Christchurch Mansion Day 2

The Beverley Sisters after a direct hit from the Luftwaffe.

And so, on the very day that the London Olympics officially opened, where was Good King Hal going?  Yes!  Back to Ipswich in Suffolk for the second of his two days at Christchurch Mansion.  Yesterday had been fun, but unbearably hot, with blazing sunshine all day, so I personally was a little relieved to wake up and find the morning overcast and cool. The drive up to Ipswich was easier this morning, and despite the odd spot of rain here and there, mostly fine.

The early part of the day found me wandering the halls and rooms of the Museum, chatting to people, posing for photographs and upsetting tiny children - the usual really.  After a brief break for a cup of tea I was due on at 1.30pm for my first show of the day.  I had worried a little that there didn't seem to be as many people around as yesterday, but I needn't have worried.  The first show was, if anything, busier than the previous day.  It was a fun show with a lovely audience, though there was an elderly couple to the back of the room who sat stony faced throughout with expressions that intimated that both of them had recently inserted large cacti into their underwear.  He was tall, pale, elderly and wearing tiny shorts that revealed two thin, knobbly kneed legs that tapered down to Argyle socks and sensible shoes, whereas she simply looked as if she had just been evicted from the Conservative Party Conference.  I left the room to applause and headed for the cafe for a bite to eat - only to find the sour faced couple on the table right next to me.  They had looked like nit-pickers, and I was right, they were.  As I sat down, her opening gambit was:

"Very good show, though some of your dates were inaccurate..."  My usual response to this is to try to shove a blancmange down the protagonists underpants, but I contained myself as they were elderly (and I didn't have a blancmange to hand) and kept it to a:

"Well, it depends on which book you read...."  At which point the thin elderly chap, in a quavering Brian Sewell-like voice, complete with tilted up head and half closed fluttering eye lids said:

"But you said the executioner for Anne Boleyn came from France - he didn't, he was Flemish..."  My usual response to this type of petty "I am cleverer and better read than wot you is (sic)" snottiness is to fell the protagonist with a vicious right hook and then throw them into a convenient water feature.  But they were elderly, and I was trying to eat a Tuna sandwich at the time.

The second show today wasn't quite as full as the first show, but what an audience!  They were magnificent, laughing and joining in enthusiastically.  When asking the audience if the marriage between Henry VIII and Katherine Howard is going to last, I usually get them all shouting "NO!" back at me.  One little boy in this show, louder than everyone else shouted "PROBABLY NOT!" which garnered him a big laugh from me and a round of applause from the audience.  In the end I nearly managed to kill myself by swallowing a tiny amount of spit down my windpipe just after playing the kornholt musical instrument.  As I gasped and coughed on stage trying to catch my breath, the audience continued laughing as they thought it was part of the show.  It isn't and I am very glad I don't have to do it every day.

The day finished with me posing for many photographs with two pneumatic east European ladies and their children, which was fine by me. And I got to meet my friend David Randall and his wife, who I have got to know via Facebook - so hello David!  I drove back down to Essex, collected my lovely son James and we headed then down into Kent to stay overnight at my sister Cathy's place ready for our return to Hever Castle for the weekend's jousting.  It is going to be a fantastic weekend I can tell.  Very excited!



Christchurch Mansion Day 1

Good King Hal showing selected photographers how to hold Katherine Howard up when she's had a tad too much of the old "Meado Collapso".

IPSWICH!  GATEWAY TO THE EAST!  My lingering memories of Ipswich, should anyone feel the urge to ask, were Mick Mills, Bobby Robson, Tolly Cobbold brewing and Trevor Whymark's sideburns.  So if you step outside of football and beer, not a lot has been going on there.  I THOUGHT.  How wrong I was, of course.  I had been booked to appear at Christchurch Mansion months ago, but of course, being the suave idiotic Tudor about town, I had never bothered to actually check out where the hell I was going to be performing.  So a couple of days ago, I looked up Christchurch Mansion on Google - wow.  You should do the same.  It is impressive, but if you think the on line effect is good, try checking out the actual place.  This is truly a gem of the British Isles, overlooked and underexposed, and packed to the rafters with treasures.  So get yourself down there and check it out.

I drove up from Basildon this morning in searing summer heat, listening to the classic Robin Bailey version of Peter Tinniswood's brilliant "Tales from a Long Room" and laughing like a drain at the cricket-world humour.  I arrived at the grounds of Christchurch Park and Mansion, and was amazed again by this wonderful red brick Tudor edifice.  I was greeted by Shelley from the Museum Service and made very welcome.  She toured me round the whole building, showing me the wonderful Constable paintings, the Gainsborough's and even some Matisse, Renoir and Picasso.  Astounding.

I did two shows today - Henry's Horrid History again, with a show at 1.30pm and another at 3pm.  The 1.30pm show was packed out - there just weren't enough seats for all the people who wanted to get in and enjoy the show, so many of the children ended up sitting on the floor, but I got a great response from the group.  When I chose a lovely lady from the audience to be my Anne Boleyn for a decapitation, she was saved from her fate when her 18 month old daughter toddled up on to the stage and cuddled her.  How could I lop her noggin off after that?  After the show I had a lovely lunch sitting in the court yard out the back of the building. Superb.

The second show was a disappointment - only about 10 people turned up, and one lady sat in the back row openly breast feeding a baby, something guaranteed to knock you off your stride when trying to remember what to say next in a show.

But all in all, an absolutely fabulous first day at Christchurch Mansion and I can't wait to get back tomorrow for the second day.  See you there?

If It's Tuesday It Must Be Thorpe St Andrew...

An image giving a rough estimate of the amount of mileage covered by Good King Hal this week, and his current whereabouts.

Having four shows in four days would be enough to test the physical stamina and mental fortitude of someone in the peak of physical fitness, of a young age and without porridge for a brain. Which was a real shame as I entered this week full of cold, self doubt and feeling every day of my 44 years of age. I drove up to Essex on the Sunday and saw my beloved James. As usual I received the now traditional welcome of being thrashed mercilessly at Mario Kart on the Wii Console by him, but it was good fun none the less. I was up at the crack of dawn the following morning for a drive up to Melbourn (no, not the one in Australia as that has an "E" attached on the end), but is a small place near Royston which is either in Hertfordshire or Cambridgeshire, depending on who you speak to. Melbourn Primary School was an absolute delight - friendly, welcoming and with a nice bunch of children. I felt like death warmed up on my first arrival at the school, but by pouring large amounts of Lemsip down my throat I managed to assume a vague appearance of humanity. A splendid day was had all round with lots of laughs and ended up with a great jousting tournament that culiminated with another victory for the gentlemen. This made our scores for the year:

GENTLEMEN 6 - 6 LADIES

So the Gents finally pull level for about the first time in over two years. Heart stopping excitement, eh? Eh? Oh wake up for goodness sake. The Monday evening I drove over to Hitcham in Suffolk to see Sue English and Ian Weston, my old friends who run the brilliant Portals to the Past group of re-enactors. I was warmly welcomed by Sue and later on Ian arrived and we ended up heading down to Hadleigh in Suffolk where they treated me to a delicious Indian meal. It was great fun catching up with my old friends and sharing stories about our re-enactment experiences.

The following morning Ian and I were both heading up to Norwich to do shows - Ian in central Norwich and me to Thorpe St Andrew in the north eastern suburbs and St William's School. This was another new school for me and this one was another wonderful find. If possible they were even more friendly than the previous day at Royston and the children here were brilliant. So funny! The absolute highlight of a lovely day was when during the question and answer session at the end of the morning some of the children asked me questions about different sports in Tudor times. One little girl asked was it true they used a pigs bladder when they played football, and I assured her it was true. They'd remove the bladder, empty it, steam it, turn it inside out and then stitch it up and inflate it, before kicking it around. Sounds delightful. A moment later another little girl asked about the pigs bladder, only this time she asked "did it hurt?" - I told her it didn't do the pig any good, which reduced the teachers to tears. The little girl had meant did it hurt kicking the bladder, but it was too good a feed line to miss. Another child asked if the Tudor's ever used children for jousting, but I assured him they only used horses. Our joust was another classic and wound up for another victory for the Gents. Unbelievable stuff. So after so many years of trailing in the ladies wake, by half way through this week the Lads find themselves in the uncharted waters of leading! The score after Tuesday was:

GENTLEMEN 7 - 6 LADIES

I drove back down the delightful rain and lunatic addled A12 and back to see my lovely son James again. But there is no let up this week for the wicked old King. After another brief night of sleep I was again up with the lark (and still down with the lurghi) and driving this morning towards the Eastern coastal paradise that is known as Harwich. As I drove up the A120 in the early morning grey light I pondered as to when I last visited this town. I reckoned my last visit had been in 1975, when at the age of 8 I had travelled with my family at the start of a holiday in France by going to Harwich to catch a ferry, and staying in the deliciously named "VIKING MOTOR LODGE" or something. It was every bit as grotty as the name suggests, but I was just so excited to be on holiday and staying somewhere that had the name VIKING in the title. I had a little trouble in finding the school this morning - the Mayflower Junior. My sat nav took me to a school, but the wrong one. I eventually found what I was looking for and managed to park my car right by the back doors to the large hall. Another welcoming cup of steaming Lemsip helped my human being impersonation again. Once more I was welcomed by lovely staff and some great kids - all in brilliant costumes, something that every wonderful school this week has managed. We had a really fun day and despite my cough nearly knackering me this afternoon I managed to make it through without too much hassle. We had a fine jousting tournament which went right to the wire but was won by a brilliant ladies team. And so we find ourselves level again:

GENTLEMEN 7 - 7 LADIES

And all that and one more school to do tomorrow this week. I am off to Fyfield tomorrow near Ongar for a first visit to the delightfully named Dr Walker's Church of England School. Should be more fun.

As some of you may or may not know I had recently started dating someone. This was the first time I had managed something like this since about the mid 17th Century and I was jolly pleased with myself, particularly as the other person was particularly attractive - the words "punching" "above" and "weight" came readily to mind. However, I am back to my usual status again as this situation has now come to a close. So women of Britain, be aware - I AM SINGLE AGAIN! Yes! Lock your doors, hide under stairs, hammer large bits of wood crookedly across windows and doors... Unless of course you are interested in dating a man who looks about 400 years old, is ginger, so large he appears on Ordnance Survey maps as a shipping hazard and wears tights for a living. Gosh, you can see why I am constantly fighting the women off, can't you? As I only ever seem to find a woman who is brave enough to date me once every five years, I am thoroughly looking forward to a brief two week period in 2016 when I shall be able to take a lady out to dinner three times. And when you look like me, that's about as good as it gets! GOODNIGHT EVERYBODY!