the technology version of rocking backwards and forwards and stroking it's own arms repeating the words "go to a happy place" over and over.  I eventually surrendered and phoned the school.  Where are you? I cried, wiping away snot, tears and mascara.  It turned out I was about 20 yards away, but across the road away from the housing estate - and there it was.

Well, it was a fantastic day.  Terrific fun, a big group of about 80 children from years 3 and 4.  I was recommended to watch out for one little lad in particular who they said could be a handful.  Well, he certainly made himself known to me, but he was fine.  He had ADHD and to the extent that he just could NOT sit still.  It was honestly as if someone had just set fire to his trousers, he was up down, going to sit with the teachers, back with his mates, twisting here, there and everywhere.  And all the while looking like the dead spit of the Milky Bar Kid.  He was great fun.  The morning was great fun and seemed to be over very quickly.  During the lunch break I sat and chatted to a lovely red headed lady who I said would make an excellent Queen Elizabeth I if she was interested in history.  Was she interested in history?  Do ursine creatures defecate in sylvan glades?  Hell, yeah.  She had just finished an archaeology degree at Cardiff Uni and was utterly fascinated by the whole Tudor era and the fact I was making a living out of being Henry VIII. I urged her to get a Queen Elizabeth frock made and begin prancing round stately homes.  I will put her in touch with Judy Picton and Zarrina Bull, the two finest costume makers I know.

The afternoon went by at a terrific rate and we finished on yet another fine jousting tournament with yet another fine win for the ladies.  Is there any point keeping score any more?  The lads are being trounced this year.

GENTLEMEN 13.5 - 22.5 LADIES

Almost ten clear tournaments in front.  I had no trouble in getting home, though my poor old Mazda is sounding decidedly creaky these days.  Time for a change I think.  A bottle of wine put a big smile back on my face that evening.

I am back being Henry tomorrow at West Pennard School near Glastonbury, and then off to Essex for a few days before popping down to Leeds Castle with the Knights of Royal England for another jousting tournament down there.  It will be nice to see some familiar faces at the Castle.

Joust When I Thought That My Skies Were a June/July Blue...

Jasper du Barry attempts to discover a new erogenous zone of Sam of Hever with a bloody great sword.

This was a better way to start the jousting season!  Not like last year at Knebworth with driving snow, icicles, dreadful hotels, projectile vomiting and some deceitful lying little REST OF THIS SENTENCE OBSCURED ON LEGAL ADVICE. The day dawned bright but cold on Saturday 3rd May and I was up and out of the front door on the roughly 130 miles drive to the lovely town of Woodstock in Oxfordshire, and a return visit to Blenheim Palace with the Knights of Royal England Jousting Team.  Blenheim is a gorgeous site, the stunning Palace sitting looking down over broad lawns, with mature trees clumped here and there and fine views down across what appears to be a multitude of water features.  I was due to meet Michelle Coda in Woodstock so I could show her the easy way into Blenheim Palace, however while I was still about 20 miles from my destination I got a text from Michelle telling me she had arrive and Kim already had the kettle on.  Blimey, this was well before 10am so she must have left Folkestone about two weeks ago to get there that early, knowing the way Michelle drives!  (Love you!).  Michelle was so excited about appearing at Blenheim as it was her first stately home to work at other than Hever Castle or Leeds Castle.  On my arrival I was warmly welcomed by all the team, but there were a few absentees this year - most notably Sir William of Antioch.  Dear old Bill Monaghan (as he is known in civvies) had decided to retire and spend more time with his family, and he is a big loss to the team as his larger than life character of Sir William was always hugely popular with the audiences we played.  But out with the old and in with the new, we welcomed aboard Oliver, a friend of Sir Ashley's from Hampshire, fresh from a four year stint in the army, he was immediately swamped with female attention as he seemed to have perfected the art of growing muscle upon muscle upon muscle to the extent that Michelle immediately Christened him Popeye.  God help us if he takes a liking to spinach.

The first show back was a bit of a shock to the system.  I was in my new Medieval Merchant's outfit, just recently made for me by the brilliant Judy Picton of Martock in Somerset.  It had been decided at the end of last years season that any castle or venue we visited that DIDN'T have a direct connection with Henry VIII would need to see me in a different costume as a different character, as having a 16th Century monarch like Henry presiding over a generally 13th century style jousting tournament would be enough to give most historians the anachronistic bends.  And so for this weekend, and a few more this summer, I suddenly became Lord Anthony of Bollingbroke, Lord Chancellor, milk monitor, member of the Tufty club and 1st class idiot and bar.  But all went well, the big crowd seemed to enjoy themselves and we all managed to even get sun burnt.  That evening Jeremy treated us all to a night out in Oxford at a very swish restaurant in the Jericho area of the town, called Branca.  It was mostly to celebrate Jeremy and Kim's daughter, Lucy's 21st birthday. Well we had a fabulous meal in a superb restaurant - but Oxford is a funny place.  It is (A) massively expensive (see the house prices - you will weep) and (B) appears to be more full of pretty people obsessed with their looks than any other spot on the planet.  We noted that the restaurant seemed jam packed with mirrors, but it seemed that they had been placed there as none of these drop dead gorgeous and beautifully attired human beings, whether they be male or female, could stand up or do anything without first clocking themselves in one of these mirrors, subtly brushing away an errant hair or something, before smirking smugly to themselves and then carrying on with their dull little lives. 

The following morning Michelle and I emerged from our burrows (actually the Travelodge up near Bicester) took out a mortgage, and purchased two drinks from Costa Coffee at the service station.  I know you are a captive audience at these service stations, but by God, they come as close to mugging you as is legally possible without being arrested.  I wanted to purchase some Nurofen in case my bad ankle started to play up.  How much?  A pack of 16 tables £4.95.  What?  A small bottle of apple juice?  £2.19.  A can of Lynx body spray (normally already pretty stupidly expensive in supermarkets at about £3.75 a can)?  Here it was over £5.  The shows at the Palace were very well attended again today, and this time we even managed to cop our first injury of the season, and of course it had to go to new boy Oliver, didn't it?  And was it during the middle of a brutal fight with another of the Knight Marshall's?  No.  At the very end of the second show, as Sam, James and Oliver were mucking about air guitaring in the arena with their swords, Sam thought it would be hilarious to leap on top of Oliver, just as Oliver was pretending to play his sword with his teeth.  Oliver luckily missed his mouth and teeth, but somehow managed to cut the very edge of his lower eye lid, so that by the time the music had finished he had plenty of the red stuff pouring down his face.  Several anti-septic swabs and a steri-strip later and he seemed right as rain.  For this evenings din-dins Jeremy was treating us to a meal at The Star Pub in Woodstock itself, and again it was delicious.  I was driving and so as the evening, and shrieking grew louder, I ended up more and more side-lined as the only sober person there.  Not much fun!   By the time we were due to leave, Michelle was four huge Bacardi and cokes and an industrial amount of Irish coffee down the line, so I virtually had to guide her, like a Labrador with a blind person, firstly back to my car, then through the incredibly busy car park at the Travelodge and finally up to her room. All she kept repeating the whole time was "I can't feel my top lip....  I can't feel my top lip..." She also discovered to her horror that the jousters had stolen her camera while we were outside having a cigarette and had taken some very interesting studies in the gents.

If Michelle was feeling a little delicate on our last morning, she didn't show it.  However, young Oliver had apparently peaked a bit early on their arrival back at the camp site last night but he got through the two shows without barfing up a lung, so he is obviously a man made of stern stuff.  We were filmed by a BBC film crew from BBC South during the shows today and I was interviewed by Witney TV, a TV station just for Witney in Oxfordshire.  At least seven people will have probably seen it by now.  I was delighted today to also get a visit from the simply gorgeous Sarah Morris who popped in very briefly just to say a big "hi" to me and all the jousters after her appearance with them a couple of years ago.  She was as beautiful and charming as ever.  And so we finished the final show, helped tidy up with the Knights, bid our fond farewells and hit the road.  I was back in Somerset by 6.30pm and Michelle got home some time after that, so we both made good time.  It was great to be back with the jousters and it was the usual fun madness that weekends with them always are.  I can't wait for Leeds Castle at the end of this month to see them again.

Henry is back at School tomorrow with a return visit to Ilchester School near Yeovil for a full Tudor Day.  I can't wait!

I'm Ready For My Close Up, Mr DeMille...

The King finally discovers the reason why men wear cod pieces.  This was a mere 37 seconds before someone invented the hat stand.

I'd only just finished another weekend at Hever Castle, so guess where I was on the Wednesday and Thursday?  Yes!  Lerwick in the Shetland Islands.  I jest.  Of course I was back at Hever Castle, but this time to film the long awaited and promised comedy short "The Six Wives of Henry VIII in 2 Minutes and 19 Seconds".  I had put together a script and Hever had sorted out some ladies to play some of my wives, but it was down to me to sort out the final few.  I called in the lovely Zarrina and Louise from Tudor Gowns, naturally I had the wonderful Michelle Coda and her other half Matt on hand, plus there was the lovely Katherine Miller who only lived up in Greenwich with easy access to Hever.  My final choice for a wife was a bit surprising.  It was my old mate Ian Weston from Portals to the Past - he was to play Anne of Cleves, and he did it marvellously.  Vivien from the Hever Marketing Department was on hand to help out with any problems we might encounter, plus of course we had Doug Bolton from Maveryk TV as our camerman/lighting engineer and soon to be editor and sound effects wrangler.  Well we had two fantastic days to film our little epic and it was such a fun time.  I can honestly say I have never had more fun or been more knackered at the end of a Tudor related event.  It was lovely to work with a group of people where there was no egos, no delicate personalities and no squabbles or back biting.  We just got on with it and had a terrific laugh in the process.  The photo above shows the lovely Helen Reeves from Hever Castle with her friend Charlotte (also from Hever staff) with Matt Rentell as the Priest and yours truly as Henry VIII in a scene we shot early on the second morning, of Arthur and Catherine of Aragon's wedding, followed very swiftly by the marriage of Henry to Catherine of Aragon just after Arthur pops his clogs.  Even Ian Weston, a veteran of numerous film shoots for cinema and TV said that the two days had been the most fun he'd ever had on a shoot, and this from a man who has worked with Ridley Scott!  Take THAT Ridley!  So thank you Hever, thank you Vivien, and a massive thanks to Zarrina, Louise, Katherine, Michelle, Matt, Ian, Helen, Charlotte, all the staff who work at Hever and helped us out so much, and most of all, to Doug Bolton for his genius with a camera and his help and advice in making this dream a reality.  Watch out for when we post the finished item here.  And anyone I have forgotten to thank here - SORRY!

I was back at Hever for Friday and Saturday for two more days jousting.  It was two pleasant days, aside from the near biblical flood we had on the Saturday.  Our costumes were drenched and poor old James, my lovely son, fell over twice on the rain sodden walk back to the Castle and promptly announced on our arrival back in our dressing room: "I WANT TOMORROW OFF!"  And so he did.

Sunday and Monday found me driving back up to Castle Hedingham in Essex for the final two days of jousting for this summer with the Knights of Royal England.  We had two lovely days in near perfect weather, but by now most of the jousters were running on empty and even the young ones seemed to be flagging.  But we put on two good shows on each day and got some tremendous feedback from all those that watched.  So another summer of jousting comes to an end and I have about four days to myself before the schools all start again and it's back to rushing round like a Tudor blue arsed fly!

Two Hever Weekends



Ronseal.  Just don't try this at home.

If it's a weekend in August then it must be time for some jousting at Hever Castle in Kent.  As usual a fun weekend was had with the Knights of Royal England, and it was as ever a delight to have Michelle Coda with me as Anne Boleyn.  We love doing the shows and despite moaning about how long it takes, we really enjoy our walk back from the jousting arena to the Castle.  We get stopped virtually ever two or three paces for photos with groups ranging from family groups with loads of children, to hen parties and bewildered looking Chinese tourists.  We also tot up how many times we get asked if we are hot in our costumes.  To save you time, everyone who might come to see us joust, yes we are hot.  Very very very hot.

James, my lovely son, is always at my side as the King's herald, but on the first of the two weekends, on the Sunday, his Mum Mandy came along and accompanied us after the show back to Somerset for a few days.  Somerset was where James was born back in 2002 and I always enjoy taking him for visits to his old haunts, keeping the memories alive for him.  We had a lovely time over the three days they were down, none more so than when we took James down to West Bay in Dorset, where the TV series "Broadchurch" with David Tennant was filmed and he enjoyed himself immensely catching crabs (steady) down at the harbour.  His patience, not good at the best of times, was tested severely.  We recommended that he should put his net in, leave it for at least five minutes before checking it.  His net was barely in the water for more than 30 seconds before he was hauling it out and cursing his bad luck without a crab in sight.  We finally persuaded him to leave the net in slightly longer and he promptly pulled out a crab of Brobdingnagian proportions, much to the chagrin of the other children similarly fishing around him.  The rest of his catches didn't really live up to that opening promise, but he thoroughly enjoyed himself.  We crowned a fine morning with fish and chips from the wrapper while sitting on the front.  Lovely.

We met up with Sue English and Ian Weston from Portals to the Past who were having a little holiday in Somerset.  We had a fine dinner with them at the Duke of York Pub in Shepton Beauchamp, which was just like the old days.  The next day we headed back to the south east so we could prepare for yet more jousting at Hever Castle.  We were lucky with the weather again and the shows seemed to be getting better and better.

And so this week I am down at (you guessed it) Hever Castle filming a quick promo video for them, then on the Friday and Saturday I am back at H***r C****e (fill in the blanks yourself) for more jousting before then heading up to Essex to visit Castle Hedingham for the Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday for the final two jousting days of the season.  It has been terrific fun, hard work and I can't wait till next season.

Accidents Will Happen

Good King Hal attempting to keep his tights in the standing load position.

So with only a few hours to catch our breath after finishing at Hever, the jolly old Knights of Royal England, plus a rotund Tudor King and his young Squire rolled into Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire for three more days of jousting mayhem.  Blenheim is situated in the delightful little town of Woodstock just to the north of Oxford.  It's a place that had corpses being discovered at embarrassingly regular intervals in the whole world of Inspector Morse, but is as genteel and backwater a place as you can possibly find.  James and I drove up after a couple of days R&R in Somerset and I had promised James a breakfast at one of his favourite haute cuisine outlets - Little Chef to you and me.  But do you think I could find one once we got on the A34 north?  Not a chance.  I even resorted to typing it into my sat nav, which promised that there was one just two miles further up the road.  We drove there only to discover it had morphed into a Costa Coffee house.  We had two sausage baps, a cup of coffee and an orange juice and it really did Costa bloody fortune.  What rip offs these places are.

We arrived at Blenheim Palace and were warmly greeted by Jeremy, Kim and everyone else from the group.  The weather forecast for the first day was not brilliant, but we were treated to blazing sunshine and sun burn all round.  The first two shows on the first day passed with little or no big problems, and after a lovely meal at the Woodstock Arms hotel in the evening, James and I left the young jousters to their usual revels and headed off to our luxurious hotel.  (OK, OK, it was a Travelodge).  We arrived back at the Palace on the Saturday morning expecting to see the usual collection of hangovers, jousters slumped in chairs and not much movement.  But there was little or no sign of anyone around the horse box, most of the jousters were working like smoke over in the arena, getting everything ready for the show, and there was no sign of Jeremy, Kim or their Land Rover.  Sam's girlfriend, Vanessa then appeared at the door of the horse box.  We said good morning and I asked her if J and K were off in town doing some shopping.  No, apparently they were off at A&E at the local hospital with Mungo.  What had happened?  During some "hi-jinx" on the Friday night, whilst highly intoxicated (i.e. pissed out of their brains) an incident occurred that had somehow culminated in Mungo falling heavily against a parked car and breaking his shoulder.  Blimey.  I was glad we had left early.  Jeremy and Kim then returned with faces like thunder and it suddenly became apparent why all the younger jousters were beetling around desperately working their socks off getting everything ready for the two shows that day.  Just before the show Mungo himself returned to the site via a taxi with his arm in a sling and slightly sheepish expression on his face.  After all that the two shows had to be good, and they were.  We were hit with a little bit of rain during both shows, but nothing like the deluge of last year.  The apres show dinner at a local Chinese restaurant was very nice and also highly restrained after the previous nights shenanigans.

Sunday was the final two days of Blenheim this year.  Two more good shows went by, with all the incidents saved for our final tournament.  At the beginning of the second show, we do a gag where I address the audience about what qualities a person needs to become a great Knight - and all the while I am saying this, someone (usually Sir William of Antioch) mimes them behind me, with the final pay off being something they very obviously can't have.  In Sir William's case it is always a head of luxurious hair.  As Sir William was away, Dan was filling in, and his pay off was to be totally terrified of swords.  For this he was to leap onto the centre tilt, look at his sword, scream like a girl and then jump off the tilt.  Not exactly Emmy Award winning stuff, but a bit of fun.  On this day we had had a bit of a shower just before the show, and as Dan leapt onto the tilt, he didn't realise how slippery it was, and as I was about to deliver my line "but what a Knight needs most of all..." his legs shot away from under him and he fell down, completely cross-barring himself right in the old Niagara's.  Therefore I quickly changed my pay off line to: "What a Knight really needs is... (CRUNCH).... a pair of fully functioning cobblers.  So that's you out, Dan", which got the biggest laugh of the day.  And still our accidents weren't over.  Right at the very end of the tournament, during a skill exhibition by both teams, my son James who was sitting in the Royal Box to my right, was getting very excited and was jumping up and down in his seat.  I looked away to commentate on some action to my left, at which point there was an enormous crash to my right, which at first I assumed was a horse bouncing off the Royal Box, such was it's score on the Richter Scale, and the fact that it caused all of the flags around the Royal Box to collapse and fall apart.  What it was was James' chair falling backwards off the Royal Box and bringing all the standards with him.  It was a big fall and he could easily have been hurt, but thankfully he was fine, just with a very bruised ego.  We finally finished the show and made our way back to the car.  It had been a fine weekend at Blenheim, memorable for a lot of different reasons, but it was good to be on our way home. 

This weekend we are back at Hever for another three days of fun jousting.  It will be nice to see Michelle and Vix again, but sadly Mungo is now out for the rest of the year.  Alcohol sales in the Edenbridge area are going to suffer, BIG TIME.

Inspected Wexford (geddit?), 50th bashes, jousting and no blogs (sorry)

The lovely, LOVELY Wexford at night.  I am the 572nd pixel from the left, pissed in a bar.

I had not had a proper full blown holiday for over four years, and I sort of reckoned I deserved one. But the question was where to go.  I had finally plumped for Ireland, a place I hadn't visited since about 1997 when I had spent most of the time over in Kerry dodging the rain that was hammering down.  I caught the ferry from Fishguard in Wales and took the three plus hours crossing to Rosslare.  I was going to stay in Wexford, a town I knew precious little about, but was willing to learn.  It would also give me an excellent opportunity to catch up with my old friend Emily, a lovely lass from Wexford who I used to work with up in London back in 1994.  Well the whole holiday was delightful - the weather was just perfect, almost too hot to be honest.  Em and her family were fabulous guides and looked after me magnificently, sorted out accommodation for me and even opened up various opportunities for new business.  They could not have done more for me.  Em's Dad, Noel took to referring to me as "yer man Cromwell" in deference to the famous Oliver who rather dented any opportunity of being voted "Most Popular Man In Wexford" by burning down the town and massacring the inhabitants.  I drove up to the Wicklow mountains and visited Glendalough (packed to the rafters with tourists) and the lovely Vale of Avoca.  I also got to visit Loftus Hall (the most haunted house in Ireland apparently!), the Hook Head Lighthouse (oldest operating lighthouse in the world), Kilmore Quay and ate more potatoes and drank more Guinness in seven days than I have in the previous seven years.  Marvellous.

When I got back to Wales I went straight to my folks house in Newcastle Emlyn for my sister Sue's 50th birthday party weekend.  It began on Friday 12th July with a surprise party for her at my parents place, with several old friends arriving earlier than she expected.  My sister, being my sister did of course phone in while we were all waiting for her to say she was running an hour late.  This meant by the time she did arrive most of the guests were virtually paralytic with drink, but it made for a most convivial atmosphere.  On the 13th Sue had her own party at her house near Cynwyl Elfed which was again bathed in beautiful sunshine.  A lovely day was spent sitting in her garden and drinking - not a bad way to see the day through.  It was a lovely weekend and nice to see so many old friends.
One week later I was on at Barrington Court for a walkabout at the old place.  Again the intense summer heat had continued.  We are never happy in this country.  For the previous five or six summers we have moaned and complained about the soggy miserable weather we have endured.  Now as soon as we get a hot one everyone is moaning again.  I can't wait for the tons of snow again come winter.  The day after Barrington I was up at Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire for another of their Tudor Fun Days.  I was there with Zarrina, Diane, Justine, Louise and Sarah from Tudor Gowns, who all looked beautiful, and also Rachel from Tudor Roses who was equally stunning and fun to be with.  We had a lovely day wandering round, but even there the sun became so hot that we eventually capitulated at about 4pm and made a run for our cars and the haven of air conditioning.
The weekend of the 26th, 27th and 28th of July found me jousting at Hever Castle again in Kent.  The Friday was a normal joust featuring all the usual suspects, but the Saturday and Sunday were new "International" tournaments featuring teams of English and French knights taking each other on.  Franck and Manou were most definitely pukka French riders, but Matthew's accent was distinctly home counties!  They as the French team took on Jeremy, Sam and Ash as the English Knights.  Much fun and racial stereotypes later we had a show.  On the Sunday in particular we had a massive turn out for the show with the car parks absolutely rammed to bursting point.  Reaction to the shows was brilliant with so many laughs.  We must do this again!
I now have my lovely son James staying with me down here in Somerset and he and I are off to Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire this weekend for another three days of fun jousting with the Knights of Royal England.  Be lovely to see you there. 

Dante's Inferno (aka Cardiff)

 Leader of Cardiff City Council, Gareth "Knobber" Jones, gets ready to explain to visiting pressman what he thinks of their jokes about Cardiff not being voted "City of Culture" again.

I have gazed into the depths of Hell this weekend.  I have witnessed all that is mad and bad about humanity, and funnily enough you can see nearly all of it within a stones throw of the august portals of the Travelodge in Cardiff next to the Walkabout Pub and not far from the Millennium Stadium.  I was working once more with the lovely Knights of Royal England, only this time for my first visit to Cardiff Castle.  We were booked in for three days on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and Jeremy Richardson, main man and top jouster had booked me a room for a couple of nights at the aforementioned Travelodge in beautiful downtown Cardiff.

Now if you have been reading this blog you will know I have had a bit of a week, with lots of travel up and down the country and to be perfectly honest I was exhausted before I even got to Cardiff, however, on arrival at the Castle it was nice to meet up with all the jousters again.  Cardiff Castle is delightful, definitely worth a visit and bears more than a passing resemblance to Hogwarts School in the Harry Potter movies.  On the Friday it was only one show - for school children mostly, all of whom had come in parties from their schools around the country.  They were DEAFENING.  Far louder than normal crowds, and great fun too.  However, I got very good advice from all the jousters - as soon as we finished the show they said "don't head back to the dressing rooms yet..." This was because such an action would necessitate traversing a field full of manic, over excited school children.  We waited to one side until they had all but cleared and then began our trek back.  I was at once swamped with kids, who's reaction to me ranged from cries of "Hello Henry!  We loved the show!" to "You're fat and ugly!", to simply trying to tear the clothes and props from my costume.  It was almost akin to something from a zombie movie.  Any of the little shits who called me names, if they were wearing baseball caps (as most of them seemed to be), I would simply tear the hats off their heads and try and throw them in the moat.  Go and pick that one out of the lily pads you little f***er.

After getting changed and getting ready to go and find the hotel, the jousters announced they were all going out for a meal that evening, but to be honest I was beyond it by now and the lure of a nice big comfortable bed and not doing very much for a few hours sounded bloody wonderful.  So I politely declined.  Frank, the mad French Knight was also staying at the same Travelodge as me, so I gave him and his suitcase a lift down there. After a little trouble we found it, but soon discovered our only parking access was in a public car park behind the Travelodge and next to the railway station.  We had no change for the exorbitant £9 a day rate, so I had to do it via my mobile phone which was apparently "Quick and Easy!" according to the details on the info board at the car park.  You had to enter the number of the car park you were in as a final detail, but of course, they didn't put this number on the board with all the other numbers you need when you phone their automated service.  Oh, hell no, they hide it on an obscure board about 20 yards away further down the car park.  Our first intimation that we were about to pass through the portals to the gates of hell came when we tried to book into the hotel.  There was a massive queue at the check in desk, consisting mostly of large sweaty men in rugby shirts, with thick South Wales accents, or perma-tanned giggly girlies in matching school girl outfits with "Lisa's Hen Night" emblazoned across their mini skirts, and all clutching partially drunk bottles of alcopops and shrieking hysterically at everything and nothing.  And this was at about 4.30pm.  It was going to be a long night.  After a small cock up (for a while it looked like Frank and I might be sharing a room - Hell, no) we were sorted and wound our way up to the third floor and our rooms. I lay on the bed, stuck on the TV and promptly fell asleep.  I woke up about 20 minutes later and nipped out to buy myself some grub for my self imposed exile from the rest of the group that evening.  Bill, Mungo and Frank all came to my door at some point or other to try and persuade me to come and join in their fun and games, but I was on the backs of my knees and a night of doing bugger all sounded wonderful. 

At about 9pm I was almost ready for sleep, but decided a bit of fresh air would do me good.  I took the lift down to the ground floor and stepped outside into.... HELL.  The road the hotel was in, was blocked off at each end by crash barriers and Police vans.  Every single bar and shop along the street had at least one or two security staff on the door, with ear pieces in and a shifty look about them.  Even McDonald's had security staff on the door.  Vast hoards of men in fancy dress, ranging from pirates and convicts, to whole groups dressed in enormous onesies, staggered along the pavement, bellowing obscenities at each other, and belching like some sort of partially decomposing walrus.  Groups of orange skinned women, in mega high heels, deely boppers, angel wings, and virtually no clothes at all, tottered along between the male groups, cackling, shrieking and singing, all on their ways to various deafening night clubs. Now you have to understand my viewpoint on clubs.  I am about as much attracted to the idea of clubbing as a baby seal on an ice floe would be.  Even when I was young the idea of going clubbing was totally alien to me.  Why pay money to go into a god awful cauldron of cacophonous noise, mostly of music you hate, where the drinks are priced out of most people's ranges and all the beer is utter shite, where you can't talk to anyone as the music is so loud your nose starts to bleed and where, if you are unfortunate enough to look like me (i.e. fat, ginger and ugly) you immediately become a target for these groups of perma-tanned slappers/harpies, who upon your unenthusiastic entrance to this hell hole suddenly come running over to you screaming "my friend fancies you, can you go and give her a snog - cackle cackle cackle cackle...".  I usually just drop my trousers at this point and offer her somewhere to hang her tea towels.  When I was a teenager in Essex I would have had access to a whole pantheon of clubs - Zero-6, Tots, Raquels, The Pink Toothbrush, Dukes, Hollywoods to name but just some of the f***ing awful places you could go to meet a possible future spouse.  I gazed upon this street of carnage in Wales and I have to say it depressed me enormously.  Was this REALLY people's idea of a fun night?  Seriously?  Was this the limit to their imagination?  If their life expectations are that limited and not wishing to sound like a pontificating smart arse, then I really truly pity them.

Saturday was more of a normal day at the Castle, two shows, open to the public and with the wind blowing an absolute hurricane across the grounds at Cardiff.  We got through both shows and once more the invitation to join the jousters for a night out on the town cropped up, and this time I agreed.  I was to meet them at a restaurant/bar in Wharton Street called Barocco at 7pm.  I drove back to the car park behind the Travelodge and parked up, noticing first that the time was 4.30pm, and then shortly afterwards noticing the gentleman in the "KNOBBERS STAG NIGHT - TOTAL DESTRUCTION 2013" t-shirt, slouched on the wall opposite where I had parked.  At this early hour of the afternoon, he was leaning forward and was vomiting.  A lot.  A quite tremendous amount.  I was half inclined to check behind him to see if there was a hose going up his arse as he can't have drunk that much in a month.  The depressing part of this site was him doing this in broad daylight, on a street, as families with young children walked past on their way back from days out etc.

At about 6pm Frank, Mungo and I walked up to the Rummer Pub opposite Cardiff Castle to meet up with some of the other jousters.  We then made our way back down to Wharton Street and Barocco.  By this time it was 7pm and Cardiff was just warming up.  We were suddenly overtaken by a phalanx of young perma-tanned ladies dressed as angels and all clutching enormous dildos - as you do.  While a mass group of drunk lads accosted a busker with a guitar and forced the poor bastard to play various crude rugby songs which they bellowed out with as much vocal dexterity as Lemmy gargling with razor blades.

Barocco was OK - very glitzy, very loud, pounding music, a limited menu and shite beer.  So pretty much everything you would expect in a city centre restaurant.  We had a good laugh.  The jousters took much delight in nicking Frank's mobile phone and posting various extremely rude updates on his Facebook account.  There was mock wrestling at the table, mass paper plane fights, loads of cocktails drunk and much loudness.  A possible new commentator called Ian joined us for the latter part of the meal, and sat in the corner with a slightly terrified look on his face.  I surrendered when the music level was cranked up and the light level was turned down to "Read in braille only" level - at about 10pm and slipped away and began to run the gauntlet of the walk back to the Travelodge.  This walk did remind me a lot of some of the scenes in Mad Max 2.  As I delicately tip-toed my way through the hurly burly of Stag and Hen Nights, hell bent on a good laugh, come what may, and the various little piles of puke already decorating the pavements, suddenly the Travelodge took on this appearance as a sort of Shangri-La for me - my sanctuary.  And my God it was.  As I walked into the reception area, the music from the Walkabout Pub next door was pounding through the walls at a deafening level.  There was a sour faced little chap on the front desk.  "Doesn't this noise drive you mad?" I asked, in a friendly way.  "Vot?" he replied in a thick east European accent.  I repeated what I had said, and so did he.  "Say goodnight to the folks, Gracie..." I said, and was delighted to find the lift waiting to whisk me to peace and solitude on the third floor.

I met Bill and Mungo at the lift at about 9am the next morning.  Bill was quiet, whereas Mungo just looked flushed, still drunk and wearing sunglasses indoors.  Not a good look.  We had another fine day at the joust, two very good shows, lots of lovely people to speak to and the delightful knowledge that I would be home in my own bed this evening in Somerset with not a stag party or hen night in ear shot.  Heaven.

Good King Hal is going to be a bit quiet for a little while now as I am going away on holiday!  Yes, me!  On holiday!  My first one in 4 years and I cannot wait.  I am off to Ireland for a few days in County Wexford.  I just hope they haven't got a massive hen and stag party problem, in which case I will be on the first ferry back.

Oh and if you read Dante's Inferno, I can tell you right now that Judas Iscariot, encased in a block of ice for all eternity is NOT the pit of hell.  There is a hen party from Merthyr Tydfill just below him wearing "KISS ME QUICK BONK ME SLOWLY" hats and holding large inflatable penises dancing to pounding disco music while drinking industrial amounts of alcopops.  Just so you know.

It's the End... But The Moment Has Been Prepared For...

The Maiden's Tower at Leeds Castle, built by King Henry VIII of England to house the Ladies in Waiting of Catherine of Aragon.  Next used in 2013 as part of a monster p*** up when Darlene retired.

Time passes.  It is the one thing you can be sure of...  Nothing lasts forever, even Bruce Forsyth will eventually at some point stop, and that I find a tremendous comfort, don't you?  So from the balmy sun drenched days of jousting at Castle Hedingham, the Knights of Royal England, and yours truly, sauntered on down the M25 and M20 and back into Kent for a week of jousting at Leeds Castle.  It was actually six days of jousting, of which I was to commentate and host the first three days, and then Roland Bearne was to tackle the final three days.  My lovely son James was still in tow and keen for more involvement in the shows.  We arrived at Leeds Castle on the 28th May to weather far removed from that we had experienced at Hedingham.  It was cold, grey and there was a devilish wind whipping across the tilt yard.  We got a smallish turn out for the first show, but they were at least enthusiastic, however shortly after our lunch break the heavens opened and the rain it didst fall mainly downwards and violently sideways.  It bucketed down and in the end Jeremy (from Knights of Royal England) was forced to cancel the second show as it was just too dangerous and slippery for the horses in the yard.  James and I drove back to my sister Cathy's place in Stockbury and settled down for the evening.

The following morning the weather looked a little more promising as we made our way into the Castle.  WRONG!  It began raining again, James and I got soaked before we even started the show.  Halfway through the first show Frank (one of the Knights) had his horse slip underneath him, nearly throw him and then crash through the middle of the tilt.  Following this show the rain fell even more heavily and once more the second show had to be pulled for safety reasons.  Finally, on the third day we managed to get through both shows, yes we all got soaked again and frozen to the marrow, but hell, this is English summertime, what were you expecting?  Of course as soon as James and I packed up and left Leeds and Roland turned up to commentate, the sun broke through, birds sang, cherubim and seraphim did burst forth into song and, yes, dammit all, even Bruce Forsyth was silenced for five minutes.  Yes, the lucky swines roasted for the final three days.  But I wasn't jealous - I just sat in a darkened room sticking pins in a wax effigy of Michael Fish and cackling quietly to myself.

I was back at Leeds Castle by myself on the evening of Friday 31st May for the retirement and farewell party for Darlene Cavill.  Darlene has worked at Leeds Castle in various guises for the previous 26 years, and it was she who first booked me as Henry VIII in 2005 - and did much to help the fledgling Good King Hal business to survive those early years.  It was through her encouragement that my "Henry's Horrid History" shows developed and she also gave me the chance to be Father Christmas at Leeds for eight years!  And I still remember with such pride it was she who asked me to be narrator at the Leeds Castle Junior Prom concert in 2006 alongside the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, Carl Davis and the beautiful soprano Kathryn Rudge, and all in front of about 6,000 people.  Wonderful.  Through Darlene, and her initial assistant Helen Pomorski (nee Budd) and later Becky Lander, I made a lot of friends, had tremendous fun and learnt a lot about my trade and performances.  On the evening it was so nice to see so many old friends from my years at Leeds, but particularly the lady I think who summed up the early years of fun at the Castle - the lovely Jeanne Beaton.  I simply adore this woman, and I am so sad she has been unwell in recent years.  I have so missed her presence at Leeds but it was great to see her and her husband Malcolm at the party on Friday.  Wonderful.  The finale of the evening was a video made by Darlene's son, the very talented Doug Bolton who had made a pop video of the Dolly Parton song "9 to 5" with various different Leeds Castle employees (myself included) miming along to the song.  You can catch it on You Tube if you click on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ig0Zfippy8 .  You have been warned!

I was back in Somerset by the end of the weekend and got myself ready for heading back to being Henry VIII in schools again.  My first show back was today (Wednesday) with an eighth return visit to West Pennard School near Glastonbury.  The sun had been shining all week, but then I have always seemed to have visited West Pennard in bright sunshine!  It was good to see Tony Wheat the year 4 teacher who books me each year and as ever it was marvellous to see the wonderful Ian Gouge the original booker of Good King Hal all those years ago.  It was a nice group, about 30 children and all wonderful fun and good listeners.  In fact I can honestly say I don't think I have ever had a duff group at West Pennard, and this lot were no different.  After a fun morning we then launched into the afternoon, which was very hot in the hall, but marvellously entertaining.  The joust was very loud and popular and ended with that rarest of things - a win for the Gentlemen.  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 18 - 24 LADIES

Can they catch them?  Who knows!  Who cares?  Stay tuned for more vagueness and indecision.  Or maybe not?  Pass the Merlot...

Auditions, Falcons and Hedingham

To be honest, the Five Star reunion was not a raging success as one member of the group at least had really let himself go...

Some while ago, I had spent a great deal of my spare time trying to get on to the ITV quiz show "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?"  Well I clearly did, certainly considering the amount of time and effort I put into getting a longed for audition, but whatever the reason it was never to be and I was never called up to the studio and let things happen.  Roll on to modern times and there is a game show on daytime ITV at the moment called "Tipping Point", which revolves around this enormous version of one of the old coin waterfall games so splendidly popular in British seaside resorts down the years.  However, instead of a few pence or some crappy novelty toy that might occasionally fall out, for every coin you knock down on this programme, they give you £50 - and it soon adds up!  Answer a few not very challenging general knowledge questions and you can gain control of the machine and can, if luck is on your side, win up to £10,000.  I was watching an episode the other day and one of the questions a lady had was "which island is linked to the Welsh mainland by the Menai Straits Bridge?"  She thought long and hard before replying "The Isle of Man?"  Now that would be one hell of a length bridge.  Anyway, I made enquiries about getting on this show as I fancied winning some cash, found the production teams details and applied.  And LO!  It came to be that I was asked to come and audition for said "Tipping Point".  The time and date for this was on the Tuesday morning at 11am, and I had to get to West Kensington Village for this audition.  I caught the 7.30am train from Crewkerne and as I had booked the tickets on line and in advance I got cheap ones that meant I could bump myself up to 1st class for there and back and still pay less than the normal ticket price!  1st class was nice but I was amazed by the lack of leg room, Thai masseuse, chateu neuf de pap and beef wellington.
I caught a taxi from Waterloo to West Kensington Village and was soon at the production office for the audition.  I was greeted by several very blonde, perma tanned young men called "Tarquin" or some such, who I would imagine were fans of hi-energy disco and had an extensive knowledge of where to go to dance to it in north London.  I was with about 16 other people - first we had to take part in a general knowledge quiz which seemed relatively easy, then we had to stand in front of a camera and be interviewed and talk about ourselves, which as you know is not something that I struggle with.  And that was it!  I was soon back at Waterloo and then on the train back to Crewkerne.  It was a lot of travelling for a very short audition, but who knows.   Now I had to wait and see.
Wednesday I drove up to Essex to see my lovely son James and his Mummy, and all in readiness for a trip on the Thursday up to Norfolk and a visit to Falcon Junior.  I had horrendously double booked myself a couple of weeks ago, and the day I was at Bathampton I should have been at Falcon.  What a twit I was.  I apologised profusely and Falcon were kind enough to invite me back a few days later.  As you can imagine I got a lot of ribbing on my arrival with comments such as "decided to turn up today, have you?" or "remembered us this time, did you?"  But it was a lovely day with all the kids and the teachers.  Much fun was had by all. The final joust was astonishing - the boys were so far in front but somehow got stuck on the final quoit and could not collect it, allowing the ladies to toddle past and clinch an unlikely victory.  Our score then goes to:

GENTLEMEN 17 - 24 LADIES

I had a day or two at leisure before on the Sunday and Monday of the bank holiday heading up to Castle Hedingham in Essex for two days jousting with the Knights of Royal England and also with the lovely Tudor Roses in attendance as well.  We were blessed with the weather and had two lovely days with much laughter and fun.  It was nice to have my lovely son James at my side as my squire for the two days and he really seemed to get into the swing of things again.  This morning we are heading down to Kent to Leeds Castle for some more jousting.  I am only there for the Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, so if anyone is trying to avoid me, go and see the jousters on the Friday, Saturday or Sunday.  You can't say I don't give you good advance warning.  Alas this morning the weather has broken and it looks like we'll be jousting in the shallow end again.

From Basildon to Blenheim.

A big fat ugly single ginger bloke, in a dress.  Try and spot the enamoured lady, hugely attracted to the man in this picture...*

Hello sensation seekers.  Last time you read this pulse stopping blog (pulse stopping, in much the same way a massive dose of beater blocker drugs would be pulse stopping) I had just finished a desperately exciting trip to Radlett in Hertfordshire for an appearance at Newberries School.  Now, contain your excitement folks - weak bladders should be emptied before reading further.  Such extracts of this Earth moving and heart warming blog might be enough to cause some ructions in certain places.

Being Henry in a school is what I do most often, and my second port of call this week was to Lee Chapel Primary School in Basildon in sunny downtown Essex.  This was a return visit to this lovely school after my visit the previous year - I remember it being a very friendly open and fun school with some great children, and this year was frankly no different.  My arrival was not my finest moment - the car park at the rear is tiny and space is at a premium.  As I parked a lady in a large silver car which had just parked in a space behind me should out that I couldn't park where I was.  When I exasperatedly gestured round the full tiny space she yelled aggressively "well, we have to work here you know!"  At this point I was ready to chew the head off a recalcitrant Great White Shark, but I walked into the school to announce myself and let the office staff know I had double parked in the tiny car park and if anyone wanted me to move the car I would be happy to shift it.  Apparently the space left in the car park was for the accounts lady who bore a stunning resemblance to "Mad" Frankie Fraser if her parking space was in the slightest bit compromised. Not wishing to witness this for myself, I surrendered and just parked badly out of the way.  I was now warmly welcomed by Hayley McCechnie (I think you spell it something vaguely like that) and got ready for the Tudor Day ahead of us.  It was a superb day as ever at this brilliant school.  Piles of laughs and contributions from these smart sassy kids!  Everybody but everybody seemed to have a good time, which is fine by me, and after a lovely lunch we soon found ourselves in the midst of the jousting tournament.  It was loud, it was frenetic and it was good fun.  And of course the inevitable happened!  Yet another win for the ladies!  They simply annihilated the lads in the final.  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 15 - 23 LADIES

It was time to get back to Somerset, catch my breath for a couple of minutes before on the Saturday morning, heading up to Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire for three days of jousting on the Saturday, Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday.  As you may recall, on our previous jousting jaunt to Knebworth House in Hertfordshire over Easter weekend, we had all frozen half to death and some of us even vaguely beyond it, but thankfully this weekend the weather was gorgeous.  I even got a sunburned nose on the Saturday.  It was so nice to be back with the Knights of Royal England team again, and all the usual fun and larks ensued.  The first night with them was too much for a tired and shagged out me - we finished the shows and I made my pathetic excuses and made my way to my luxury Travelodge near Bicester.  I went to bed and slept soundly for nearly 10 hours, which was exactly what I needed, and I found myself the following morning up, bright, rested, alert and ready for action.  Which I am sure was a ghastly site for most sane normal people. Well all three days were fun, packed and very warm, particularly the Monday where the staff of Blenheim assured us this was their biggest ever turn out for a jousting event at the Palace. I do wish some of the punters who come and see these shows could think of some more original questions to ask you as you pose for photos after the show.  Virtually every other question was "are you hot?"  Hot?  Me?  This towering lump of lard, in three layers of heavy satin with about 2 cwt of fur draped round my shoulders on what is the hottest day of the year so far, with my bright red face with several gallons of sweat pouring down it?  Hot?  Whatever gives you that idea?  Tish, it's nothing!
During the weekend it was the birthday of Lucy (Jeremy and Kim, who run the Knights of Royal England - well, their daughter) aka "Bob" and on the Sunday evening we all went out for a meal at the White House Pub at Bladon near Woodstock.  It was so nice to be amongst close friends and have such a laugh.  It was also nice to meet Frank, an old friend of Jeremy's who looks like being one of our regular riders this summer.  He is a tall striking looking Frenchman.  I asked him where he lived - and he is now in Birmingham, having surrendered to the brummie charm enough to re-locate from the Burgundy region.  He wants locking up.  But a very nice chap indeed and fun to work with.  And so we finished and headed off our different ways.  The jousters off to Sweden to do some shows, and me to head today off to Coventry for a visit to a new school tomorrow.  After that I am back at Bathampton on Thursday and then leaning against a sideboard and gasping for breath on Friday.

* There isn't one.

Meanwhile at Scott Base, Antarctica...

The cheery sign that greeted us as we arrived at Baldock Hinxworth Travelodge.

Back to jousting for the weekend, and what a weekend it was.  Freezing cold, a howling wind and misery personified. Myself, James, Shelley and Owen travelled up from the South East round to Knebworth House, praying with each mile that we clicked off that temperatures would rise and the fluttering flakes of snow on the windscreen would abate.  Would they heck.

On arrival at Knebworth we were followed in by Sir William of Antioch, much to Owen's delight and wound our way through the deer rich grounds to where the Knights of Royal England had parked their horse box.  On our first greeting we were informed that lots of them were struck down with the old dreaded "Nawab of Pataudis", after a particularly virulent chicken korma the night before.  Several of them were still back in their hotel happily barfing their way through the morning.

We did both shows on the Easter Sunday - and by heck it was cold, but we all agreed that by the end of the second show there was a definite rise in the overall temperature.  Shelley, Owen, James and I then drove up the A1(M) towards our overnight stop at Baldock Hinxworth Travelodge.  I had booked this several months in advance and was quite sure I had got a bargain.  I was wrong.  This was quite possibly one of the filthiest, grimiest hotel experiences I have ever encountered.  James and I  in our room were quite lucky - it was just the usual frugal room with the odd spot of mould in the bathroom.  Shelley's room was quite different - it appeared to have been cleaned on a regular basis by a group of people with the norovirus and amnesia.  There was quite literally crap everywhere - smeared walls, mould in the bathroom, splatter marks in the bathroom, large embarrassing stains in the bedroom, a broken leg on the bed that made the whole thing creak and even suspicious large brown splat stains on the net curtains.  Really, in retrospect I should have offered to swap rooms with her, but I didn't and I bitterly regret that.  I wasn't much of a gentleman.

We cheered ourselves up with a really genuinely nice dinner at a Beefeater in Stevenage, where the staff could not have been more helpful if they tried.  So nice were they that after our awful night at the Travelodge we went back to the Beefeater for breakfast - and James and Owen both got eggs from the Easter Bunny there, so everyone was happy.

Amazingly, the Monday at Knebworth was even colder.  My weekend was also marred with awful tights that kept making a break for the border (i.e. heading south) and caused me to be almost late for the second show on the Sunday.  By the end of the final show on the Monday I was in the Royal Box commentating with the owner of Knebworth, Lord Cobbold, and my hands were so cold I could barely feel the microphone in my fingers.  But we got through it.

I am off to Bourne Hall Museum in Epsom today for a couple of Henry's Horrid History Shows, then it is back down to Somerset for an appearance on Friday night at Mudford Village Hall (All together now: "HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD!") and then a few days in Wales with James visiting my parents.

And the World Did NOT End!

So 2012, a year when we were supposed to see the world end has come and nearly gone, and as far as I can see I am still here.  It has been a pretty phenomenal year for a lot of people, but also for me and Good King Hal.

My professional year has just come to a close with my final evening in the grotto as Father Christmas at Leeds Castle.  It is a fairly well known fact the sainted Darlene Cavill is leaving her post as Events Manager at the Castle in May after so many years fulfilling the position.  The place just won't be the same without her and after eight years of working as Santa at Leeds, with Darlene's departure it seems right that I should hang up the red bobble hat and hand over the present sack to someone else.  To be honest it will be lovely just to have a normal Christmas without being cocooned within the grotto for three weeks and unable to do "normal" things!  I personally think as in Doctor Who there should be a regeneration scene where I morph into the next person who plays Santa.

Being Henry this year has been great fun with visits to new areas such as Liverpool, Hexham, Barry and other various far flung corners of the British Isles.  Plus I spent most of the summer months gallivanting around a variety of stately homes and castles with the wonderful Knights of Royal England - a truly epoch making experience.  But this sort of travelling will pale into insignificance if the plans for 2014 come to fruition - I have been invited out to Shanghai in China for some Good King Hal appearances.  I can't wait!  I am so excited by the idea and really hope this all works out and becomes a reality.  There are equally exciting plans for 2013 for the business, but I shall reveal my master plan piece by piece and as we reach each milestone.  I like to keep my powder dry!

And my final reason for making 2012 so memorable is that I have met the lovely Shelley, a lady who has brought back the sunshine into my life long after I honestly thought I would never be personally happy again.  For that I cannot thank her enough, but will have to start somewhere, so why not here?  THANK YOU!

So to everyone who has been a part of the madness, fun and historical rantings that has been Good King Hal in 2012, many thanks to you.  Hope you enjoyed yourselves as much as I did.  Here is to 2013 and hoping it is as successful and prosperous for you all.

A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE!

Coughing All Over the World

Good King Hal, wowing his audience so much at a recent performance of "Henry's Horrid History" Barrington Court, that some of the punters, overcome with emotion, have to make a mad run for the exit.

This was a week to test the endurance and tensile strength of everything from my lungs to my underpants, as I careered around the country, full of cold and coughing over as many people as I could manage.  Things started on the Thursday night when I was booked to appear at Tatworth WI club near Chard in Somerset.  Hollywood glitz?  You don't know the half of it.  So I was at this glamorous post war village hall, surrounded by the great and good of the Tatworth committee rooms, singing my heart out to "Jerusalem" at the beginning of the meeting.  Then I was on stage, entertaining them with bonne mottes of Tudor history and humour, interspersed with violent coughing fits and some gentle swearing.  Gosh this cold was turning out to be fun.  Nearly all of my symptoms had gone, and all I was left with was an occasionally runny nose, but this awful rumbling chesty cough that only ever reared it's head when I went to laugh.  And here, a week hence, I STILL have that awful cough and I am FED UP OF THE GIT!  Anyway, my evening with the quiet ladies of the WI came to an end and I was thanked and photographed a lot.  But that was not the end of my evening, oh no.  No sooner had I left Tatworth, I had to leap into my car and drive right the way across the country in the pitch dark and occasional violent downpour of rain, to my beloved Shelley's house in Maidstone.

On the Friday I was due to join Michelle Coda and various members of the Knights of Royal England on a visit over to East Grinstead and Saint Hill Manor, former home of L Rob Hubbard and now a centre for the International Scientology Movement.  We were to be part of the entertainment at their international symposium, or something or other.  Now my own personal view of Scientology is (THE FOLLOWING SECTION OF GOOD KING HAL'S BLOG HAS BEEN SCREENED FOR LEGAL AND SAFETY REASONS AND IN AN EFFORT NOT TO UPSET TOM CRUISE ANY MORE THAN HE HAS BEEN UPSET IN THE PAST YEAR.  FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, SOOTHING MUSIC IS NOW BEING PLAYED AND IT WOULD PROBABLY BE BEST IF YOU NIPPED OFF FOR A GLASS OF WATER OR SOMETHING.  HANG ON, I THINK HE'S FINISHED). And another thing (OOPS, MY MISTAKE.  HE'S OFF AGAIN. ER.... DREADFUL WEATHER WE'RE HAVING LATELY, DON'T YOU THINK?  AND THAT ROY HODGSON, DOES HE KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING OR WHAT? WHAT'S THAT?  OH, HE HAS FINISHED NOW.  BACK TO "COUGH-A-LONG" FARLEY)... and about as believable as most Tory party political broadcasts.  But that's just me.  So for the best part of a whole day we were surrounded by Scientologists from all corners of the World and I have to say that Saint Hill is a very spectacular location.  They are clearly not short of a bob or two.  The jousters with us for the day were Jeremy, Kim, Lucy, Ashley, Dan and Mack.  The weather was atrocious a constant never ending downpour of Scotch mist that soaked you to the skin and sapped your strength.  Just what you needed when you were full of cold and feeling like death warmed up.  I added to my fun and enjoyment by slipping on the steps at one point and jarring my back which pleased me not!  We were only there from 2pm to about 6pm, but the relentless dourness of the weather and the lack of response from some of the guests made the time drag awfully.  After a final prance up and down with the Knights and some Scottish pipers, who Jeremy took great delight in soaking by pushing up the rain sagging awning that was over them with his flag (extremely funny) we were soon on our way home as the big evening bash for the Scientologists began.  Michelle and I complained that we hadn't seen Tom Cruise all day, but mind you in the dreadful weather we had endured the poor little fella might have sunk I suppose.  As we drove out of the grounds as the good and faithful poured in through the gates, we went past a huge gleaming stretch limo with blacked out windows, followed closely by a brand new minibus full of very large muscular men in dinner jackets, wearing dark glasses and with ear pieces.  (INSERT YOUR OWN GAG HERE!!!!!)

We had a few days off over the weekend, but got together to visit some Wedding Fayres to get some ideas for possible business ventures.  Then I was due at Hever Castle on the Monday for a filming session on their new publicity video, however the weather was so gloomy and foggy that they gave up on Monday, and then gave up on Tuesday.  Filming has now been put back to either November (possibly) or next Spring (most likely).

Thursday this week found me back for a return visit to Wickford Junior School in Essex.  This was my seventh year at this lovely school and as ever I was warmly welcomed back, and even offered tea and toast on my arrival - what King could ask for more?  The morning was great fun, with laughs a plenty from the usual sort of thing you get at Wickford - a big group, fantastic costumes and lots of intelligence and plenty of laughs.  The morning seemed to go past so quickly. Soon I was in the staff room munching down a lunch that consisted of breaded cod, saute potatoes and beans (relatively healthy) followed by pancakes in maple syrup (so unhealthy as to be able to hear your arteries hardening as you gulped them down).  The afternoon was a riot of laughs and fun and culminated in a long overdue win for the Gents on the jousting.  This brings our score back to:

GENTLEMEN 4 - 5 LADIES

Back to almost parity again. I have a feeling it will be a lot closer this time.

Half term is here and the King is off for a holiday in Wales with the lovely Shelley, my son James and Shelley's son, Sir Owen of Leeds Castle, so should be fun.  And I have nearly finished coughing over everybody in the entire British Isles.  There is an elderly couple in Tenby who I haven't done yet, but I should be catching up with them next week.  Have a fun half term everyone.  See you soon.

From Merseyside to Buckinghamshire - I Say!

Good King Hal showing Anne Boleyn her new residence.  Travelling by river taxi as they were would apparently get them there "chop chop".  Smashing.

It was going to be a long week, some estimates put it at over six days, but I'm not sure.  It begins last weekend where we find the King at home and full of cold.  Not a happy Tudor bunny, and if you want to know just how ill I was....?  Well, I cancelled an evening of drinking beer with Matthew Applegate.  Now THAT is ill.  On the Sunday I found myself on the M5 heading north on my way towards Liverpool.  The reason for this Royal Progress North?  The King was to appear at Liscard Primary School in Wallasey, an area of the country that I really have not visited in about 31 years.  I was booked into a Travelodge in New Brighton which didn't really sound a desperately enticing prospect, however when I got there it was amazing to behold.  The front by the sea wall has been enormously redeveloped of late, to be honest they're still doing it, but are very nearly finished.  The Travelodge is cheek by jowl next to various restaurant and coffee house-type outlets, and backs onto an enormous Morrisons and a cinema.  This may sound horrific but in it's seaside location it actually looks quite good.  Sadly the wall they've built round the hotel car park looks like the sort of solid rock obstacle you'd see around a Soviet Gulag.  After checking in I asked the receptionist where the nearest petrol station was - apparently about 20 minutes away, and I was amazed to discover it was!  As you drive towards Seacombe from Wallasey you see all aspects of Merseyside, from pleasant leafy side roads that gently slip down to the water front, to long terraces of shops, boarded up and covered with graffiti and one or two burnt out shells of buildings.

Liscard Primary is a lovely school, formerly being a Grammar School, and inside a lot of money has obviously recently been spent to redevelop the site.  I had a group of about 90 children today, mostly year 4 and they were fun.  My chest was tight and full of coughing fits, plus my throat would occasionally dry up and more coughing would ensue - my how we laughed.  But I got through the morning and we had lots of fun with the children.  After lunch I was back in the main hall for the stocks and jousting.  Both were as popular as ever and the joust was of a particularly high standard and culminated in an amazing finish as the boys just needed one quoit to win the race, but their final rider just could not get the final target clear of the quintaine.  The ladies snuck through to claim an amazing victory.  Quite remarkable stuff.  Our score now goes to:

GENTLEMEN 3 - 5 LADIES

And so the poor old gents losing streak goes on.  I packed away my stuff and began the long drive back from Merseyside to Somerset.  I have to admit by the time I got home I felt like death warmed up and the prospect of getting in the car the following day and driving all the way to Buckinghamshire for another show really did not appeal.  However, my lovely Shelley had a brilliant idea.  Rather than me phone up Maltman's Green School in Gerards Cross (my next destination) and say "I'be godda code ib by doze..." why don't I phone them and say "I've got a bit of a sniffle, I don't want to pass on my germs to your lovely pupils, would you like me to stay away until I am all better?", and they said "Nah, come on in and infect everyone!"  Well, not in so many words...

So I found myself driving up to another Travelodge, only this time in Beaconsfield.  This was a lot different from New Brighton, it was a 1930's building that looked like it had snuck in behind an old coaching inn and had simply died of embarrassment there.  It was hard to find, but very comfortable inside.  I settled down for the evening and decided I would be soothed into a beautiful sleep by watching England play Poland in a World Cup qualifying game.  The match was to be played in Warsaw's brand new, multi-million pound, state-of-the-art stadium with retractable roof for use during inclement weather.  Well, it was frightfully inclement in Warsaw, but no one had actually remembered to close the sodding hi-tech roof, so we had the surely unique experience of a football match due to be played in a brand new stadium with a retractable roof being called off due to a water-logged pitch.  Another first for Europe.

I had only been at Maltman's Green a few months previously and had happy memories of a friendly fun school, and I had remembered correctly.  It is a girl's school, and all the young ladies were dressed in superb Tudor costumes.  It was a fun day all round, my throat and chest managed to survive all the way through and the jousting finale was of an incredibly high standard, but sadly as it was not a co-ed site, the result cannot be added to our year long score.  What a shame.  We had a great day and I was pleased to be on my way back.  I listened to the re-arranged England v Poland game, and it was so exciting I nearly fell into a coma.  Michael Carrick played in such a brilliant way.  Every single pass he made went straight to a white shirt.  It was such a pity England were wearing blue that evening.  What a bunch of over paid tossers.

And so the King is home briefly, tonight he is off to Tatworth near Chard for a talk for the Tatworth WI (all together now "HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD!!!" etc etc.) before driving through the night to Maidstone to see my lovely Shelley.  I am then going over to East Grinstead for a get together with the Knights of Royal England and Tom Cruise.  Should be amazing.  Watch this space....

Better Late Than Never (And TOPLESS KATE MIDDLETON PICTURES!!!!! - that got your attention didn't it?)

Good King Hal in his latest replacement double glazing advert.  "I liked the product so much, I dissolved the monasteries, and made myself head of the newly formed Church of England.  Beat that, Victor Kiam."

I was feeling listless, uninspired, torpid to be honest.  And then I realised what the problem was - I had not had a single blog in over a week, and that is not good for you.  So, today I have decided to attempt a new blog, and here we are 50 words in and all is going well still.  The shock title of this blog is to try and see if I can get a few more hits from the outside world.  I suppose if I was going to really try and court publicity I should put on some crudely drawn cartoon of the Prophet Mohammed, but then some people in this world have had a complete sense of humour by-pass and I'd end up with some deranged lunatic setting fire to Tudor Roses (the pictures, not the ladies) and hurling stones at my windows.  But I can handle the pressure! Or as Prince William said to Kate Middleton "get yer writs out!", so let's get on with the blog.

Tuesday the 11th of September found me driving up to Harrogate in Yorkshire for a visit to Bicton Grange School in the town.  Normally when I am going away to do a show and have to find somewhere to stay I tend to plump for the obvious Travelodge option as they are cheap, easy to find, but admittedly utterly soulless.  So in advance of my trip I went on to the Travelodge website - their hotel in the middle of Harrogate wanted to charge an extortionate rate just to get your head down for the evening, plus they had no car park and your only nearby option was to use a local municipal car park at a breath-taking £1.10 per hour.  I would find somewhere else.  With the help of my lovely Shelley we went on line and checked various of these "Last Minute dot com" and "You want a room, where!!??" type of websites.  I had soon found the St George's Hotel and Spa in the middle of Harrogate that would normally charge somewhere in the region of about £120 a night for the most basic of room, but on this site was flogging off rooms at £40 per night - so I went for that.  After the long drive up to Harrogate I was delighted to find what a charming town it is - very leafy and pleasant, with big wide open spaces right in the middle of the town.  Finding the St George's Hotel, or more specifically it's car park was proving a bit more of a headache.  I eventually stopped and asked a couple of ladies walking by the side of the road where I could find the St George's Hotel, and scarcely cracking a smile they pointed to a sign directly behind them that said in letters about four feet high "ST GEORGE'S HOTEL".  Should have gone to Spec-Savers.  Now I know I got a cheap room, but a hotel of the quality of St George's will make sure it can screw every other penny out of you at every opportunity.  So just to leave my car in their small car park over night was an extra £5. KER-CHING! Wi-Fi Internet connection was free, it just didn't work very well and was quite staggeringly slow.

I decided to spoil myself that night with a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant.  It appeared I was one of only two people eating in the cavernous dining room that night, but never mind.  I kicked off with coquille st jacques, which was delicious but tiny, and then had a succulent sirloin steak which was cooked to perfection.  I washed this down with a very agreeable bottle of Merlot.  This meal alone cost more than the rental of the room had originally cost. KER-CHING!  I slept OK, but there was a lot of noise outside the hotel at night which disturbed me from time to time.  I got up in the morning, showered and shaved, and prepared for the short drive to the school.  However, before that I decided to have my "free" breakfast at the hotel.  I dashed down to the dining room and explained my haste to a bewildered looking east European waiter, and grabbed a plate of egg, sausage and bacon, and gulped down a pot of tea.  It was OK, but as it was "free" it tasted a bit better.  I went to check out only to discover the breakfast wasn't free at all - for my egg, bacon and sausage, and one cup of tea I had been charged £10.  KER-CHING!  So I might have started off with a cheap room but I was now starting to head for a cost close to the import deficit of a medium sized third-world country.  KER-CHING!
Bicton Grange School was a delight.  I was very warmly welcomed by all the staff who were very excited about the arrival of Henry VIII at their school.  I was with the year 5/6 group today and they wanted to split the groups into three and then have me do three separate "Henry's Horrid History" presentations to the groups.  Sounded great to me, but I have to admit by the time I got to the final group at the start of the afternoon I was exhausted.  It was great to get all of the group together at the end for a right royal Jousting tournament.  It was uproarious and entertaining and culminated in a win for...... the Gents!  This makes our start of the academic year score:

GENTLEMEN 1 - 1 LADIES

It's nice to see it so close at the beginning of the year.  I wonder if the ladies will just race off into the distance like they did last year?  Watch this space...
Fully recovered from my 6 hours+ drive back from Harrogate, I was then on the road early again on the Saturday for a trip up to Wallington in Surrey for another Wedding appearance.  This time I was to be toast master and MC for the wedding reception of Manuela Jenkins and Ian Flowers at Carew Manor, one time home of the Carew family in Tudor times, but now a special school run by the local authority.  It was at Carew Manor that Henry VIII apparently had various assignations with Jane Seymour before their marriage, dirty old devil.  I arrived and was welcomed by the caretaker, a really lovely bloke and one of the catering managers for the event, the deliciously named Amie Poland, who apparently is cousin of dear old Mungo from the Knights of Royal England - what a small world it is.  Well it was a lovely event and a nice evening.  The Bride and Groom looked stunning as they arrived at the Manor being driven along in an 80+ years old open top Lagonda car, which rather worryingly smelt like my late grandfather's sit on lawn mower when the engine was switched off.  Bizarre. 
The meal was lovely, I introduced the speeches and then I was on my way, down to Maidstone and my lovely Shelley.  On the Sunday we went over to my sister's near Sittingbourne to meet up with Michelle Coda and young Vix for a cup of tea and discussions about possible future Tudor projects.  It was a very positive meeting given extra piquancy thanks to Sir Owen of Leeds Castle producing silent but deadly "Butler's Revenge"-style farts that could strip paint from 20 yards and make your eyes water like tear gas.  That's the last time he's getting onions for lunch, I can tell you.
Right, up to date now, and I honestly promise never to hang on to my blogs as long as this again.  I know it is bad for me.  Perhaps I should eat more onions like Sir Owen.  Oh, and no topless Kate Middleton photos, just a joke.  And definitely no cartoons of "you know who".

It's The End, But The Moment Has Been Prepared For...

The Knights of Royal England - splendid fellows.  All of them.

And so, the end was near and so we faced, our final curtain...  The last regular weekend of the jousting summer was suddenly upon us before I had even realised it was coming.  The Friday and Saturday was to be back for the final two days at Hever Castle.  Hever has been magnificent this year, even when the mud in the arena was so thick you could have re-coated the M25 with it - the crowds have turned up en masse for our shows.  We were without William of Antioch for the final two shows at Hever, but everyone else was there and, as ever, much fun was had by all.  It was also to be our final two shows with Michelle Coda in tow as she would not be coming to Hedingham for the shows there.  But we were without Vix who was off appearing in her drama society production of "Annie".  Michelle had been to see one of the performances earlier in the week and declared that the production was very "provincial" - damning!  But Vix was enjoying herself so that was alright.

I had promised James a wage packet for his hard work over the summer with the jousting team, and he was mostly pre-occupied with what he wanted to spend it on.  One of his ideas is he wants a fishing rod as he is hell bent on the idea of going fishing.  Those of you who know James will be aware that he has the attention span of a amphetamine addicted gnat and a very low boredom threshold, so perhaps fishing is not the best idea for a new hobby.  But he is still going on about it.  So watch this space, I shall let you know what is finally purchased.  To be honest, it could be anything.

The last two shows at Hever passed in what can only be described as a blur.  But they were well attended like all the other shows there this summer and a great reaction from the crowd.  So with barely time to lean against a side board and gasp for breath we were off, up to Essex for a Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday at Hedingham Castle near Halstead.   I had never worked at Hedingham before, I had visited in the past as a regular punter, but was delighted by what I saw.  The castle is a typical Norman keep atop a steep hill.  It is very reminiscent of Rochester Castle in Kent or the central keep at the Tower of London.  The actual tilting arena was tiny in comparison with Hever and Leeds Castle, but it was a lovely setting.  Whereas the jousters were at the foot of the hill changing in their horse box, James and I, and the Tudor Roses, were in a large marquee that a wedding reception had been held in, behind the main house of the owners of Hedingham Castle.  It was two shows a day at Hedingham with plenty of other distractions for the punters - archery, side stalls, a jester, various food outlets etc.  It was a truly magnificent sight.  James had a go at the archery on the Monday morning and managed to score a bulls eye with only his second arrow.  That's my boy! 

The four shows were great fun, lots of laughs from us and the audience, and with the much smaller arena you got a great reaction from the punters when something exciting happened.  Whenever a lance was smashed on a shield the gasp from the audience was very audible - great stuff.  Sir William of Antioch also showed off shamelessly, particularly on the Monday when he pretended to get the huff and stomped off into the audience, sitting with people, trying to steal lunches and even posing beautifully with a child's tiny clear plastic umbrella.

The only drawback for me over the weekend was being stopped by the Police on my way to Hedingham the first day - it turned out the MOT on my car had expired four weeks ago.  Oops!  It cost me a £60 fine  but will make me more aware of checking the expiry dates on my MOT's in future.

We got filmed by a US TV cable network called Reels (or something!) who shot the show and also interviews with various members of the cast (myself included), so if you're in the States and you know a channel called Reels, or Reel then keep a look out for me!  I also got to meet the owner of Hedingham at the end of the second show and he seemed keen on getting the King back in the future.  That would suit me!

And so it was over for another year.  We posed for the picture above before the second show on the Monday - I intend to print it out in large format and laminate it so James can put it up in his bedroom as a nice memento of a very memorable summer for him.  He can look at it when he gets back from fishing....

The photo was taken by Shelley Hughes - she is beautiful!  Just thought the world needed to know!