A Comedy Memory From the Past...

Good King Hal in September 2005 working for the BBC at Trafalgar Square and wondering where all the cameras have gone. This man got kissed by Cherie Lunghi you know.

I was on national radio today. I was. But if you had sneezed loudly you would probably have missed it. I was driving over to Chard in Somerset whilst listening to Radio 5 Live, and Victoria Derbyshire was doing an item about the "mid-life crisis" and had you done anything a bit strange at or about your late 30's early 40's. I texted the show that I had quit my job at the age of 37 and had become a full time professional Henry VIII instead and had been doing it ever since. The BBC phoned back immediately - would I like to go on air and be interviewed by Victoria? Does the Pope have a balcony? So at 20 to midday I was called back again and told I would be on air shortly. At three minutes to twelve, Victoria finally came to me, asked me one question, listened to my answer and went off on something else. I was on air for a total of about 20 seconds. A little anonymous BBC voice then said "thanks Mike" and I was cut off. As I sat in my car muttering a few choice oaths, it suddenly reminded me of a previous encounter with the BBC back in 2005 when I was asked to appear on the "Rolf on Art" TV show from Trafalgar Square. Back in those days I wasn't doing a blog, but I wrote up my experiences of the day as an email to send to a friend, and I was so happy with what I wrote I kept it. And as that nice Jennie Towan lady in Australia keeps telling all her friends how funny my blog is I thought I had better try and prove it. So for the first time, with a few names changed to protect the innocent, is my full write up of my experiences of working for the BBC back in 2005. Let me know if you enjoy it!

ROLF ON ART – The Chilling Truth

I had been asked by the BBC to take part in a programme called “Rolf on Art – The Big Event” where everyone’s favourite antipodean wobble board wrangler would be re-creating a long lost portrait of Henry VIIIth by Hans Holbein as a massive 10 metre high collection of canvasses by separate artists. I arrived at Trafalgar Square at about 9.15am, thrown from a speeding car being driven by my father (God bless him). The only thing I knew was that I had to be at the Trafalgar Hilton Hotel for about 9.30-ish. I had been informed by my BBC contact that it was “the opposite end of the square from Canada House”. I, and my Henry costume in its inordinately heavy case, trundled across a rapidly filling Trafalgar Square away from Canada House. Not a sign of a Hilton Hotel. Asked a man who was sweeping a paving stone with all the zeal and gusto of a bereaved sloth on mogadons where my hotel was and he informed me it was “on the uvva side”. So I went to the uvva side and there it was.

As I was being ushered inside by a large security guard and Anna (My BBC person), I suddenly realised I had a large grinning lummox with me. To my horror he turned out to be another Henry. 6’5” and built like a brick shithouse, he had a beard but no other discernible likeness to Henry the VIIIth. He also had all the personality of a sunken trawler. The two Henrys were brought inside and whisked upstairs in a flash lift to the BBC nerve centre, which consisted of a “green room” with platefuls of biscuits and muffins, bottles of mineral water, Coca Cola and 7up, and constantly brewing tea and coffee. We had to wait as the other Henry (another one?) was already getting changed in the solitary dressing room available. The door to this room suddenly opened and John Culshaw from “Dead Ringers” walked in, said “hello”, grabbed a cup of coffee and a muffin and disappeared again. That’s the sort of thing you can do when you’re famous I suppose.

Finally the other Henry had finished and was brought in to meet us. His name was Bob; he was from “Lancasheeeer” and was about 107 years old. Henry Lummox and I were ushered into the changing room and asked whether we minded sharing. I’d show him mine if he showed me his. (Henry costume that is of course). I was in my costume in my customary 10 minutes, but Lummox was struggling a little. I went back into the green room where Bob and his ugly wife were sitting.
“’Ere!” Shouts Bob, in that gratingly annoying Lancashire drawl. “You got yer codpiece on oopside down!” I automatically looked down, but all was in fine working order. “Made him luke! Didn’t I? Eh? HUR HUR HUR!” Chortled Bob. What a fun chap he was going to be. How I hoped that any suicide attack on Trafalgar Square that day would get him. Finally all Henrys were assembled and ready for action. We had to go down to the foyer of the hotel and await a final briefing from the Producer. We went downstairs and waited and waited. We waited sitting down and we waited standing up, which is pretty much the same only higher. After several more waits we were informed by another BBC person that he was not available. What he was going to brief us on, God alone knows, as far as I knew all we had to do was walk around and look Tudor. If a cameraman shouted “OI! COME HERE!” we would respond.

Once out in the square I was informed by one of the production assistants that Rolf Harris would be doing a filming section shortly in a tent nearby and could I encourage some kids to go and join him. Now normally wearing tights in Trafalgar Square and encouraging small children into tents with elderly Australians is the kind of behaviour to get you on the sex offenders register – but now I was being encouraged into that sort of thing by the BBC. So I started wandering round doing my usual Henry nonsense – booming out to kids and parents alike. But wherever I went, the Lummox kept following me. It was like he was scared to go off by himself. Now I could see his costume in the daylight, no wonder he was a little ashamed. It looked like he had simply got drunk and fallen into his grandmother’s wardrobe. Added to which, his hat (bright orange) was starting to leak colour and run down his forehead making him look like a slowly melting sorbet.

Eventually the BBC producer caught up with us. Bob from “Lancasheeeer” was offered a young and impressionable BBC researcher dressed up as Anne Boleyn to follow him around. The Lummox was told he would be taken down to the Embankment with a film crew to meet Claire Sweeney as she stepped off a Tudor barge with some more canvasses for the giant portrait. And me? Well…they would think of something. Eventually I was asked to go into a tent where a mixture of celebs and ordinary Joe’s were painting frantically at various canvasses. I was asked by the camera operator to wander round and interview various artists. First I got shoved in front of a woman doing a collage painting of various brown lumpy things. I started talking to her on camera and it began to dawn on me that I knew her from somewhere. I finally twigged that it was Maggie Philbin, late of Tomorrow’s World and Keith Chegwin’s bedroom. Nice person. Next up was some kids and then Bill Oddie. As soon as I approached, the hirsute Goodie began hollering and screaming about how awful Henry the VIIIth was making him do his canvas of the carpet. This is a tactic he obviously uses with most members of the public and it probably usually works as they would feel a mixture of terror and annoyance and so therefore clam up. Not me. I gave as good as I got, until after one particularly saucy gag about Anne of Cleves and an upright Dyson stumped the shortarsed twitcher into silence and brought guffaws from the crew. He shook my hand and everyone seemed happy. “That’ll be used” I thought. HA! Then I had to interview Sarah Greene late of Blue Peter and have a quick gawp at (wait for it) Cherie Lunghi (ARGH! QUICK! NURSE! THE SCREENS!) before being dragged over to shout at the children again.

For the next few hours I plodded around Trafalgar Square being photographed endlessly by people from countries including Libya, USA, Poland, Portugal, Israel, Spain, Germany, Estonia, Latvia, India, Colombia, Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Sweden, Finland, and even the odd one or two from England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. After meeting all these people I have decided to move to the Ukraine. They may have dodgy nuclear reactors that occasionally drop a cog or two, but by God the women are stunning. Until that is, they reach 40 and turn into an unfortunate cross between a turnip and a tractor.

Lunch was pleasant as I could sit quietly in the air conditioned luxury of the Hilton restaurant next to Rolf Harris and his wife, before being yanked back to my feet and cattle prodded back to the Square and my life as a photographic study. The orchestra had turned up on the big stage by now and were scraping their way through various mood music moments and a seemingly endless repetition of “I’m Henry the 8th I am”, to the extent that grown men would have chewed their own arms off rather than have to hear it again. Millions more photos of me grinning into a million different cameras, which will no doubt horrify and bore relatives in countries around the world for years to come, are taken. Rolf Harris then bounded on to the stage and the entire programme was run through as a rehearsal. Wow.

Suddenly the heavens opened and a downpour of near biblical proportions threatened the entire day. Trying desperately to stop my expensive costume getting soaked I dived headlong into one of the tents full of celebs as a tiny little BBC person tried to hold me back. It was like watching a meerkat try and stop a wildebeest. And there was Cherie Lunghi again. (ARGH! MORE COLD COMPRESSES NURSE!). By now though my feet were like two plates of well chopped steak and I had almost had enough for the day – and it was still an hour before the show went “live” at 5.45pm. Anna, my dear little BBC helper found me and near carried me back to the hospitality tent next to Nelson’s Column. We sat on a bench together drinking free BBC tea and complained about sore feet. Cherie Lunghi walked in so I immediately dropped to the floor and began showing her how many press ups I could do. After just one and lots of screaming I gave up. Suddenly we were commanded back into the Square and told we were about to go “live”. And we did.

Well, if you saw the programme you know what happened next. Lots of pre-filmed bits of Bob from Lancasheeeer, a load of Lummox on the bus with Claire Sweeney, looking about as much like Henry VIIIth as Mother Theresa did, and two seconds of footage of me shouting at some terrified looking children. Of the Bill Oddie and Maggie Philbin interviews – nuffink! More of the Lummox speaking like a broken “speak your weight” machine to Claire Sweeney, a big hoo-har of putting the painting together, Rolf leading a rousing chorus of “I’m Henry the 8th I Am” and that was it. Just as I was contemplating suicide, I was approached by two photographers, one from the Evening Standard and one from Associated Press. Would I be interested in doing some shots on the stage in front of the finished portrait? As long as I could keep my tights on I was all theirs. So, happy in the knowledge that I was at least getting one over on the Lummox and Bob from Lancasheeeer, I happily grimaced and gurned my way through about 30 shots with the press. GREAT! I WOULD get national exposure from this day if it killed me!

Just as I was about to leave the stage I heard a call.
“Oi, Henry! OI!” I looked across. There was a man of about 60, smothered in tattoos and wearing an F.C.U.K shirt and leaning heavily against the security crash barrier.
“Yes?” I answered. As I moved across the stage to get closer to him, I could smell the booze. Even though he was at least 12 feet from me and behind loads of metal barriers you could almost taste the alcohol fumes from him. He had obviously had a hard day.
“Is that the best painting Rolf could come up wiv, den?” He spittled, pointing at the massive picture behind me.
“Er…yes, what’s wrong with it?”
“Well he’s painted one shoe white and the other one green.” I looked round. True, the shoes were of a slightly different hue, but then they had been painted by separate artists on separate canvasses. “All he’s done is made it look like Henry has pissed on one shoe. What are you gonna do about that then?” He demanded, and then laughed as though he had just said the wittiest bon motte since Oscar Wilde’s days. He was a big bloke, but he was behind several tons of crash barriers and BBC security staff. So I went for it.
“Are you a professional comedian by any chance?” I enquired sweetly.
“Yeah, I am as it goes.” He lied.
“You’ll f****** starve then.” He started shouting at me, but I was tired and already on my way out through the “celebs” exit.

Of course you can’t get back to the hotel dressed as Henry without something occurring and of course I was set upon by hundreds more tourists. I finally got to the door of the hotel when I was hauled back by a group of elderly reptilian looking American ladies. I had to pose in the middle of the scrum and look happy. My smile must have appeared cracked. I had been on my feet for nearly 11 hours now.
“Your smile looks a little forced Henry!” Shouted the dozy, face-lifted, vacuous-brained harridan with the camera. They all cackled like senile chickens.
“That’s because it is!” I said and hitched the smile up further.

Inside the hotel there was pounding dance music coming from the after show party in the bar. But there was Cherie Lunghi! ARGH! I had to say something. What? “I liked your hair in Excalibur?” “Do you really drink Kenco coffee?” Er… I walked up to her and she curtsied elegantly.
“My Lord” she said. Of course, I was still dressed as a mock Tudor pillock. I bowed in return. Now to say something devastating.
“Er… You’re beautiful” I said. That was the best I could come up with??? She smiled, kissed my cheek and chalked me up as a basket case.

I changed back in the dressing room and staggered down to the bar with the costume in its suitcase. I had a drink with Anna, Bob from Lancasheeeer, his wife and the Lummox, who for some reason didn’t want to change out of his vile orange outfit. It was all free from the BBC – gallons of red and white wine, so I swallowed my pride, and then a lot of the red wine. I had phoned my father and he and my wife were on their way to get me. One over paid BBC twit o/d’s on the booze and ends up losing his deposit over a table, before being hauled out by leviathan-like bouncers who escort him off the premises. I go to leave. There is Rolf again. I have a nice long chat with him. He is such a genuinely nice guy. What you see on TV is what you get. Instantly likable and unforgettable. Then there is John Culshaw again. I have a long chat with him. Another lovely bloke, remarkably modest about all that he does. Then there is Cherie again. Oh heck, I’ll have another bash. I introduce myself again, just in case she cannot see that this enormous ginger monster swaying in front of her is the same enormous ginger monster in the Tudor robes about an hour previously. She is delightful, says how wonderful my costume is and gives me yet another peck on the cheek. I retire to pour a soda siphon down my trousers to extinguish the flames. I go outside and an extremely drunk Bill Oddie is trying to dial a lift from his mobile phone and constantly dropping it on the pavement. I shake his hand and we have another chat. Suddenly a loud mouth walks past.
“Don’t talk to him about the Goodies, he gets angry” shouts the loud mouth. Bill offers him some advice about spatial positioning and procreation. I chip in with:
“I wasn’t going to mention the Goodies. I was going to mention the ‘Saturday Banana’.” This was a kids TV programme Bill did back in the 70’s.
“Oh God…” He sighs. “I’d forgotten that.”
“It was good” I insist “You had good bands on it, like XTC.” He smiles, nods a drunken nostalgic nod, drops his mobile for the 15th time, shakes my hand and off I go into the London night. By the time the car comes for me, I am nearly asleep sitting on my suitcase in Northumberland Avenue. I shall never look at it the same way again on a Monopoly board.

I bought all the national newspapers the following day, AND the Evening Standard. I wasn’t in any of them. I think the phrase rhymes with “row locks”.

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There - all finished. Hope you liked it!

Blean Junior, Kent

Will Somers, the jester, playing an invisible squeeze-box, while Good King Hal does a soft shoe shuffle. Simon Cowell described the performance as "pitiful" mere nano-seconds before being slapped in irons and beheaded. How the Nation (and music lovers) rejoiced.

Back in 2004 I did one of my first visits to a school in the Kent area when I went to Blean school near Canterbury. Little did I realise that Blean was to become my most visited school, for my show there today was my seventh visit. I drove up (or is it down?) to Kent on the Monday and once more I was staying at my sister's place, and once more she is still away enjoying herself in California. Has she no shame? The house was incredibly cold last night, so when I went to bed I actually made myself two hot water bottles - I know how to enjoy myself!

Blean is a wonderful school and as ever I was warmly welcomed, particularly by the teacher Mrs Rowbotham and the brilliant caretaker who warned me that I would only be seeing him for another "four, maybe five years, then I'm retiring!" Sounds like he is re-booking me for next year or so already. It was about 50-60 children today, all in some cracking Tudor costumes, one of whom had come as a falconer, complete with a plastic hawk on his arm. It did remind me a bit of Bo-Selecta, when he pretends to be Craig David with Kes the kestrel, but I kept that bit to myself. I just constantly referred to him as "the bloke with the budgie" which got a laugh or two. We were in the classrooms as ever for the morning sessions, but transferred to the big hall for the afternoon of stocks and the jousting tournament. The jousting was very exciting and deafeningly loud. All the races were close, but it was again the gents who came out on top! This now makes the rolling score:

GENTLEMEN 2 - 0 LADIES

Not the score we were expecting after last years results.

The drive back was long and a bit of a pain to be honest. There had been the now traditional smash up on the M25 in Surrey, but the good drivers of the south of England had pulled out all the stops for me today and had arranged a second smash up on the M3 at the junction with the A303. It dragged on and on, and though I left Blean at 3.30pm I didn't get back to my flat in Crewkerne until nearly 7pm. I treated my weary bones to fish and chips from the ever cheerful crew in Pejays Fish Bar ("Now THAT's sarcasm, Mrs Doyle...") and wandered back home before falling asleep in front of Chelsea in the Champions League.

This weekend it's CHUTFEST 2010 at Barrington Court! Come along, bring your own home made pickles and jams and swap recipes and jars! The King will be present.

Get Up - Stand Up. South Petherton

A terrifying prospect. Particularly if you're only four feet tall...

I had done some stand up in the past, but when I was doing it Margaret Thatcher was still stalking the land, like some huge Jurassic Tory nightmare. Some weeks ago, whilst sitting at home sipping a glass or two of Shiraz, I was reading the programme of forthcoming events at The David Hall Centre in South Petherton. The David Hall is an old church that has been re-born as this wonderful arts centre that seems to specialise in folk music and small scale touring theatre groups. Their programme stated that on the last Sunday of each month they host a "performers night". This is an open-mic event where anyone can come along and, well, do what they want. In a moment of Shiraz fuelled bravado I emailed them and said something along the lines of "gaaarg-thnarrrg performersh night - hic - I can do that...BARP... I can do a shtand up shlot for you.... (thud - slides unconscious to the floor - but not before sending the email)." And I promptly forgot I'd sent it. About a week later I check my emails and I am doomed. I get a reply from Chris Latham at the David Hall stating that they were looking forward to seeing me on the 26th September and had booked me a ten minute slot. ARGH! Oh my God! It's real! And so that little entry on my calendar on the wall, the one stating "stand up" in an innocent looking way, was suddenly looming up before me like the iceberg must have looked just before it struck the Titanic.

I put together a little 10 minute routine about being Henry VIII, some of the things kids say to me, Viagra adverts on my emails and even a joke or two about new age/pagan names (sorry!). I rehearsed it a few times wandering round the flat, but would it make people laugh? I added some other jokes as well, about me having an eating disorder (I am a bulimic with amnesia - I gorge on food but then forget to throw up afterwards) and an addiction (I drink brake fluid, but I can stop whenever I want to) and it seemed to pep things up a bit. Suddenly it was Sunday morning of the 26th September. I had stage fright like I had not experienced since my first appearance at the Edinburgh Fringe back in 1987. By halfway through the afternoon I was on the verge of phoning the hall and saying I was ill, but I could not have looked myself in the face after that. So I went over...

It wasn't full, by any stretch of the imagination. The David Hall holds about 150 people maximum, but tonight we had about 25! There were folk singers aplenty, a very talented pretty young girl (probably still at school) who sang A Capella three numbers ranging from Elizabethan plain song to a Gershwin number, a duo with electric violin, and there was even one half of the band who had played at my 40th birthday party back in 2007 (see this blog passim). The lady in question (whose name escapes me - and I apologise) did some numbers accompanying herself on ukulele - and was brilliant. She included one delightfully moving little song about her 3 year old son called "Tick Tock", all about the passing of time and wishing it would stop so you could savour those golden moments all the more. I knew exactly what she meant. And then I was summoned onto stage...

...and it was all over! I went through my 10 minutes, got a stack of laughs, and on finishing got a roar of appreciation from the small audience and a long ovation. Very gratifying. I stayed to the end of the show watching the other artists before finally slipping away into the night. I got home about 11pm and celebrated with a glass or two of Shiraz (inevitably) - just hope I haven't sent any more emails to arts centres.

Today I am driving back to Kent to stay at my sister's near Sittingbourne as tomorrow I am back for my SEVENTH (yes, SEVENTH) visit to Blean School near Canterbury. I can't wait! And don't forget, next weekend it's the return of Chut Fest at Barrington Court. Chut Fest 2010 - see you there!

Robin Hood Jousting Tournament, Leeds Castle

Good King Hal doing a fine impression of a deep fat fryer (geddit??) whilst clutching a large twiglet. It's a filthy habit (geddit??) but we all have our crosses to bear. (Geddit??) (You're fired. GKH)

So for Henry VIII it was time for a rest. I drove up to Essex on the 15th September to spend some time with Amanda and James in Basildon. It was great to see my lovely James again. My pride and joy. I had a couple of nice days there, then on the Friday I drove down to Kent, to Leeds Castle to try on my new frock. Well, when I say frock, it was actually a monk's habit as I was now about to portray Friar Tuck at a Robin Hood themed jousting tournament for the weekend. As you can see from the picture here (very generously sent to me by the lovely Jennifer Dodd who works at Leeds Castle) the seamstress down there had done a fine job. Dallas, who normally builds my Father Christmas grotto when I am at Leeds in December, knocked up the large crucifix and I borrowed the over-sized twiglet (aka a quarterstaff) from the Knights of Royal England jousting team. It was nice to see Darlene, Jean, Lynn, Judy and everyone else again on the Friday, and it was good to meet Darlene's new assistant, Becky. Helen Budd was a very hard act to follow, but I think Becky is going to do very well.

The set up was more or less the same as ever. There was an encampment of food outlets, a bar, a sweetie shop, and a craft tent for the children to design their own shields, hats or helmets. Then over the road was the jousting arena, resplendent with flags and tents. We had the added bonus at the top of the hill of another tent village, this time run by local Rotary Clubs, with side shows such as coconut shies, hook a duck stalls, and a myriad of other sundry side shows raising money for good causes. They even had space hopper jousting. The mind boggles.

I was staying at my sister's house in Stockbury again, only this time on my own! Cathy and Julian are off over on the west coast of America enjoying themselves in such places as Carmel, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Yosemite, Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon. And I'm not jealous in the slightest. That growling sound you can hear is actually....er....er... oh sod it. Yes, I am jealous! Grrrrr! But I hope they have a lovely time over there.

So on the Saturday we had a great day. I drove down to the castle and early on it was a bit quiet, but it soon hotted up. The weather was gorgeous and it was soon packed out. The management at the castle had budgeted for 4,500 visitors and they got over 5,000, which was great news. I began by wandering round near the tent village meeting people, having my photo taken and generally larking about. I then wandered up to the Knight's enclosure and would parade into the arena with the Royal Knights and spent the majority of the show berating the audience and working as a sort of Holy Cheer Leader. I got loads of gags from the audience regarding the visit of the Pope to these shores, but most of them I couldn't possibly post here. I was joined by a young couple who had been dressed up by the Castle people as Robin Hood and Maid Marian. The young girl was OK, and chatted with the people perfectly, but the poor lad dressed up as "The Hooded Man" barely smiled or said a word for the whole two days. He just permanently went about with the expression of a rabbit about to be mown down by a speeding articulated juggernaut - in tights. Poor little chap. Actually, he wasn't wearing tights. But it just sounds funnier.

On the Sunday morning I got up to the Castle particularly early as there was a car boot sale on in the upper car park. It was a slightly posher do than your normal car boot sale as the sellers were there by invite only and entrance for punters was at £4 a head! Most of the people selling there were from awfully nice families with frightfully long pedigrees and there was all sorts of ephemera on display. Darlene, Becky and I jaunted up there on one of the golf buggies from the jousting village and had a quick troll round, but quite a lot of it was over-priced, but I did pick up a nice sort of mandolin/lute instrument for £20. James Braxton (Toni's brother) from "Bargain Hunt" was there doing valuations in a Jackson Stops and Staffs tent (and with them there you knew it was a posh do!). We finished our plod around and headed back to the jousting arena. The Sunday was another good fun day, but the weather was a lot cooler and windy. There was even a few spots of rain. As it was one of the Royal Knights final shows for the year there was a distinct "end of term" feel about the show with lots of in-jokes and larking about, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. It was nice to see Jeremy and his family again, and Bill, Roland, Ashley and everyone else.

I drove back to Essex that evening and was due to have dinner out with Amanda, James and my parents who were up for the weekend from Wales visiting old friends. But James was tired and grouchy so it ended up with just myself and my parents eating. It was a Harvester restaurant, so you can guess what the grub was like. The word plastic comes to mind. We went back to Amanda's afterwards where James had made a miraculous recovery from his headache, and had lots of cuddles from his Nanna. Mum and Dad made their way back to their friend's house in Great Dunmow where they were staying and I had the delight of cuddling up with my son for the night.

I drove back to Somerset this morning, and despite a horrendous hold up on the M25 where a bloody great big Range Rover had come a disappointing second in an argument with a lorry, I was eventually home. My next engagement this week is on Sunday evening where I am doing a stand up slot at the David Hall Centre in South Petherton, near Ilminster. ARGH! But I can't escape from it now!

Good King Hal Fan Page on Facebook

A screen shot of "Good King Hal - The Computer Game" shortly before his Majesty gets disnitigrated by some Martian git.

I know a lot of people read this blog, and I thank you all for that, but I thought I should just bring to all your collected attentions the fact that on Facebook there is a Good King Hal fan page. You can access it via this link: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Good-King-Hal/191011929211 or simply sign in to Facebook and in the search box, type Good King Hal and take it from there. Join the group by clicking on the "Like" button - the more the merrier!

You can catch me at Leeds Castle next weekend for the jousting tournament, but not as Henry VIII - as it is a Robin Hood themed event, I bet you can't guess which character they have me signed up to appear as....? Let me have your best guesses.

And yes, I did spell disnitigrated like that on purpose.

An Evening at Dillington House

Dillington House near Ilminster, exactly as it looked this evening when Good King Hal left. Except it was night time. To achieve this effect look at this picture with your eyes closed or turn the lights off.

From one of my many appearances at Barrington Court, a fine upstanding chap by the name of Ben Lankester managed to get my details and had booked me for the show I did this evening. Ben is a consultant orthopaedic surgeon (I think) and had organised a big day meeting at Dillington House near Ilminster for lots of other orthopaedic consultant-type people. This culminated in a lavish dinner this evening with me as the guest speaker. I arrived and was immediately told by a man sitting on a chair in the lobby that they had been expecting me. This all sounded a bit James Bond for me, so I checked under the carpet for any shark tanks, but there weren't any.

I got changed in one of the very plush upstairs cloak rooms in Dillington House and then made my way downstairs. I met Ben in the garden on the terrace - a really nice chap. I met his wife and various of his colleagues, and was soon requested to call the guests in for dinner. We were in one of the smaller downstairs dining rooms in the main house, the roof above us was beautifully decorated with bosses and Tudor roses. The main meal was delicious, starting with a choice of either leek and tarragon soup or smoked gravlax - I went for the soup which was absolutely gorgeous. Next up it was trout or chicken supreme - chicken won for me (not a very fishy King I'm afraid). Finally it was blackberry cheesecake to finish off. Wow, this was good stuff. Surely nothing could spoil it - oh blimey hang on, I've got to do a talk now! I launched into my Henry routine and...it went brilliantly! They were a fabulous audience and really joined in and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the whole thing. When I finished they even kept the applause going till I stood up for a "curtain call" so to speak! Really gratifying! Ben Lankester thanked me profusely and soon I was out of the boiling costume, in my civvies and on my way home. It was a lovely, lovely evening and thoroughly enjoyable. And there was no huge shark tank or bald headed lunatic in a grey suit stroking a white cat while plotting damnation and total world destruction. No, he was appearing at Montacute House this evening.

John Rankin Junior, Newbury, Berkshire

Good King Hal with the Good Food Ireland people, mere nano-seconds before the regrettable "potato famine joke incident". Surgeons worked for 8 hours before they successfully removed the Maris piper in question.

A new school and a new academic year! Woo-hoo! The alarm going off at 5am this morning. Not quite so woo-hoo. However, on a more positive woo-hoo scale, the A303 and the A34 were relatively harmless today and there was the added bonus that Sarah "Caned-Already" Kennedy wasn't on air this morning, her place being filled by Lynn Parsnips.

John Rankin School is based on the south west side of Newbury, which was good as I didn't have to go right into the town to find it. I had been asked to this school by Helen Poore, a teacher I have worked with before at Long Sutton School in Hampshire, Medstead School and now here at John Rankin. It was a lovely school - great kids, about 60 of them, very sparky and excitable, just how I like them! Lots of laughs - some wonderful teachers. It was nice to see Helen again. She doubled up as official photographer for the day with her hugely impressive camera. The morning went swimmingly, even though they have this odd set up at John Rankin where lessons start at 9am and they don't have their morning break until 11am! So I began the day with a two hour session straight off. Quite a welcome back after the summer break!

Lunch was great - a really tasty roast beef, but was somewhat spoiled by the apple I had chosen for my "pudding". It was so sour! When I first bit into it I had to have a closer look as I thought I might have mistakenly picked up a lemon. It sort of made you suck your cheeks in and your eyes water. I took one more excruciating bite and gave it up as a bad job. The afternoon session seemed to whip by and we were soon in the midst of a fine jousting tournament. A lot of the parents showed up to watch, which was nice, and in a rip roaring finale the gentlemen finally ran out worthy winners. Well done lads! For the first time ever, I think, the lads are now in front on our leader board - but of course this is after just the one tournament. So the score says:

GENTLEMEN 1 - 0 LADIES

Next Henry show is on Friday night when I am doing a talk at Dillington House near Ilminster.

Back in the BBC.

The gigantic studio at BBC Somerset where Emma Britton spreads forth the love, good feelings and Charles & Eddie records.

So it was up bright and early for another return visit to BBC Somerset in Taunton and an appearance on the panel of Emma Britton's show and the section called "Have Your Say". You could really tell that the schools were back in Somerset today. The roads into Taunton were unbelievably bad! I was really worried at one point that I was going to be late late late. But as it happened I managed to arrive at the studio almost smack on time. Emma and her producer Will were as welcoming as ever and I was on the show with a lovely chap who owns/runs/is Curry Mallet village shop and post office. Have a look at their website http://www.currymalletstores.co.uk/ and check out the incredible cakes they make and sell! Well worth a visit.

The show itself was great fun. Lots of laughs and jokes, the conversation kept flowing and there was some great interaction with the listeners of BBC Somerset. If you missed the show or would like to hear it again then go to www.bbc.co.uk/somerset click on the listen again button on the radio page and select the Emma Britton Show for this Monday. And then you might also understand the Charles and Eddie reference above!

Wednesday I am at John Rankin School in Newbury, Berkshire for the first Henry of the academic year. I am also back at Dillington House this Friday evening for a talk at a private party. Should be fun.

Also, have you noticed how the hit counter on the blog has got to nearly 30,000? Thanks to all of you who have made this possible.

Dillington House Open Day 2010

Good King Hal (left) doing a very presentable impression of a garden gnome at Dillington House.

The Dillington House open day is always good fun. Lots of people to meet, interesting stalls and set ups, and a few jokes and laughs along the way. I have to admit this morning when I first woke up I had some doubts as to whether it would take place at all today. Rain was lashing against the window and the skies were low and moody. Not ideal for a mostly open air event. But as the morning progressed, the skies started to lift and though never a roasting bright sunny day, the threat of rain slowly dissipated.

If you are unaware of Dillington House, then let me illuminate things for you. I could write out a long and not very well put together history of Dillington, whereas I think the best thing is if you just click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dillington_House which will give you all the information you need. A wonderful fascinating building.

The open day is an annual event where Dillington shows off it's facilities and the sort of courses you can study there. Denise Borer, one of the managers at Dillington, books me every year to come along as Henry and wander about. It is always good fun and was no different this time around. I saw lots of old familiar faces which was delightful, and met some new ones as well. I posed for various photos, dished out a few business cards and just had a lovely time being Henry again! Then, right at the end, whilst preparing to go home I bumped into.... VALERIE SINGLETON! Yes! Valerie "Sticky-Back-Plastic-Incontinent-Elephant-Get-Down-Shep" Singleton. Now I know someone who worked with her in the past who had said she could be a little...ahem...difficult, but today she was an absolute sweetie. She was very complimentary about my Henry costume and performance, and came across as a very nice lady.

The photo above was given to me today by a very nice photographer who had snapped it 12 months ago at the last open day! He has offered to email me some more. Smashing. Tomorrow morning I am on BBC Somerset with Emma Britton between 9am and 10am - if you don't live in the Somerset area you can always listen on line via the web. Wednesday I am back for my first Henry day of the new academic year at Newbury in Berkshire.

Barrington Court on a Bank Holiday

A large erection in the gardens of Barrington Court. And on the right, a sun dial.

Summer is reaching it's climax with all the usual signs that we see so often. Temperatures are slowly ebbing away, back to school adverts are dominating the airways and the Pakistan cricket team are embroiled in another controversy. And so the World keeps turning. Another sure sign that summer is fading is the request to come over to Barrington Court on a Bank Holiday Monday and have a quick stroll round the gardens. And on a day like today, truly nothing could be finer. The sky was a Canaletto blue, the wind but a gentle breeze, the sun was a warming and trusted friend in the sky, and only one bloke asked me that stupid bloody question about which wife was I with today. Can it get any better than that?

We had a really good turn out today, the over flow car park was over flowing - that's how busy it was. I wandered the gardens and met some lovely people. It would appear the town of Bideford was empty today as nearly everyone I spoke to was from there. There was another family where the father had a strong Scottish accent. I asked him where he was from - Yeovil was the answer. You haven't always come from Yeovil, I said - where are you from before that? His response? Cornwall. Eventually I got it out of him that he was originally from Edinburgh, but the first two answers made me laugh. There was another little boy who every time he saw me would burp alarmingly and then burst out laughing. Possibly something that is tremendously amusing when you're six.

Matthew Applegate looked very relaxed and sun tanned after his two week break in France, and we are sure to be getting together soon for another session of "choir practice".

All in all, it has been a pretty nice day, and sitting here now with a cool breeze coming in the windows, a fine sunset across the valley and the distant bells of St Bartholomew's Church pealing across the other side of town there is no where else I really could want to be.

First new Henry show will be on 8th September in Newbury in Berkshire. But before that I might just put another wee advert on Ebay...

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.

If at first you don't succeed... give up?

Good King Hal's latest fiancee showing how excited she is about the forthcoming nuptials by trying to drink all Russian stocks of vodka.

Well, no one wanted me... I had a few bids but nothing like what I was hoping for. This was my attempt to flog myself on Ebay. Don't get the wrong idea, this wasn't me indulging in any self flagellation, just trying to raise some dosh! BUT (and lets face it folks, it's a big but) there was a hell of a lot of interest in the posting, and all publicity is good publicity. So, I am back on Ebay, under the sellers name of fleaflinko and awaiting whatever may occur. God knows what to be honest, but you have to try! Spread the word GKH fans.

King For Sale

Yes, I have done what I threatened to do some time ago. Good King Hal is for sale on Ebay! You can now bid for a day with the King. Honestly, it was either this or prostitution, and frankly I would have starved. So sign into Ebay, the UK version, look for a seller called "fleaflinko" (don't ask) and you should find one used King Henry VIII for sale to the highest bidder. Come and grab a bargain! Don't leave me as a remainder on the shelf! Best before: 27.01.1547.

Henry's Horrid History, Day 2

Barrington Court (right), just about to smash into Strode House at high speed. What were they thinking?

So it was time to be back on parade at Barrington Court for the second of the Henry's Horrid History days. To begin with, on my first few totters around the garden it seemed as though not as many people were attending as yesterday. How wrong I was. Very soon the car parks were heaving masses of badly parked cars, hairy knees were on show in baggy shorts, and frequent cries of "Oi Henry! Where's yer Missus then?" rent the air. I get this call every time I do a show, and I usually counter with "probably at home with the mother in laws!" which raises a laugh. I suppose it is the equivalent of Richard Wilson frequently having "I don't believe it!" yelled at him, or Nicholas Lyndhurst enduring endless barrages of "You plonker, Rodney!" It goes with the territory. There was one gentleman on Sunday who, whenever he saw me, would suddenly launch into a rousing rendition of "I'm 'Enery the eighth I am, I am!" How I dearly wanted to shove him down the grand stair case, but I never got the chance.

The show itself was wonderful today - packed out again, and with a really responsive audience. I also managed to not fluff any of my lines, something I did a bit yesterday. It was also nice to see my friends Jill, Mark and young Thomas Beed from Bridport amongst the audience. They were very complimentary about the whole show. So a cheque is in the post to them. I had one last wander round the grounds and was soon on my way home. I stopped briefly to bid Matthew Applegate bon voyage, off on his family holiday to France today, but soon that was it!

It had been a fantastic weekend, exhausting, rewarding and entertaining. And Donna from Brighton in a stunning red ball gown... What more could any naughty old King ask for? Well a phone number might be a good start. Stop it!

Henry's Horrid History - Day One & Brain Tumour UK Fundraiser

Good King Hal, lurking beneath mistletoe and puckered up waiting to get "busy". Current waiting time is standing at: 3 years, 4 months, 2 weeks, 6 days, 12 hours and 42 minutes, and rising. Please check your local press for opening times.

The day dawned and it was looking good. For this, the first of the "Henry's Horrid History" days at Barrington Court, we had faith in the advertising the shows had garnered from being included in the official National Trust "What's on" guide from the beginning of the year. Previous times though we had occasionally been let down by slightly underwhelming turn outs from the public, but today we had nothing to fear! The public were out in force and we even had to turn some people away as the venue was full. The very first couple I met up with on my perambulations round the grounds were from Chelmsford in Essex - my place of birth! They were very friendly and set the tone that was to continue throughout the day. Through my Facebook account I had invited a lot of friends to come along, but wasn't expecting much if anything. However, I was delighted to bump into my old friend Kathryn Lee who I used to work with at Skandia Life in Southampton. I hadn't seen Kathryn since I had left that job back in 2003, but it was great to see her again. She had come along with her Mother and also her 4 year old daughter Megan. They wandered the gardens and then came into my show and, I hope, seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. I chatted with them in the gardens afterwards as well. All too soon the day was over and I was heading for home, but not for long.

A friend of mine, Anna, had invited me to attend a charity fund raising evening she was hosting at Taunton School for Brain Cancer UK. It was a black tie and ball gown event, with a fine dinner, an auction, then the rest of the evening spent grooving to a live band plus the added fun of a casino with gaming tables. All proceeds to go to Brain Cancer UK. Anna was organising this as a tribute to her late husband John, who had passed away almost exactly a year ago after suffering from a brain tumour. I offered to come along as Henry VIII and run the auction and Anna jumped at the chance. I got to the school, a fine looming Victorian building, and soon was dressed up as Henry and wandering among the guests. I was on a large friendly table for the meal with some very pleasant people, particularly one gorgeous brunette lady called Donna, originally from Crewkerne but now living in Brighton. As Anna kept "subtly" pointing out, Donna was single - which was of no help to me as I really do look like a strategically shaved monkey with a glandular problem and this lovely lady was way, way, WAY out of my league. But she did look stunning in her red ball gown...

The auction went very well, Anna insisted that Donna help me as my glamorous assistant, a job she was most suitably qualified for! We had all sorts of lots - a luxury pampering day at a spa, various signed books by celebrities, a balloon flight, luxury dinner for two at a local hotel, and so much more. Well, Donna and I worked our butts off, and managed to sell the lot in about 20 minutes and raised £1,480 in the process! A job well done! By now it was after 10pm, the band had kicked off down in the ball room and everyone was heading for the gaming tables. I was exhausted and very hot in the Henry costume, so it seemed time to go home. So after lots of nice plaudits from various guests at the event, I got changed and quietly slipped away into the night. Job done!

Today I am back at Barrington Court for the second of the "Henry's Horrid History" days. So here's to nice weather and another good turn out. See you there?

Henry's Horrid History, Barrington Court, July 31st-August 1st 2010

Every once in a while, an historical event occurs that changes the course of human history...


This coming weekend could be one of those moments...
(But to be frank, it probably won't be as it's just some big ginger lummox in tights pretending to be a Tudor King)


This Saturday, July 31st and Sunday, August 1st, Mike Farley The UK's leading Henry VIII look-a-like and re-enactor will be strolling the grounds of the idyllic Barrington Court, a National Trust property in the village of Barrington just outside Ilminster in South Somerset. To prove that walking upright and breathing oxygen are not his only discernible talents, Mike will then perform his hour long one man presentation "Henry's Horrid History". There'll be laughter, tears, badly played Tudor instruments, enormous tights and more sub-Carry On humour than you can shake a stick at.

Mike will be wandering the grounds and leaping out of hedges startling old ladies from 12 noon, with the "Horrid History" show taking place between 2pm and 3pm on each day. Contact Barrington Court on 01460 241938 for more information.

Because with your Hampton Court, no one can hear you scream.
Henry's Horrid History
Rated (R) for Regal.

Redstart School, Chard

Good King Hal saying "Get orf moy land!" to a group of terrified children. It didn't work at the Monasteries either...

It had been over five years since my previous visit to Redstart School in Chard. I had last visited them in January 2005, so this was my (at the moment) longest gap between visits to any school. It was good to be back! I had no clear memories of the place at all, and as my blog hadn't even started back then I had no notes to go back to even if I wanted to try and jog my memory! Well, I needn't have worried. It was a delightful school with some of the most responsive children I have worked with for a long time. It had the added bonus of only being about 20 minutes up the road in Chard from where I live.

It was just under 60 children today and they were great fun. You could tell it was very nearly the end of the year for them - they positively bristled with energy and excitement! The teachers were lovely as well, very welcoming and chatty, and it really was a pretty perfect day all round! At one point in the morning I did one of my usual tired old jokes that I have been pedalling out for years - and the children and staff laughed AND gave it a round of applause. Now that definitely does not happen every day! The morning did seem to bomb past at a rate of knots and before I knew it, it was time for lunch. A delicious meal of roast chicken was gratefully wolfed down by a hungry King, before it was time to don the robes again and head out for the afternoon session. Well it was a rollicking post lunch session capped off by a highly spirited jousting tournament that was won, inevitably, by a very good ladies team. This being the final school show of the term this makes our final score for the year to be:

GENTLEMEN 24 - 28 LADIES

As suspected, the ladies have romped away with it and won the overall crown for this year. Well done to them, but well done to the lads who pulled it right back in the last few weeks. Thank you Redstart School for a really splendid end to the season!

The Henry School Days at Barrington Court have now had their first proper confirmed booking after the test day the other week. Paulton Junior who I visited a couple of weeks ago have decided to come down to Barrington Court next June for their next Henry experience! Good on them! Any other schools keen on a Tudor Day in a superb Tudor environment, drop me a line!

Martham Primary, an Essex visit, extreme heat and World Cup Finals.

Anne of Cleeves and Good King Hal being attacked by a triffid, mere nanoseconds before both spontaneously combusting due to the hot sun - but then they shouldn't have touched it.

Martham Primary School has changed it's name at some point in it's recent history. Now when I first started doing my Henry shows there, they were still called West Flegg Middle School. My how things change! The first big change I noticed was the weather when I drove up to Essex from Somerset on the Thursday. What had been warm, but still reasonable weather in Somerset had morphed somewhere along the A303 into a full blow heatwave when I got to Basildon. On turning off the air conditioning in my car and opening the door, the sudden onrush of heat was the equivalent of being slapped in the face with a hot towel. Anyway, it was great to see Amanda and James again. My son is just gorgeous (I know I am biased) and was in a very cuddly mood for most of the weekend, which was perfectly alright with me. We had some fun time together, going to Hylands Park in Chelmsford on the Sunday for instance. There they had a small food market on with one stall specialising in home made sausages. James took great delight in grabbing a tooth pick from the seller and having a try of virtually every sausage they had on display. He was just going back for a second bombing run when I hauled him away! It was also fun watching "Shaun the Sheep" episodes with him on the BBCi player - we were nearly crying with laughter at a couple of the episodes.

Anyway, back to Martham! I got up at about 5am on the Friday morning and was on my way by 5.45am. The drive up was relatively easy and most pleasant in the early morning coolness. However by the time I got to the school the heat had set in properly. It was lovely to be back at Martham which is a delightful school. The teachers are lovely and welcoming, the children fun and polite, and all in all it is always a wonderful place to visit and do a presentation. We had a fun morning, particularly with one lad who was dressed up in a home made Henry VIII outfit who I took great delight in calling "Mini-Me" all day! After a lovely lunch of fish and chips, we were back for a fun afternoon, and it was a loud one as well. The stocks were uproarious fun and we finished with another belting Jousting tournament. Yet again, the gents stormed to a great victory. Can they snatch victory from the jaws of defeat? This now makes the scores very interesting:

GENTLEMEN 24 - 27 LADIES

Hmmmmm! Interesting, very interesting... I got everything loaded back into the car, turned on the engine to get the air con going, and was alarmed to see that the outside thermometer reckoned the current temperature to be 35 degrees! Now that is HOT!!! I was so glad of the air con. I got back to Essex relatively easily. We had a lovely weekend together, even spoiling James by taking him for an exciting breakfast at Burger King on the Saturday.

I watched the World Cup Final on the Sunday night as Holland kicked lumps out of the Spanish, and the Spanish then took to leaping around, rolling on the floor, clutching "hurty limbs" and writhing about as if in the middle of electro-convulsive therapy. It made a mockery of good football and just about summed up this crappy World Cup to a tee. Oh, and Nelson Mandela turned up. (Not in Essex you understand). I wonder if F W de Klerk go an invite?

I saw Amanda and James off to work and school this morning, did some tidying up for Amanda, and the washing up (what a nice chap) and then headed for Somerset. The traffic was awful. There had been an incident on the M3 this morning and the motorway had been shut for quite some time. Even though now re-opened there was still a knock-on with cars queuing back onto the M25. I finally got past that, then got held up with loads of tourist traffic at Stonehenge AGAIN (I blame the Pandorica) and then even more tourists driving incredibly slowly in the fast lane and not really overtaking anyone. In the end it took me over 4 hours to get home. And now, despite some early rain and coolness, we now have the heat back. On with the fan...

A Great Entertainer Takes His Last Bow

I got a text message the other night from my old friend Sara Turner back in Essex. She and I would regularly go to the Star pub in Ingatestone High Street on Monday evening's to listen to live folk music played by a random group of musicians - nothing was really planned or rehearsed, it was just a case of who ever turned up, then played. Among the great musicians who turned up regularly were Dave Wilcox - banjo player supreme; Alex Mihailovic - a superb fiddler; Mike - a great guitarist, mandolin player and vocalist; and many more. Some evenings there would be just one musician, other evenings there would be ten or more, all crammed into one corner of this funny little old pub and belting out great music. But of all the attractions, there was really only one true "star" - and that was Gus.

Gus Dallaway was originally from Trinidad and had come over to the UK in the 1950's. He worked for British Rail as a line man and lived in Margaretting, a small village in Essex just to the south of Chelmsford. My grandparents and my father lived in Margaretting and knew Gus very well, particularly from his time playing as a member of the village cricket team. Gus was clearly not the world's greatest cricket player, but he brought infectious enthusiasm to the game and, as an added bonus, each week would make up a calypso about the previous week's match and would bring in each member of the team into his songs. I remember Gus from when I was a young child as this larger than life colourful character who permanently seemed positive and a force for good.

When I met up with Gus again in the 1990's at the Star Pub in Ingatestone it was a revelation. Gus would not turn up until about 9.30pm at the very earliest, he would sit at the bar and have a couple of drinks, but would then launch himself onto the "stage" with the band, and just take over! His staple songs would include "Yellow Bird", "Pick a Bail of Cotton", "Bless This House" and, best of all, an absolutely heart stopping version of "Old Man River" which may sound like a bit of a cliche, but Gus' version was so truly moving as to reduce grown men to tears (the author included).

As Gus got older, so his rheumatism and arthritis got worse and he finally decided he would like to go back to the warm climate of Trinidad for his final years. In 1996 a massive farewell party was organised at The Star with all the musicians playing for Gus. Sara and I got there and the place was packed - but of Gus there was no sign. The band started playing and the evening got going with a swing, but still Gus hadn't arrived. Finally a shout went out that Gus had finally got to the pub. A hush descended on the bar, the band stopped playing and the lights were dimmed. The double front doors of the pub slowly swung open to reveal Gus, silhouetted against the freezing cold Essex night, dressed in a long Matrix style black leather coat right down to the ground but done up tight to his neck, and on his head a white fur Russian military hat. There was a stunned moment of silence as everyone took in this awesome image, then a small drunken voice near the back of the room said:

"F*ck me, it's a pint of Guinness." The room erupted into laughter. It was a magnificent evening with a party that will live with me until the day I die. Gus was on marvellous form and totally dominated the entertainment all night. It was a truly fitting send off for one of the finest natural showmen and entertainers I have ever had the pleasure to meet. And so Gus departed our shores, leaving the country a little duller for it and settled back in Trinidad.

A few years back my parents were on a cruise in the West Indies and one of the stops was at Tobago, Trinidad's sister island. They phoned Gus and were going to try and meet up with him, but unfortunately it never came to fruition.

And so I got Sara's text message two days ago. There had been an announcement in the Essex Chronicle newspaper that Gus Dallaway had passed away at the ripe old age of 89 on the island of Trinidad. I sat quietly and remembered back to all those old days back at The Star in Ingatestone, the fun evenings, the entertainment that Gus had given to everyone and the pleasure he brought to so many people's lives. And most of all, to those hushed moments when he would perform "Old Man River" and get to those magical lyrics near the end:

But you and me,

We sweat and strain,

Body all aching and wracked with pain,

"Tote that barge!"

"Lift that bale!"

You Get a little drunk,

And you land in jail.

I gets weary

And sick of trying

I'm tired of living

But I'm scared of dying,

But ol' man river,

He just keeps rolling along.

Gus Dallaway, rest in peace my friend.

Henry Day at Barrington Court

Barrington Court - a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very nice place.

This is the day Matthew Applegate and I had been planning and looking forward to for quite some time. The first of the big Henry VIII Days at Barrington Court. We were expecting about 60-70 children from the combined schools of Barrington, Ilton and Shepton Beauchamp, but instead we got over 100! Some had come in costumes which were great, others were in their brightly coloured school uniforms. There were familiar faces - Matthew's two daughters, Hannah and Isobel, plus my friends from Kingstone, Ali and Ian's daughter, Amy who goes to the Shepton Beauchamp School. Matthew, his assistant Tamsin, and various other volunteers at Barrington worked their socks off in the morning getting the extra chairs in the kitchen where I was going to do the majority of my presentation. We could not have done the day without them.

We were running the day for two reasons - one, to see if the Henry VIII Days that I do in school could be done at Barrington Court as well, which I think we proved that they could. And secondly, to get some publicity for future Henry VIII Days, to which end I had contacted the Western Gazette, the Chard and Ilminster News, View from Crewkerne Newspaper, BBC Somerset and even Points West, the local BBC Television News. The TV News people had told me that our event was in their diary and that unless something significant occurred there was a good chance they would come and cover it. Well, I am assuming Mrs Trubshaw of Radstock ran out of cat food, or Mrs Osborne turned her ankle over in the High Street in Frome as we saw not a glimpse of the BBC today! They missed a great day.

We had great fun in the morning though I think some of the really young children from the schools were a bit too young for the opening talk and some struggled to concentrate on the whole thing. But the vast majority of the children were fantastic! After a nice relaxing lunch we had a fun session with the stocks in the kitchen, and then had an unbelievably noisy jousting session in the main hall. It was a rip roaring affair with noise, shouting and the bizarre feeling of the sprung dance floor in the hall literally bouncing up and down with the excitement of the children. A gents team combining the talents of all the schools sauntered to a very classy victory! This added to our annual score now makes it:

GENTLEMEN 23 - 27 LADIES

The day finished and I bade the children farewell at the main door of the Court House. Matthew Applegate and Tamsin came and stood next to me.

"How the hell do you do that every day?" Asked Matthew. I just do, I suppose! I've got used to it over the previous six years. But each and every day is different and fun, which is why it never becomes a chore. So if any teachers out there fancy the idea of having a really amazing Tudor Day with Henry VIII for their Key Stage 2 Pupils in the surroundings of Barrington Court House then either contact me through my website of www.goodkinghal.co.uk or contact Matthew Applegate, Visitor Services Manager at Barrington Court on 01460 243124.

Paulton Junior, World Cup Exits and The Emma Britton Show.

Good King Hal about to try the Cambridge Diet. When he's finished that he'll try and eat Oxford.

A hectic few days began with me driving down to Southampton again (I had only just been down to see some old friends from Skandia the previous couple of days) but this time to pick up my parents on their return from their Queen Mary 2 voyage up to the Norwegian fjords. It was a glorious day and we stopped at the Angel Pub in Hinton on the way back for a very nice lunch. I spent the following Saturday not really doing much apart from occasionally opening the window, turning my fan up to full blast and then going "corr" with buckets of sweat falling off me. Now this WAS global warming and it was happening in my front room.

On the Sunday morning I got up extra early and headed over to Ilchester to the car boot fair held over there. I found a few bargains and also found that Greg Stephens, late of United FM in Crewkerne had a stall there, so I had a quick chat with him when I had finished having a potter about. But I was getting myself ready for the afternoon and England's impending match in the World Cup against Germany. Surely we could raise ourselves for this match? Well if you saw the debacles then you'll know we most certainly couldn't. England played like a bunch of pub footballers who had never set eyes on each other before and were deservedly thrashed 4-1 by a far superior German side. When England did get home today there was a nice message waiting for them at Heathrow from David Blaine, the illusionist. He congratulated Wayne Rooney for breaking his world record for doing absolutely nothing in a box for several weeks.

I took my mind off the awful World Cup drubbing by appearing on the delightful Emma Britton's latest "Have Your Say" show on BBC Somerset on Monday morning. I was on with a very pretty young lady called Kathryn who ran a horse riding holiday company in the Quantocks. We had a real laugh and a good show, which you can hear for the next seven days if you go to the BBC Somerset website and click listen again for the Monday morning show. I was on for the first hour.

Tuesday I was back at one of my favourite schools in the south west - Paulton Junior in Paulton, near Bath. This is such a fabulous place to come and do a show - the children are so well behaved, the teachers are very friendly and chatty and the whole atmosphere of the place lifts your heart while you are there. We had a typically fun day, lots of laughs, some great costumes for the children and some very good examples of Tudor knowledge. The afternoon session was particularly insane and entertaining and ended with another desperately close jousting tournament that really did go down to the wire. This time the Gents just stole victory with literally the last half second of the contest. It was incredibly close and very exciting. This now brings our score to:

GENTLEMEN 22 - 27 LADIES

Wonderful.

Tonight I have been to Barrington Court for their annual volunteer's barbecue. There was a wonderful hog roast, some live music from a cool trio and lots of old friends. Not just Matthew Applegate and his lovely wife Sue and children, Hannah and Isobel, but there was the wonderful Rachel Brewer, her nice chap, Anthony, the indefatigable Trotts, and everyone else at this lovely National Trust house that have become such good friends of mine over the years. I am back at Barrington Court tomorrow for the first of our special Henry Days at the Court House with the combined children of Barrington, Ilton and Shepton Beauchamp schools. Should be fun! Watch this space...

Thundersley Junior, Essex

Good King Hal's saucy advert left in prominent telephone boxes in London. It didn't work.

After all that 50th wedding anniversary celebrating etc., it was nice to get back to being a Tudor despot again. I was back in Thundersley, sandwiched as it is between Southend and Basildon in south Essex, at Thundersley Junior School for a 4th annual visit. I drove to Essex on the Thursday and firstly joined Amanda and James at SNAP in Brentwood. SNAP stands for Special Needs and Parents and is a charity based in Brentwood. It is a voluntary organisation supporting parents and carers of children with any special need or disability. James attends as he has recently been diagnosed with autism, and he absolutely loves going there! It is a wonderful place and they do all sorts of fun and educational things with the children. James spends an hour there playing with his friends he has made and gets so much out of it. The parents and carers can sit and chat with each other over welcoming mugs of tea or coffee. I really can't praise this place enough and the wonderful work they do!

On the Friday I was down at Thundersley for the Henry day. This is a fantastic school, great kids, very friendly teachers and always a good laugh. It was a full and exciting day that we had and about 99.9% of the children had dressed up in terrific costumes, as had all the teachers. The morning went swimmingly and we were soon back in the hall for the afternoon session. We had an absolutely deafening jousting tournament which culminated in yet another victory for the ladies. They just keep on winning! This now makes our year long score:

GENTLEMEN 21 - 27 LADIES

Closer than I would have expected, but I don't think the ladies can be caught now. I got the children to roar their support for England for the match against Algeria in the World Cup that night. After the show, Amanda, James and I drove down to Kent to see my sister Cathy to watch the England match on her big TV. To be honest I wish we hadn't. England were appalling and could not have hit the backside of a cow with a banjo from now till Doomsday. Professor Stephen Hawking on a space hopper would have had more control of a football than these overpaid embarrassments.

We had a nice Father's Day weekend including lunch at Pizza Express on the Sunday for which Amanda had found an on-line voucher that allowed Dad's to eat their pizza for free! Sounded good to me! Eventually I set off for Somerset on the Sunday evening, but with it being the late last knockings of the 20th June it was obvious that Stonehenge would be a no-go area (I think Doctor Who might agree with that having seen what happened to him there on Saturday night's episode!) so I did a dipping detour, down the A343 into Salisbury and then back out again onto the A303 much further down. It worked a treat and I was soon home.

I have a meeting with Matthew Applegate over at Barrington Court this morning, then on Wednesday I am down to Southampton for a Skandia Life lunch with Sue Marsh and Ruth Le Mesurier, then back to Southampton again on Friday to pick up my parents from their Queen Mary excursion to the Norwegian fjords!

Death of an English Pub

I went out for a beer with Matthew Applegate this evening. We do this quite often, discussing future events at Barrington Court and just having a good chuckle or two. Tonight was going to be one of our usual evenings, but turned out a bit different. We were due to meet at our usual pub, the delightful Duke of York in Shepton Beauchamp but when we arrived there the car park was full to bursting and the place was packed. So I drove us both over to East Lambrook and the Rose and Crown there. This is a very "nice" pub, all dining facilities and expensive beer. But it was generally quite busy. I managed to inflame the wrath of the landlady when I asked for the sparkler to be taken off the beer pump. (Sparklers are put on to real ale beer taps to force air into the beer and give it a foaming head - but it also makes the beer go like that execrable John Smith's Smooth Flow crap, so beloved of Northern Beer drinkers. I wanted a pint of beer, not something I could wash my socks in). Apparently me asking her to take the sparkler off the beer tap appeared to be the social equivalent of me leaning over the counter, slipping a £20 note down her bra and asking her for a lap dance. She started to lecture us about beer and the pub trade, and went on and on and on. This woman barely paused for breath. Eventually after a couple of beers we'd had enough and we headed back to the car. This time we went to the Royal Oak at Barrington. What a sad sight. This is a pub that is dying, slowly and obviously. Punch, the group that owns the pub, are trying to sell it and there is a big over-bearing "FOR SALE" sign on the outside. There is a temporary manager in the place, running it for the owners. When Matthew and I got in there, there were two men having a pint in the main bar, two lads playing pool out the back, plus us two. And that was it. Both the other pubs we had seen that evening (and all in the locality) were very busy, but the Oak was like the Marie Celeste. The two men having pints finished and were gone, and the lads playing pool followed soon afterwards. Before 10pm Matt and I were the only people in the place. Now the Oak could be a fabulous pub - Barrington is a beautiful chocolate box English thatched cottage village with the added attraction of Barrington Court being in the middle of it. But the Oak just doesn't seem to work - it has attracted a bad reputation, and in the pub business that is very difficult to lose. What would be ideal is a consortium of local people to club together and buy out the pub and run it properly as a good old fashioned local public house. Are there any takers out there to help save a small part of our English heritage? It would be nice if there was.

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.

More Jousting Pics!

Top master of ceremonies and voice over artist, Roland, showing you the amazing things you can achieve with an old pair of curtains and a bowl of bananas.

Sir Jasper du Barry and Sir William of Antioch squinting at the camera in front of a medieval parking lot.

Sir Stephen of Porlock and Sir David of Kent attempting to rustle some horses.

This is for Jen and Sophie at Leeds Castle - ladies and gentlemen, I give you heart-throb, Royal Knight and tongue tied wallflower - Sir Ashley of Hampshire!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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