A'r Brenin arwain gorllewin (trwy Swindon). AND XTC!

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in drag.  From left to right: Bashful, Sleepy, Zeppo, Adolf, Brian, Shergar, Miss Chatham 1974, and another one.

The world turns and life moves on.  And for Good King Hal, it is just more and more endless roads.  The weekend of the 25th January found your jovial King once more in the south east of England.  I had Friday with my lovely son, and the Saturday morning, before heading down to Kent for my brother in law Julian's 50th birthday party.  It was a fantastic evening, populated with a nice gathering of close friends while we had our ear drums blasted out of our skulls by the consummate musical skills of the band The Licks.  A very competent and lively covers band, their lead singer looked like the unfortunate result of a night of passion between Mick Jagger and Charley Boorman, but he was a great front man.  Our dear old friend Michael Croydon once more displayed his drum whacking skills had not diminished as he pushed the rhythms along.  Add a fine bass player and a more than adequate plank spanker and you had the ideal band for a gathering like this.  It was great to see Ann Turner Maynard and her husband Dave again, plus Michelle Coda and Matt Rentell were there, and many other old familiar faces.  A great evening.  Made even the sweeter for me by the mere presence of a lady called Elaine.  But we'll leave it at that for now.  Keep you lot all hanging on on tenter hooks.

Sadly I had to whizz back to Somerset on the Sunday to get ready for two shows in two days.  The journey back was horrendous as the weather was simply so awful.  It was truly grisly, worse even than having to walk around CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVISE gardens with CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVICE and the other hatchet faced old boots from the CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVICE, which was usually about as much fun as nailing your scrotum to a telegraph pole and then employing a blind rabid baboon to try and rip the nails out with his teeth.  Oh how I miss those happy days. I had a few hours at home to collect my thoughts, then I was up early and out of the door for a drive to Swindon, home of XTC and Billie Piper, among others, for a visit to Gorse Hill School.  This was a lovely school and a great day seemed to be had by all - much laughter from a great group of kids. Only one of the teachers had dressed up, all the others had declined the opportunity.  But she looked stunning in her, frankly Medieval dress, and certainly cheered my day up no end.  The final joust was incredibly loud and closely fought, but inevitably the ladies snatched a vital victory to extend their overall lead even further.  Our score is now:

GENTLEMEN 11.5 - 17.5 LADIES

They are virtually out of sight now.  It was as pathetic as CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVISE trying to get into CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVISE without an invite and demanding a dressing room when the jousting is on.

If I had any time to rest on my laurels, I barely had time to notice.  All too soon my alarm was squawking on my bedside table and I was up and out of the door again into another cold quiet early morning long distance drive.  I was this time making a return visit to Barry Island, in the Vale of Glamorgan (sounds lovely doesn't it?) and a day with the children and staff of Colcot School.  This lot were a lovely sparky bunch, ready to laugh and join in and not backward in coming forward with examples of their own knowledge.  Even if that knowledge could at some times be a bit dodgy.  The morning zipped past in very pleasant time and I was soon scarfing down a very welcoming plate of pasta bolognese and garlic bread for my lunch.  Just after the lunch break the teachers put on a mini Tudor banquet for the children, with pottage, ginger breads, and mulled apple juice to wash it all down.  I was on the top table with several children sitting with me, their names being drawn at random as to who should sit with the King.  I was sitting next to a very chatty and confident little girl of about eight.  She told me very proudly that she was learning to speak Welsh at school, which I told her I thought was a brilliant idea.  She showed me her new found skills by first saying "yacchi da" at me.  Then she told me how to say "hello" in Welsh.  Apparently you have to say "bonjour" in a thick French accent.  How do you follow that?  How DO you follow that?  In my case it is with a jousting tournament.  And it was another belter.  So close, all the way through.  In the final it honestly looked like the Gents had it sewn up, but their final rider had a bit of a mare, and the ladies romped through to nick it on the last quoit.  Would you believe it?  The score goes now to:

GENTLEMEN 11.5 - 18.5 LADIES

If this was a boxing match, they'd have stopped it by now to stop the lads from taking any more punishment.  A bit like Spurs being slaughtered by Manchester City the other night.  5-1, at White Hart Lane.  And that goes with the 6-0 drubbing they took at the Etihad Stadium earlier in the season.  11-1 on aggregate I make that. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...   I drove on from Barry Island and onto see my parents in Newcastle Emlyn, some 80+ miles further on into the Land of Song, Ivor Emmanuel and Goldie Looking Chain.  It was a long old trek and made all the more incredible for me as one of the teachers at Colcot School in Barry, drives there and back, every day from Newcastle Emlyn.  And I thought I was insane when I used to drive 75 miles to Southampton every day from Somerset, when I worked at Skandia.  

It was lovely to see my folks, and they have pampered me ridiculously, I have helped out a little round the house, doing errands, helping to underpin the mansion and re-tarmacked the main Cardigan Road, but it has been worth it just to spend some time with them.  And Elaine.... they're DYING to meet you!

Monday sees me back at the lovely Riverside School in Hereford and then on Tuesday down to one of my all time favourites, Coalway Junior in Coleford in the Forest of Dean.  And not a sign of  CENSORED FOLLOWING LEGAL ADVISE , stomping round like a cross between Peppa Pig and a steam roller with a cob on.  No, neither hide nor hair of her.  Thank God.

Norwich in the South East? Norfolk in chance.

Jane Seymour, bursting into tears when the blindfold falls off and she finally see's her new husband...

So with the dust barely settling on the Holy Family School in Benfleet, his Royal Sagaciousness was up at the crack of dawn and out of the front door of Amanda's house and on the road to Norfolk.  I had mentioned to some friends that I was in the South East for the week for shows in Benfleet, Norwich and Wickford, for which my friends had snorted and said, since when was Norwich in the South East?  Well, when you live in Somerset, everything to the east of London appears to be the South East.  Sort of... Depends on which way you face and where you start from.  Oh shut up.  I don't care.  I knew what I meant.  And anyway, it wasn't even in Norwich, I was returning to Martham on the outskirts of Great Yarmouth.  Yes, Great Yarmouth, or how I still refer to it - AAARGH!!!  Not my favourite place on Earth.  I am not a big fan of seaside resorts, and let me tell you, Great Yarmouth is THE last resort.  Anyway, it doesn't matter as I was in Martham, which is a lovely little area and nothing to do with Great Yarmouth at all.  Norfolk has this reputation for having a population full of people dressed in smocks throwing turnips at old ladies that they think are witches, to paraphrase Charlie Brooker, but the children and staff at Martham are always really on the ball, and this year was no different.  It was a big group as ever, well over 100 children, but we had a fantastic time, great response and loads of laughs from all the children and staff.  It's a long drive to Martham, but days like this make it worth it.  The jousting was deafening, unsurprising considering the size of the group, and ended in a massively important win for the Ladies!  And so the score clicks over to:

GENTLEMEN 7.5 - 8.5 LADIES

So the ladies strike back after a good recent series of wins for the gentlemen.  

I got home to Amanda's place and had lots of cuddles from my lovely son, James.  Always makes the day worthwhile when that happens.  The following day, the Thursday, luckily I was much closer to Amanda's place with a return visit to Wickford School in Essex.  Wickford is a lovely school, and is always a delight to come along to. Yet another warm welcome and yet another group of fabulous kids.  All the teachers were great fun as usual, except for one very dour Welsh male teacher who spent the entire day with his arms folded, a resigned look upon his face somewhere between pain and utter disinterest.  This was a challenge, and so during the afternoon stocks session when my shows get incredibly silly, I kept haranguing him and dragging him into my routines.  But I'll give the old leek muncher his due, he resolutely refused to raise a smile for the entire day.  I was for once, defeated. Diolch yn fawr, as they say in some of the more refined sheep shearing parlours in upper Gwent.  I prefer O leiaf yn ceisio gwenu, rydych yn ddiflas git Cymru.  But please yourself I say.

Another fabulous jousting tournament in the afternoon culminated in a stunningly easy win for the ladies, again!  This is much more like last year!  Our score goes on to:

GENTLEMEN 7.5 - 9.5 LADIES

So daylight once more splits the two teams.  And this is our score as we moved into the half term period of this scholastic year.  Any thoughts of an evening of rest was soon scuppered as I was asked to go along with Amanda and James and see their latest rehearsal for the play they are appearing in - Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol".  James is playing the street urchin that Scrooge encourages to go and buy the big turkey for the Cratchitt family at the end of the play.  He has learnt his lines brilliantly, and just needs to slow down his delivery a bit and he will be a big star.  Amanda is playing an old hag who pilfers Scrooge's belongings after he has died.  I refuse to mention the words "type" and "casting" at this juncture as I rather like my cobblers where they are at the moment.  All in all, the play itself looks like it is going to be a stunner, and speaking of stunners, so is the lady playing the Ghost of Christmas Past.  I must go to the first performance and sit in the front row.

Half term saw James and I head down to Wales for a few days in the pouring wind and rain that appeared to be Newcastle Emlyn and my parents house.  To be honest some of the weather forecasts we got at the start of the week were a tad biblical, but the plague of locusts and boils did miss us on the whole and we had a lovely few days away.

Next stop for the King - an appearance at Hampton Court Palace on Monday doing a corporate event for BP.  My first Hampton Court show - I can't wait!  Watch this space for more.

Tilehurst and Lots and Lots of the M4.

Good King Hal, admiring the gear change smoothness on his Tudor Car.  He decided instead to get a four door car.  (Tudor?  Two door?  Geddit?)

So, where is Tilehurst, eh?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?  Never mind.  I assumed, with a name like that it must be somewhere in Kent.  Wrong!  It is just to the west of Reading in the County of Berkshire.  I was lined up for a morning at Park Lane Junior School in this fine town.  I drove up the A303 in thick fog, then up the A34 and finally on the M4 briefly before cutting up to Tilehurst itself.  The school is a big old red brick Victorian building, but there is no parking on the site, however I was lucky enough to be allowed to leave my car just inside the school gate and tucked up next to the door into the main hall.  I was very warmly welcomed by some lovely teachers and staff.  It was an odd morning in that the school had worked out their own timetable for me.  This started with two sessions with the main groups, just in a question and answer situation.  When this was done I was back in the hall with the first group again, this time with the Six Wives talk, then a bit of music and finally a quick frantic joust.  This first joust was incredibly close but was won by a very good ladies team.  If we add this to our scores we have:

GENTLEMEN 2 - 5 LADIES

The second group then came back in and I whipped through the Six Wives talk again, which was a bit of a mind bender doing it again so quickly.  My brain was constantly screaming "YOU'VE ALREADY SAID THIS!" but I managed to keep going.  The second jousting tournament was a lot louder but infinitely more confusing.  Despite frequent repeats of the rules, both teams really struggled as to what the hell they were doing.  Quoits flew everywhere, some riders roared off to the other side of the tilt where they shouldn't be and confusion ran amok.  In the end, with the clock zooming round towards midday and time for me to go, I called a halt to the tournament and declared it a draw, which seemed to please no one!  So I suppose I can only give half a point to each team, which makes our score now look a bit odd.

GENTLEMEN 2.5 - 5.5 LADIES

As I was about to go and get changed, one of the dinner ladies approached me.  "I'm parked behind you." She said.  I nodded and said, OK, I'll get changed and we can sort it out.  But she stopped me in my tracks and repeated, "but I'm parked behind you."  I looked at her for a second or two, nodded slowly and repeated what I had said previously.  There was a slight pause, and she repeated "But I am parked behind you, out there!" and she pointed as though to convince me to go and look.  I finally had to ask her what she was so worried about.  "Well I've got to serve dinner in a moment..." she began in a panicked little voice. I assured her that someone would, surely, allow her a minute to let her ladle have a rest while she moved her car.  And I was proved so right!  I packed what I thought was everything away and headed off down the M4 towards Wales and a visit to my folks.  I was taking them to the airport again, something I used to do a lot when they lived in Essex but haven't done as much since they moved to Wales.  The trip down was fine and they greeted me warmly and then, very nicely, took me out to dinner at the Emlyn Arms Hotel in the town of Newcastle Emlyn where they live.  We had a fabulous meal and returned home to burp loudly and sip brandy.  Splendid.  I discovered to my horror the next day that I had left one of my Tudor musical instruments at Park Lane School in Tilehurst.  I blamed the dinner lady for distracting me.

After another fine day with my folks it was time for a very early get up of 3.15am, and then a drive up the M4 to take them to Heathrow for their main holiday for the year - a trip to the USA.  Lovely.  We got to the airport and I dropped them off, but this was where my fun was now starting.  I then had to drive back down the M4 to Newcastle Emlyn and drop my father's car back at their house and collect my car, before then driving back UP the M4 to Essex and a visit to my ex-wife Amanda's place and a visit to her and my lovely son James.  It was an incredibly long day, made slightly longer by on the first journey back from Heathrow I stopped off at Park Lane School and picked up my errant musical instrument.  But it was good to have it back.  

And so to Essex, and tomorrow I have a return visit to South Green Junior in Billericay for a full day.  Always a lovely school to visit, it should be fun.  Then on Saturday I am in Southampton for the Tudor Revels event - Meet the Ancestors.  I am on at about 3.30pm in the afternoon doing my Henry's Horrid History show.  Come one, come all.

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.

Song of a Baker

There was something large, ugly and unpleasant lurking in the gardens.  Good King Hal being devoured by a Triffid.

Croseo i Cymru!  Or something like that.  Your latest missive, hot off Caxton's press begins with your King in West Wales, trying to convert the natives unto the sheer delight of wearing tights.  The working part of my sanctuary at my parents involved me giving a talk to a Probus Group at the Cliff Top Hotel in Gwber (pronounced GOOBER - I love it!).  The only people who knew the King was going to appear, aside from my parents and my lovely Sister Sue who came along for moral support, were the President of the local Probus group and her treasurer.  Well not wishing to deafen you with self trumpet blasting, I went down a storm.  The lovely group seemed to really like me, which was fantastic and I even got some old boy in the front row, who bore a more than striking resemblance to former Polish President Lech Walesa, to laugh so much he had to take a break halfway through.  He was a God's gift to a comic as his laugh came out as a loud grunted snort, very much like someone doing a loud pig impression.  When he first did it I urged him to give it a bit more choke and it would have started.  And no, before any smart ass says it, he wasn't asleep and snoring.  I had a lovely lunch in the hotel with the group after the show and then went back to my folks for one more night.

The following day I was on my way back to Somerset, but the journey took a lot longer than expected as the east bound M4 was shut due to a big smash up and we were diverted off through various tiny villages, most of which seemed to be experiencing road works.  Well, I say works.  What you mostly saw was miles of traffic cones, an occasional parked up lorry with three navvies either asleep or reading The Sun in the cab, or if you were really lucky, one of them outside, listlessly swinging a pick at the tarmac before pausing to scratch his arse or light a cigarette.  It was a stirring sight.

Back home at Somerset I found myself on the Saturday listening to Danny Baker's Show on BBC Radio 5 Live. He has been doing an ongoing feature about people's experiences of lower league Scottish football.  This seemed too good an opportunity to recount him my journey to Stranraer with my father a couple of years back, and a shameless opportunity to plug Good King Hal on national radio.  Well, I got on air and had a chat with the sainted Mr Baker, and what a lovely chap he is.  He even laughed at some of my appalling old Henry VIII jokes.  What a gent.

My dear old friend Ali Bessell came over on Saturday night and we drank wine, put the world to rights and watched the old Tim Burton movie "Ed Wood" with Johnny Depp.  What the hell was Johnny Depp doing in my flat???  But it was lovely to see Ali again - why is it when you have such a dear friend you only get to see them once in a blue moon?  Life can be cruel like that.

On the Sunday I went over to Barrington Court to see Matthew Applegate and thrash out the final dates for my Henry appearances at the court house this summer.  My first walkabout is this weekend on the Sunday, so come and say hello if you're in the area.  I drove home and watched my beloved Manchester City thrash Chelsea 2-1 in the FA Cup Semi Final.  Knowing us we'll lose to Wigan in the final now...  Just my luck at the moment.

Back to being Henry on the Tuesday morning with a first visit to Walliscote Primary School in beautiful downtown Weston super Mare.  I had been booked by a lovely lady teacher who had originally seen me when she had brought her class from Ilton School to come and see my open day at Barrington Court with Shepton Beauchamp and Barrington School, all those years ago.  She had remembered me and recommended me to her new school.  It was only a morning, but a great one.  One of the friendliest nicest schools I have visited for a long time, charming lovely teachers and some great kids.  Really a wonderful, wonderful morning.  We finished just after midday with a ear bending jousting tournament that, surprise surprise, the ladies won - again!  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 12 - 21 LADIES

This is now getting embarrassing.  The poor old gents just don't stand a chance these days.  The rest of the week is quite Barrington oriented.  I am possibly going over to the Court House on Friday for a photo shoot with a local photographer from Ilminster, and then as I mentioned earlier it is my first official Henry walkabout of the season at Barrington on Sunday.  Please come along anyone who reads this - the King would be delighted to see you.  And now a quick quiz for anyone who reads this blog this far - the blog title for this entry - which British rock group had a famous song of this title?  Song of a Baker?  Let me know if you know the answer.

Epsom, Mudford, Newcastle Emlyn - now THAT'S cosmopolitan.

Mum and Dad Farley have really started blending in with the natives.  My father is on the right.

Following on from the horrors of Knebworth, my next sojourn into the delights of dressing up as a big Tudor jessie saw me driving round the M25 for a return appearance at Bourne Hall Museum in the leafy suburbs of Epsom and Ewell.  You may remember my visit I spoke about last year, and how Bourne Hall itself resembles a BBC Sci Fi special effect alien space ship from the 1970's - well it still does.  And much as I was hoping the entire cast of Blake's 7 were going to turn up and start teleporting me about, they didn't.  Not even Sally Knyvette, and she was seriously gorgeous back in the years before Margaret Thatcher, but more about her later.

I was greeted at the museum by it's two main men - David and Jeremy, both of whom have a touch of the Womble about them.  You tend to get the feeling that they actually live in the ramshackle store room they use as an office, and both of them have the look of people who don't see daylight very often.  You can imagine them walking out the front door and pausing in the sun to blink slowly and rub their eyes at the sparkling wonder of it all.  They are both lovely and greeted me with a welcoming cup of tea and various anecdotes they had just acquired about the local Home Guard from the second World War.  Once more my show was on down in the theatre in the bowels of the building, and once more we were packed out for both shows.  When I finished my first show I headed back up to their warren.... I mean office, for a spot of lunch which turned out to be an out of date jam doughnut with the consistency of a cannon ball, followed by a slice of lemon drizzle cake which was delicious.  So swings and roundabouts.  The second show was equally fun and we ended with a grand Tudor Foot Wrestling competition.  How do you describe Foot Wrestling?  Well I don't, just imagine trying to push someone over, without using your hands, standing on one leg and not being allowed to kick or stamp on your opponent.  Yeah, like that.

I drove back to Somerset from Epsom and got home about 6.30pm.  Cooking seemed like an incredibly stupid idea at this time and after such a long drive, so off to the Chinese I went for a delicious plate of MSG's floating in grease.  You could hear your arteries hardening and you chewed.

My next Henry show was on the Friday night at Mudford.  Mudford is a funny little village just to the north of Yeovil and on the way to the delightfully named Queen Camel.  They obviouly have a strong community spirit in Mudford and each Friday night at their delighful village hall they have an "event" where the guests arrive and get stuck into a nice buffet, drink some wine and are then entertained by some speech, singer or other entertainer.  This was their first Friday night event of the summer of 2013 and they had invited me along to be the "turn".  We had a lovely evening, an absolutely wonderful audience, about 50 people in total and lots of laughs.  I was well fed and watered (Shepherd and Neame Spitfire to quench my thirst) and a splendid evening seemed to be had by all.

And so to the weekend, and I was off to Wales to see my folks.  It is my father's birthday this week (today actually - the 9th) and originally there was supposed to be a whole phalanx of us trotting down the M4 to the land of song, rugby and worried sheep, but as life has unfolded this week with it's ups, but to be honest mostly downs, the car got emptier until in the end it was just me trolling down the road.  But I have had a lovely time in the kind welcoming embrace of my family - a lovely meal over at the Daffodil Pub, a visit to the National Wool Museum (believe it or not) and lots of bargains at all the fantastic antiques shops in Newcastle Emlyn.  I am off to the delightfully named Gwber tomorrow for a Henry show with the local Probus club.  Should be fun.

Oh and Margaret Thatcher kicked the bucket.  Even as we speak she is trying to privatise hell.

Hever? Indeedly Sudeley...

The Knights of Royal England democratically deciding who has to buy the next round of drinks at the Pub.

And so the long fun summer of jousting starts to wind down.  The penultimate weekend started off with me down in Somerset with my son James.  I had been keeping him entertained for a few days by taking him for days out, or to the cinema to see Ice Age 4, or by simply allowing him to thrash me mercilessly at baseball and tennis on the Wii Sports game.

We drove up to Essex on the Wednesday evening and then intended to head down to Kent on the Thursday - which was the plan, but poor old James started suffering with a tooth ache on the Thursday morning, to such an extent that he willingly volunteered to go to the dentist the following morning (first available appointment), so therefore for the Friday show at Hever I was a small loud herald short for the day. And I really did miss having him there - and funnily enough Michelle Coda's daughter Vix was also unavailable that day.  So not a Herald in sight!  The Friday was a good fun show - quite staggeringly hot and airless, but the audience really joined in and enjoyed the show.  James was recovered enough from his dental torture to return to the fray on the Saturday. Well if you thought the Friday had been hot - you ain't seen nothing yet!  This Saturday simply sweltered with temperatures at Hever Castle at about 80 degrees.  It was unbearably hot in the Royal Box doing the commentary, so goodness knows what the poor jousters were going through in the middle. The audience seemed equally dulled by the blistering heat and were quiet, non-responsive and a bit lethargic to be honest.  It was hard work trying to whip up any enthusiasm with them at all.  But in that weather you really couldn't blame them at all.

I was already pre-booked for the Sunday at Sudeley Castle from some time ago, and so the jousting at Hever had to occur without Henry for once, but I did really miss being there with the jousters and Michelle.  Sudeley looked lovely in the early morning light and dappled sunshine.  Luckily the weather in the Cotswolds was about 10 degrees cooler than it had been the previous day at Hever.  So it was another wander round the grounds of Sudeley Castle - groups from the Tudor Roses and Tudor Gowns were also there, as was the Tudor music group Waytes and Measures, but James and I ploughed our own solo furrow for the vast majority of the day, meeting people and posing for photographs.  The weather was very kind on this final day at Sudeley for the summer, but I was slowed down with a stiff painful ankle, which plagued me for most of the afternoon and finally forced me to give up early on the day at about 3.30pm.

On leaving Sudeley, James and I drove out to Wales for a few days at Newcastle Emlyn with my parents, where we are still currently residing and being spoilt rotten.  Mind you, the pub my Dad and I went to in Cenarth last night was                              (censored on legal advice).

James and I head back to the South East late on Wednesday and will be back at Hever Castle for our final joust there on Friday and Saturday, and then off to Castle Hedingham in Essex for the Sunday and Monday for the final summer joust of 2012.  It has been a blast.

When Barry met Harry.

Good King Hal, testing the strength of a school table by lowering the Royal rump right on it.  The vicious swine.

Back on the road again means getting up at the crack of dawn, especially as the show was in Wales - Barry to be precise.  I had visited Barry once before, donkeys years ago and to be honest I couldn't remember it at all.  The drive up was quite pleasant and easy with the M5 being delightfully empty.  I got to to the Severn Crossing and now found that they were charging you £6 to go across.  £6?  How can they justify such a cost?  You should get a free balloon or a lollipop or something at that cost.  Anyway, I rolled up outside the school - Colcot Junior, and was very warmly welcomed by the lovely Liz Prescott, the teacher who had organised the event.

It was a lovely school with great kids.  The group was quite large - about 70 I suppose, and a mixture of years 3 and 4.  The morning ran it's usual course with great fun in the opening talk and a keenly contested quiz.  We broke for lunch and then things changed from it's normal run - first I was back in the hall for a Tudor banquet with a nice pottage, some gingered bread, marzipan sweetmeats and delicious spiced apple juice.  The children also entertained the King with some "knock knock" jokes - most of which I had heard to be honest, but there was one young lad who specialised in completely off the wall knock knock jokes such as "knock knock"  "Who's there?" "A chicken" "A chicken who?"  "A chicken trying to get to the other side of the road."  Cue total silence and tumble weed.  But he knew loads of them!  After the feast and the jokes the children then showed off their Tudor dancing skills which was great fun.  And from that we went straight into the usual Jousting tournament.  It was a loud entertaining affair finishing with one of those rarest things - a win for the gents!  Our score now rolls on to:

GENTLEMEN 16 - 26 LADIES

Colcot Junior was a fabulous memorable school and it was a delight to visit.  Now instead of heading back to Somerset I carried on down the M4 towards Newcastle Emlyn and my parents place.  On the Friday night we went out to dinner with my cousin George, who has just bought a fantastic big house near to my parents place.  George, his wife Alex and their two sons Arthur and Tom, joined myself and my mother and father at the Netpool Inn at St Dogmaels - what a fantastic pub.  We had the warmest welcome from the charming hosts and had a brilliant evening.  Another cousin of  mine - John Boorn and and his old pal Vic from Melbourne in Australia arrived on Saturday and it was great catching up with "Boorny" as he is affectionately known.  I spent a wonderful weekend with them all, got to catch up with my sister Sue and her other half Ian as well.  It was also nice to see some warm weather for a change as well.  I drove back to Somerset this morning and am amazed to find myself sitting here with the windows of the flat wide open and it actually feels like Spring has finally arrived.  And about time too...

Penwythnos gwyllt yng Nghymru. (Oh a sioe yn Henffordd).

The sort of image that was once banned by the Geneva Convention.

Now try saying the title of this blog entry when you've had a few. Not easy is it. Mind you, it's not easy when you're sober either to be honest. I think the Welsh language sometimes goes out of it's way to be awkward. Last Thursday our story begins, with an early rise and a drive up to Hereford for a second visit to the lovely Riverside School there. I last visited this school back in 2010 and it was just in the final throes of being built back then. Now, in early 2012 it is complete and looks magnificent. It was a big group today, about 60+ pupils but all very lively and articulate. They were very much up for the day and to be honest had to be reined in a little from time to time. But I would always much rather have that scenario, than the one of them sitting in stony silence.

The morning passed fairly quickly, with a slightly extended morning break to allow the school to have an assembly. Lunch was a beef stir fry with noodles, which was surprisingly tasty for a school dinner. Usually there isn't enough salt in one of the meals to harm even the wimpiest of slugs, but this meal was very well seasoned and edible. The afternoon was loud and over-excitable and culminated in another thrilling joust which was won, inevitably it seems, by the Ladies AGAIN. This now makes the score:

GENTLEMEN 11 - 14 LADIES

They are escaping. No doubt about it. On leaving the school at about 3.15pm, I was not to head back down the jolly old M5 and home to Somerset - no! I was heading back out to Newcastle Emlyn for a long weekend being spoilt by my parents at their home. I had seen them at Christmas, but had been with my son who takes up most of my time, and my Father was not particularly well, so I wanted to see them and spend a bit more time with them. They had other guests staying with them - their old friends from Essex, Mike and Ros Bloomfield. We had a lovely weekend with a long day out over to Tenby where I managed to get yet more post cards of the Edwardian actress Gertie Millar to add to my ever increasing collection, and then the following day driving to the wonderfully named village of Gwber (pronounced Goober, as in "Goober and the Ghost Chasers" - how many of you remember THAT little pearl of retro-TV?)where we had a delicious lunch at the brilliant Flat Rock Restaurant. I drove back to Somerset on the Monday morning.

Tonight is Wassail night back at Barrington Court, but it is a much more laid back small affair this year, with attendance really only by invite only. I am then back to being Henry again on Thursday with a return visit to Blandford Camp in Dorset and a show at the Downlands School.

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday...Oh, it was...

Good King Hal wondering where the Hell he left the sleigh. Can you see a chimney anywhere?

This year, being Father Christmas was a much nicer happier experience than last year. One of the main reasons was the almost complete and utter lack of any snow. I personally loathe the stuff and I am still, to this very day, perplexed by the sort of people who pay vast sums of money to travel the globe trying to find it. And when they do find it, they then attach planks of wood to their feet and slide down the bloody stuff. And I am always tremendously sympathetic when they arrive back at Gatwick or Heathrow with compound fractures to both lower legs. I always try to take their minds of the intense pain by pointing out how nice their out of season sun tans look. It doesn't always work to be honest.

The grotto was again located in the Dog Collar Museum at Leeds Castle in the courtyard next to the Fairfax Hall restaurant. It was a nice walk through a faux winter wonderland dotted with deer and penguins. The path was a raised walkway that thankfully only one small child managed to plummet off during our run. The evening shows were again like last year up in the castle only this time no child presented with a name as good as "Lost in Chaos" from 2010, though we did have one little girl bowl up called "Twinkle", which is all well and good when you're 7 years old, blonde and cute. It might be a tad less suitable when you're 36, vastly over weight and with six screaming children running amok in your council flat. I stayed at my sister's house in Stockbury for the entire run this time, failing miserably to get snowed into the castle this time around. I also failed miserably to get a girlfriend to come and stay with me for a romantic weekend at the castle early in the run by getting dumped before reaching the required date. C'est la vie.

Staying at my sisters is always lovely as I am guaranteed a warm welcome from her and my brother-in-law Julian, and their two lovely dogs Charlie and Una. The food is good, the bed warm and comfy and, Eastenders aside, the entertainment mostly very agreeable. The only down side is the effort it takes to get into their house. It is perched at the top of a short steep hill just off the A249 and when it rains the ground and driveway churn up like very impressive impressions of Passchendale during the 1914-18 conflict. Added to this at the bottom of the hill Julian has recently installed a new security gate following recent thefts from his garden by some charming chaps who may or may not have a connection with Dale Farm near Basildon, if you follow my drift. The gate is sealed by a pretty much tamper proof padlock, the unlocking and re-locking of was one of my main duties during all my comings and goings from their house. They had supplied me with a key. On one of my first journeys back to their house in the pitch dark after an evening show, I drove up to the gates, got out the car, slithered and slipped my way to the gate, spent a few happy minutes swearing, sweating and cursing as I attempted to get the very small key into the lock and then coax it into opening. I finally succeeded - so back into the car, drive it through the gates, stop the other side and get out and re-lock the gates. The other side of the gate was even darker and wetter. I got out and immediately put my foot into a huge muddy puddle that sunk up to my lower ankle - good job my boots were high and waterproof. I took another step and instantly sank up to my mid-calf in thick black treacle-like mud that poured into the top of my boot and soaked my feet. My, how we laughed. But it was a small price to pay for such kindness and welcome from my sister and her husband. By the end of the stay my car looked like it had just been dragged out of a swamp - and so did I.

I finished on Christmas Eve at just after midday and drove up to Essex to spend Christmas Day with my lovely son James and his Mother. Tomorrow, the 27th, he and I head off down to Wales to visit my parents for a family New Year gathering at their house which should be very nice indeed. So for all their help and hard work at Leeds Castle this Christmas I would love to say a big thank you to: Darlene, Becky Lander, the incredible Dodd sisters (Becca, Jen and Pip), Sophie, Adam, Dallas for building the grotto, Pat and Alan, Barbara, Marina, Lyn Jones, Trisha, and Helen Ellis for proving that subtlety is just something that happens for other people. If I have forgotten anyone, I apologise.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Henry VII, Elizabeth of York, Haylands Primary and 500th post.

Good King Hal (ginger lummox on the right), about to roast his chestnuts on an open fire. He was taken, screaming to a burns unit where Catherine of Aragon described his condition as "satisfactory". And now here's Daniel Corbett with ye weather - Daniel?

I have had a really lovely few days, I have to admit. My parents came down from Wales last Thursday and I have been unable to get rid of them since. All joking aside it has been lovely to see them. We've had some lovely days out, beginning with a trip for my mother to Ilminster to buy nearly all world stocks of shoes from Dyers the Department Store. I took them for lunch at the Halfway Inn at Pitney (definitely worth a visit folks) and then a leg stretching walk around the grounds of Barrington Court. We've also been down to Portland, stayed with friends in Weymouth, had lunch with relatives at Portesham, been down to Manaton to see more relatives and drank probably a bit too much red wine, but who cares?

To finally get a break from all this carousing I had to get up at the crack of dawn yesterday for a return visit to Haylands Primary School in Ryde on the Isle of Wight. I was booked on the 6.45am ferry from Lymington and for once, I arrived in time to collect my tickets and then catch the correct ferry without any need to panic, swear or drive like Nigel Mansell on amphetamines. I got to the school at about 7.45am which was about perfect. It was a lovely day for driving so early as well - bright and sunny and with this rather attractive halo effect around the early morning sun as it rose over the horizon. Not sure what that was all about, but if it was the Rapture we were promised at the weekend then the mad Bible chomping loony from the States got it all wrong. Probably more likely to do with another Icelandic volcano going a bit tonto. Haylands is a lovely school with some of the funniest and friendliest teachers you could ever wish to meet. Great fun seemed to be had by all for the majority of the day and the children joined in to a large degree which made it much easier for me. Sometimes with a Year 3 group, which is what this lot were, you can struggle, but they got it - and more - and reacted brilliantly. Lunch was a treat - very nice roast gammon, and then it was back to Tudor nonsense for a very silly afternoon. Jousting was a bit of a riot as some of the children seemed to be making up their own rules as they went along, but heck, I reckon that is called thinking outside the box. Or cheating. Never quite sure. It culminated in a fine win for a very talented ladies team. This now makes the score:

GENTLEMEN 23 - 28 LADIES

Not sure if the Gents are going to get a chance to catch them now. Mind you, Ryan Giggs never thought he'd get caught either, but there you are.

Today my parents (Henry VIIth and Elizabeth of York) are off down to Devon again to visit some old friends of theirs. I am taking the opportunity of getting back into my own personal routine, and am heading over to Chard to see some friends. We have our final day together tomorrow before their Royal Visit comes to an end on Friday and they return to Wales. It has been so nice to see them both.

Next Henry outing is from the 31st May to 5th June at the Jousting Tournament at Leeds Castle in Kent. Come and say hello if you're there!

Cwmduad (and that's not a spelling mistake)

Good King Hal playing spot the castle. And failing, obviously.

I had originally been invited out to Cwmduad near Carmarthen in Wales back in September, however the group that had booked me suddenly realised that most of their members and potential audience were still on holiday, so the show was postponed for two months. So on the Friday just gone I drove down to Newcastle Emlyn, where my parents now live, which is only about 10 miles north of Cwmduad. I arrived on Friday at about lunch time and joined my parents, and my sister Susan for a bite to eat at Harrison's Cafe in Newcastle Emlyn - trust me on this, you would be well worth your while seeking this place out. Great food and always a warm welcome. It was great to see my sister Sue just back from a Rubinoos spotting trip to San Francisco (and you thought I was weird)...

On the Saturday morning my father and I drove down to Cwmduad to see if we could find the Community Centre Hall where I was to do my show that evening. I also had some stuff to post from sales on Ebay and there was a post office in Cwmduad so we could kill two birds with one large parcel. Or something like that. The drive down to Cwmduad from Newcastle Emlyn is nice at the best of times, but this time of year it is wonderful. The trees are a russet red and crowd in round the edges of the Teifi River that meanders alongside the road as you drive along. Lovely! In Cwmduad we popped into the Post Office which is situated in a local B&B. Three people were sitting chatting in the breakfast area. As I walked in one of the men immediately said "Hello Michael!" which astounded me. It turned out these lovely people in the B&B were the organisers for this evening's "Henry VIII" event! As I had pulled up in my father's car outside they had all agreed I just had to be the same bloke they had been talking to via email! After posting my stuff we went up to the Community Hall with them to see how it was set up. The community had done themselves proud, the hall was small, but was brilliantly set out with long tables, secluded lighting, tapestries, heraldic shields and everything else you could imagine for a Tudor banquet. It was going to be a good evening.

With the afternoon to kill, my father and I went down to see the mighty Newcastle Emlyn FC in their latest home match. A humongous crowd of about 25 had turned up and I graciously offered to pay the entrance fee of £2 for me and £1 for my father as an OAP. I told him he could get the tickets next time we go to the San Siro in Milan. The match was against the awesome Newport YMCA, so we knew Newcastle Emlyn should really walk this one. After just 1 minute, Newcastle Emlyn burst through and scored a fabulous opening goal so it was obvious this match was going to be very one sided. And it was. Newport YMCA won 6-1. Newcastle Emlyn were awful and could barely string two passes together and succeeded in making Newport YMCA look like Brazil. With 10 minutes to go, my Father and I were the only two mugs still sitting in the tiny grandstand. Everyone else had given up and gone. I can't wait to go back and see them again!

In the evening, with tickets for the event now purchased for my parents, I drove down to Cwmduad. It was a lovely evening, a great turn out, about 50+ people, many of them in wonderful medieval fancy dress. I was at the head of the table on a grand throne and with the others gathered around me. The meal was a fine rustic vegetable soup to begin, then roast pork rolls with apple sauce, crackling, and stuffing, and then finishing with apple pie. I was on between the pork roll and the apple pie (which sounds messy, but trust me it was OK) and the talk seemed to go really well. All the people made me very welcome, had worked incredibly hard and had made the whole evening a roaring success. Pats on the back all round.

Sunday I had lunch with my parents at Sue and Ian's place (sister and other half, if you were wondering), which was an indescribably tasty vegetarian cottage pie, followed by an apple pie with custard, which was brought alive with some zesty lemon. Great stuff. After that, I sat in the car like Buddha and drove back to Somerset.

This week I am off to Essex today, then tomorrow I am up to Norfolk for two days, then back down to Kent for an appearance at Leeds Castle on Friday night for BBC1's Children in Need. Turn on, tune in and don't blink, cos you might miss me!

Rain, Summer Holidays, Chickens & a Guinea Pig

Enough said, really!

I have a new string to my bow - oh yes. No longer am I just a former telephone installer, AS400 operator, Dad and mock Tudor Monarch - I am now officially the world's worst chicken keeper. With the summer holidays upon us I had the pleasure of looking after my son full time for a few weeks - something I always look forward to. It was decided pretty early on that James and I would be spending a large part of this time down in Wales at Newcastle Emlyn with my parents, known to James as Nanna and Bapa. So armed to the teeth with James' PSP, DS and Nintendo Wii (just what you need when visiting one of the most beautiful countries in the UK!) we struck out west. The majority of our time would be spent at leisure doing proper holiday things, but we had a period of a few days looking after my sister's small holding near Cynwyl Elfed, and in particular, her chickens. James was very excited about this, but it was an excitement I was pretty sure would wear off after a couple of days of muddy toil.

The week began with blazing sunshine and heat, so of course one of the first places we took James was the cinema to see Toy Story 3 - in 3D. This was at the Apollo Cinema in Carmarthen, which if you have never visited, you really must as it is a wonderful place. James, his Nanna and I all donned our snazzy 3D glasses and thoroughly enjoyed the film - a work of genius. It was just a shame the support film, usually one of Pixar's strong points, was so utterly crap. Other visits included a day trip to Poppit Sands near Cardigan where we built a sand castle and then flew a kite in the strong breeze - great fun, stopping for excellent fish and chips at St Dogmael's (a shop called Bowens) on the way back. We discovered a great smoothie and ice cream bar in Carmarthen called Cowpots (http://cowpotsicecream.co.uk/) which I cannot recommend strongly enough. On another day we went back down to Laugharne, Dylan Thomas' stamping ground, and had tea at the delightful Owl and the Pussycat Restaurant. I met up with my old Skandia colleague Carole Davey again at her lovely pub/restaurant The Daffodil at Penrhiwllan (see their website here http://www.daffodilinn.co.uk/) for a fine meal. James carried on his valiant efforts to teach Nanna how to play Super Mario Brothers on the Wii console, which to give her her due, she was really getting the hang of it by the time we came to leave! James also took great delight in snuggling up with his Nanna to watch his favourite Indiana Jones movies of an evening on DVD. And a really big shout out to Harrison's Cafe in Newcastle Emlyn which is friendly, welcoming and has the most charming proprietress (if that is even a word) you could ever wish to meet. She is also very easy on the eye - another winner as far as James and I are concerned!

Soon it was time for James and I to become chicken wranglers. The balmy summer weather had long since scarpered and our first night of trying to get the chickens into their run took place during the Welsh equivalent of Hurricane Catrina, in the near pitch dark on a small holding which was doing a very passable impression of the battle field of Passchendale transferred to the north face of the Eiger. We slipped, we slid, we slithered. James cried. I swore a lot and the chickens went "bwock? bwo-ock?" but we did eventually get the feathery buggers in their home. James insisted on going into the run to put them to bed as it was slippery as hell in there and "you might hurt yourself, Daddy". Bless him. I think he was just worried that if I fell over he wouldn't have a snowballs chance in hell of levering me into an upright position again. So we looked after all 10 chickens, Buffy the goose, Bear and Marley the cats, and even Ted the shaggy guinea pig. And do you know what? James NEVER got bored of it once! He loved it! Oh sure we had some bad moments - the day I nearly broke my hip when I slipped and twisted in one agonising movement on the steeply sloping bank down to the chicken run, and the time James had collected six eggs, put them in his basket and then promptly slipped over and fell on them. He was devastated poor little mite. "I'm so sorry!" he kept saying, but I re-assured him and despite his upset and the fact he was caked in mud he was soon ready for more chicken related fun. Each night when he finally locked the door on the chickens he'd shout "Bingo!" We cocked up on a few things - I put the chicken's water back in the wrong place on the last morning causing it to drain out of their drinker so that when Sue got back that afternoon the poor chookies had no water - just mud. I had also managed to do something to their food hopper which meant their feed wasn't coming out properly. If chickens were covered by the NSPCC I'd be in prison by now... But all in all, for first time small holders I think James and I did pretty well.

I drove James back to Essex on Monday of this week and he had a lovely cuddly reunion with his Mum. I drove back to Somerset yesterday and I am missing him so much. He is my pride, my joy and my love. I feel like I have lost a limb today and I really can't wait to see him again.

Henry VIII returns this weekend on the Bank Holiday Monday where I will be appearing at Barrington Court for a garden walkabout. Come and meet the King between 12 noon and 4pm.

Not Six Wives - Just One Happy Couple!

My father, looking amazed as, exactly as it was 50 years ago a ventriloquist has just shouted "I do" and he's had his chips.

A wonderful weekend has just been had! It was my parent's 50th wedding anniversary celebrations in Wales. They re-newed their vows on Friday 11th June, exactly 50 years to the day from their original ceremony, with my cousin Jack Elwin officiating, exactly as he did back in 1960! We had dinner as a big group on the Friday evening at the wonderful Emlyn Arms Hotel in central Newcastle Emlyn. Then on the Saturday there was a big party at their house with a multitude of guests - all friends or relatives, some of whom we hadn't seen for years. It was a truly magical weekend and proved just how strong my parents love is for each other, even after all these years. They are an inspiration to us all.

On the Sunday they travelled to my place in Somerset and then on the Monday morning I drove them down to Southampton and the Queen Mary 2! They are now on their new honeymoon sailing round the beautiful fjords of Norway. Fantastic! And here are some more photos of the great weekend. The next Henry outing is this Friday and a return visit to Thundersley Junior in Essex.

Cathy Martin revealing how many crates of champagne she has just drunk.

Many of my parents friends "having it large" at the 50th Anniversary party.

A Tudor King, soon to upgrade to being a Four-Door King.

Do I Look Like an Out of Bounds Kind of Guy?

The Jolly Roger. Oh, hang on, it's actually a picture of Mike Farley smiling with his arms crossed.

What a week. After the success of the previous week's Mike Farley Show I was in quite a buoyant mood. It couldn't last. I had to drive up to Essex to pick up James, my son, for our week in Wales, so at the top of the A303 I stopped for petrol. Both of my cards were rejected by the machine and I had no other way of paying. How embarrassing - being made to feel like a criminal is not fun. This had never happened to me before and I really hope with all my heart that it never happens again.

James and I were on our way down the M4 the next morning. Almost as soon as we were out of the Basildon conurbation, James was telling me how "bored" he was, and how much he was missing Mummy already. Luckily he got into his PSP games, and after stopping for lunch at a service station on the M4 he was soon armed with a copy of a Ben 10 magazine which kept him occupied as well. Our time in Wales was delightful with lovely weather and several days out, including a train trip to Cardiff so that James could visit the Doctor Who exhibition there. Honestly. It was for James. Not me. I wasn't excited in the slightest. OK, it was as much for me as it was for James, but it was great fun with some great exhibits and James was only slightly scared at one point which was the Dalek Battle room which was loud, dark and full of very angry Daleks! The only down point on the day was the awful train journey there. This is the height of the school holidays and how many coaches had the train company put on? Two. When the train arrived at Carmarthen station (where we got on) it was packed already, and at each extra stop more and more people got on. James and I had to stand all the way to Cardiff Central next to the disabled loo. We were packed in like sardines and to be honest it looked more like a train somewhere in the third world, except we didn't have anybody sitting on the roof, but I wouldn't have blamed anyone if they tried. And for this joy I had forked out over £15 for the privilege. Thank the Lord there wasn't an accident, and even more thankfully there wasn't a buffet trolley on the train as he would have definitely had to have gone on the roof. We finished our week with a day down at Tresaith which is a delightful secluded beach that not many people know about - so keep it to yourself and tell no one! As we came to leave on the Saturday morning James was now sobbing to his Nanna that he didn't want to go home and see Mummy! How things change in the space of four days! After a long drive back (I had to go back to the service station on the A303 and settle my bill!) James had changed his tune again and was now delighted to see his Mummy again. After dinner and Doctor Who I was then on my way back to Somerset.

Sunday was my second Mike Farley Show on United FM in Crewkerne. My guest this week was Marion Draper, local journalist for the Pullman's View From Crewkerne Newspaper. We had a great time and a good chat. Loads of emails from friends and listeners. Among the odd music I played this week were "Busy Doing Nothing" by Dave Stewart and Barbara Gaskin, "Hard Times of Old England Retold" by Billy Bragg and the Imagined Village, "My United States of Whatever" by Liam Lynch and "Teddy Picker" by The Arctic Monkeys. I shall be back next Sunday for another show between 10pm and midnight and you can listen in on www.unitedfm.co.uk

And if you're wondering about the title of this posting, it is my wife's favourite quote from Doctor Who and was spouted (if that is the right word) by Captain Jack Harkness, a quiet chap who you might not have noticed.

More Henry nonsense this week with a visit to St Bernadette's School in Bristol on Friday.

Knights in Shining Karma

Meanwhile, back on the shelf, demon plasterer, Hank Corkpopper suddenly devised a whole new version of "University Challenge" for use in zero-g situations. Erroneous society hostess, Hortence Mouth-Breather is on the far right of the photo, brandishing the all leather boil lancing kit she won at the Hay-on-Wye literary festival. When suddenly...

I must definitely still be in a post-Andy Partridge interview fog, as for some reason at the end of the last blog entry I stated I was going to a banquet in Awford in Hampshire. What a coad of lobblers, as the Rev Spooner might have put it. There is no such place, as far as I know. I was actually going to Awbridge, near Romsey. I left with plenty of time to spare, but I got stuck in that famous bottle neck known to all and sundry as Salisbury. So as it was I actually arrived about five minutes late at the school, but it was OK, they all seemed very laid back about it! I got changed and was ushered into the hall where I was confronted by a big group of teachers, school children AND their parents! I was heralded in by two trumpeters and then greeted all the children in their Tudor finery. Next, after taking my seat at the head of the table I was treated to a fine example of Tudor dancing. We then ate a fine Tudor meal of pottage, ladies fingers, marzipan treats and lashings of home made ginger ale, which unfortunately tasted rather a lot like cold lemsip made up with cat urine, however everything else was delicious. I did a small Henry talky bit about the six wives, was then serenaded by a recorder trio, then a flautist, then a violinist, and then we had some study of a big painting of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and almost as soon as it had started, it was over! It was a lovely little interlude at a truly wonderful school.

Early on the Saturday I drove to Wales to spend the weekend with my parents at their lovely new home in Newcastle Emlyn. The weather was mostly awful, but it was lovely to see them both and I ate and drank far too much, so Henry is back on his diet with a vengeance today! We had dinner on the Saturday night at The Daffodil Pub in a village I can't even spell, let alone pronounce. And then on the Sunday, after a nice bracing walk in the morning we drove to Cenarth and the Three Horseshoes Pub where we had a gorgeous roast beef dinner in wonderfully old world surroundings, and all with good beer, bizarrely Christmas carols on the sound system, and a gigantically chested waitress. What more could you ask for?

I drove back to Somerset on the Monday morning, and took the day relatively easily, before meeting up with Matthew Applegate from Barrington Court at the Duke of York pub in Shepton Beauchamp for a wee beer or two. Today, Tuesday I have been back to Trull School just outside Taunton for my fifth annual visit to this lovely school. We had yet another fantastic day, a very small group, only about 28 children, but in superb costumes and all very knowledgeable and excited about the day. Just before lunch we de-camped to the ancient church opposite the school for some suitably silly posed photos of Henry with the children. After lunch we whipped through a fine, fun afternoon that culminated in a very exciting jousting tournament that went to a sudden death race off in the final, which resulted in that rarest of things this year - a win for the gentlemen! This now makes our score:

GENTLEMEN 14 - 23 LADIES

Not quite respectable for the gents yet, but it is slowly getting better. Just watching Wolves take poor old West Ham to the cleaners tonight, then later this week I am back off to Little Parndon School in Harlow on Friday and then back to Wickford Junior in...er...Wickford on Monday. All should be fun. We are also editing the Andy Partridge interview (keeping everything crossed) next Tuesday.

Rudolf Ferdinand, shortly before his call-up to Fabio Capello's England World Cup squad.

Another year done at Leeds Castle as Father Christmas. As you can see, I wasn't lying in the previous post about how my reindeer looked like Rio Ferdinand. The final four days at the castle had also included me working nights actually in the castle rather than down at my grotto. For these final days and because of the awful weather conditions in Kent, I didn't stay at Cathy's near Sittingbourne - their driveway was just too icy to get up! - and was housed at the Castle. I was in a room called Aviary 4. I wondered if they let this room to Aviary Tom Dick and Harry who came along...? I apologise for that joke.

Some of the children were just lovely - one little boy, somewhat overawed at meeting Father Christmas wasn't quite sure what he wanted for a present. He ummed and ahhed, and looking desperately round my grotto eventually blurted out that he wanted "a branch". His parents looked bemused, but I assured them if I was going to bring him a branch I would make sure it was a "special branch". I apologise for that joke as well.

I drove up to Essex on the evening of the 23rd December and picking up Amanda and James we headed down to Wales and my parent's place on Christmas Eve. My father cooked a magnificent Beef Wellington that evening. On Christmas Day we were joined by my sister Sue and her chap Ian and a wonderful day was had by all.

I drove Amanda and James back to Essex on the 27th and after that, just to see how much punishment a body and car can take, I then drove on down to Somerset and found myself at home for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. Climbing over a mountain of mail I entered a flat that resembled an ice block. Thank God for central heating.

New Year I am due down in Wales again, but purely dependent on the weather which is looking a tad ropey at the moment. We shall see.

Happy New Year to one and all. Here's to 2010.

Elmhurst Junior, Aylesbury

Good King Hal, explaining nicely to a youngster that pointing and laughing at Anne of Cleves is HIS job, and no one elses...

After all the rushing about at the end of last week, on Saturday, just for a change I did lots of rushing about. I was up early and out of the door to drive up to Wales and visit my parents at Newcastle Emlyn as they had some old friends from Essex staying, Ros and Mike Bloomfield from Great Dunmow. I arrived in time for brekkie, which was pretty good going. After this, and with the weather being bright and not too chilly, in the afternoon we drove up to the pretty waterfalls at Cenarth for a wander about. We had a wander about, marvelled at the beauty of the waterfalls and snapped a few photos. Like this one:

The falls at Cenarth, and not a coracle in sight.

We went back to my parents place and were then joined by my sister Sue and her other half Ian before heading out for dinner. We went to a lovely little pub/restaurant called The Daffodil in the village of Penrhiwllan (try saying that to a taxi driver when you've had a few). Going up to order some drinks I suddenly realised that I recognised the girl working behind the bar - her name was Carol and I used to work with her at Skandia Life in Southampton, what seems like a lifetime ago. How weird is life? You go all the way to the back of beyond in a small Welsh village, pick a restaurant almost at random and find someone you used to work with in a city hundreds of miles away working at the restaurant! Just to prove that this event really happened, here is a truly horrific photo of me with the lovely Carol.

Mike Farley (Good King Hal) and Carol, both former Skandia employees, hiding in Wales during the official opening of Mr Farley's second chin.

We had a fantastic meal and Carol and her staff treated us like Royalty, which happens to me all the time of course. All too soon it was Sunday and I was heading back to Somerset. Monday morning saw me up at the crack of dawn and hacking down the now familiarly dark A303 towards a visit to a new school - Elmhurst Junior in the town of Aylesbury, famous for it's ducks and Marillion - and in that order. I was greeted by the charming deputy head, a very nice Welshman from Pembrokeshire. It was a big group today- about 100 children, covering the year groups 3, 4 and 5. We had a really fun exciting day - lots of laughs for the children in the morning, some great Tudor knowledge on display and some really cool teachers - especially the lovely blond lady I pretended to behead and then added insult to injury by suggesting her Tudor outfit made her look like a crew member of the USS Enterprise in Star Trek. After a delicious lunch we were back in the hall. I had the delight of putting Mrs De Wolfe, the head teacher in the stocks, before we had a riotous jousting session. Now I thought they had been noisy at Chandlers Ford on Friday but today - wow. Just deafening. They roared, they cheered, they screamed - it was ear mufflingly noisy! And what a tournament! Another win for the gents!

GENTLEMEN 3 - 7 LADIES

Well done guys, that looks a bit better. The rest of the school joined us just after the joust for a quick get together and few more laughs, but then I was on my way. I finally got home to Crewkerne just after 6pm and I am very grateful that I have tomorrow off. However, tomorrow evening is the annual National Trust Pub Quiz over at Barrington with me hosting it again at the Royal Oak Pub. Should be fun. My next Henry show is on Wednesday at the lovely Parkfield Junior in Taunton.