Fear and Loathing in Stranraer

Up until fairly recently I thought the actual name of the club was "Stranraer Nil". Abandon hope, all ye who enter here... The gates to the mighty Stair Park. At some points over the weekend I doubted I would see this...

Some years ago when I was a child, I was given a book about British Football. It was one of these big hefty tomes that listed not only the stuff that would interest kids like me (i.e. what was Stan Bowles idea of a great night out - generally gambling, women, gambling, alcohol, more gambling and then a dangerous amount of gambling - continue until poverty or death, whichever came sooner), but also had a very large section of footballing statistics. One of the things it boasted was a full list of every final league table and FA and Scottish FA Cup rounds from 1872 until about 1981. A friend of mine and I took great delight in going through the Scottish teams and picking out the silly names - things like Gala Fairydean, Third Lanarkshire Riflemans Volunteers (hard to chant that one in a crowd when you've had a skinfull) and finally, of course, the wonderfully named Keith. It just looks good on a scoreboard: Celtic 23 Keith 0. Poor old Keith, he didn't deserve that. Finally, almost succumbing to boredom we then looked to see which team in the Scottish leagues had the worst record, who had never been out of the bottom division, and up until 1981 when these records ceased we discovered it was Stranraer. And at that moment, my interest was born.

I had no actual idea where Stranraer was, but I soon found out. And it was the most remote team in the whole of the Scottish league. Stranraer is closer to Belfast than it is to Glasgow. It sits, on the shores of Loch Ryan, on the northern side of the isthmus connecting the Rhins of Galloway to the mainland. Which basically means its a bloody long way from anywhere. I sometimes shared my interest with Stranraer FC with various friends, including Mark Beed who was lucky enough to have been there many times as he was a native of Belfast and one of Stranraer's main reasons for existing, is as a ferry port to Northern Ireland. Our mutual interest in Stranraer reached a peak in the early 90's when I produced several joke magazines supposedly based on a local paper in the area - called "The Wigtownshire Thunderer" it contained reports on fictitious Stranraer matches (in which they would inevitably be thrashed by such mighty teams as a Kirkcudbright Paper Boys Under 13 2nd XI) and adverts from such fine local businesses as "Winesoak and Sporran - Solicitors, Estate Agents and International Chanteuses" etc. All very silly. I even wrote to Stair Park, Stranraer's home ground and told them of our long distance love of the club. They replied and sent some free old programmes from former matches. Even my Dad caught the bug, and Stranraer were continued to be admired and followed from afar. I always had a feeling that one day I would go there.

Late last year I was checking through Stranraer's fixture list for the rest of this season and noticed that on April 9th 2011 they would be playing at home against East Stirlingshire. Now East Stirlingshire have almost over taken the mantle of "most pathetic team in Scotland" and have taken up the challenge with gusto having managed to finish rock bottom of the Scottish Third Division many times over the past few years. So a chance to see them in action against the mighty Stranraer sounded good - added to which April 9th just happens to be my Father's birthday! I mentioned the idea to him of going up to see the match, thinking he'd just go "yeah, right..." and go off and mow the lawn as Fathers are won't to do from time to time, but he didn't, he actually liked the idea. So we decided this was it - it would happen. At Christmas I treated my Father and I to Stranraer scarves and badges in readiness for our expedition to the north. The time got closer - I mentioned the proposed trip to various friends, most of whom just patted me on the head and walked away quickly. One friend even asked me if my father was dying - was this visit to see Stranraer play a football match some sort of "bucket list" activity? I reassured them it wasn't. So on April 7th 2011 I drove out to Wales to stay at my parents, ready for the drive north on the 8th.

Now getting from South Wales to the motorway network of the UK is not the easiest thing in the world. You could go all the way down the M4 and pick up the M5 just over the bridge, but that seemed like more sideways movement than your average Ray Wilkins pass, so we decided to strike out north and head up through the country to pick up the motorways near Chester. Bad move. Stupendously bad move. It just took forever. There is no direct route, there are lots and lots of mountains, wibbly-wobbly little roads and, just to add to the mayhem, a closed road near Caeder Idris which involved us making a 30-mile detour round the peninsula near Barford just to get back on the road to Lake Bala. But the weather was nice, the scenery stunning, the roads relatively clear, my father's car (a very nice Mercedes - fresh from having a new alternator fitter two days previously) was purring along the road like a kitten, and life was very tolerable. We had left Newcastle Emlyn at 7.30am. We finally got onto the M56, the first part of the motorway network we had seen, at almost exactly 12 noon. We put a few miles under our belts on the M6 and stopped at the Charnock Richard services for a quick "easing of springs" and to grab a bit of lunch. I bought us two sandwiches, two packs of crisps and a cold drink each. It came to nearly £13. What a rip off these places are. I took over the driving for the next section.

We sailed along, up past Liverpool and Manchester, past Lancaster, Blackpool and Preston, and on up into Cumbria. We were just approaching Carlisle at a rate of knots when a big warning sign suddenly lit up on the dash board. "Alternator Fault - Go to Workshop NOW!" You don't argue with messages from Mercedes like that, especially if you read it with a vicious German accent. We pulled off the motorway and studied all the Mercedes dealership stuff my Father had with him - there was a dealership in Carlisle. We made our way there.

After some time sitting on our jacksies in the Mercedes waiting room we were told the car needed a new alternator, the one my father had had fitted two days previously was NOT a Mercedes one and was only second hand and reconditioned and was basically going haywire. A new one was likely to cost somewhere in the region of £1,000 and would not be ready until Monday. Oh dear. I was due in Yeovil on Monday for a Henry VIII talk at their local Probus club. The car was too dangerous to drive as it was - if the alternator packed up completely we could lose all power and that would include steering, brakes etc. The only course of action was to go for the new part and get ourselves a hire car, continue onto Stranraer with that and see if I could contact Yeovil Probus by phone, but it would be difficult as I had no contact details with me. Enterprise Car Hire loaned us a brand new Hyundai Santa Fe, a neat little 4x4 vehicle and we fought our way out of Carlisle as the rush hour really kicked in. If you have never experienced a Carlisle rush hour, then try not to - for such a small town it is HUGE. We got back on the M6, crossed over the border and turned onto the A75 towards Stranraer. We felt like we were nearly there. Then we saw the first road sign. "Stranraer 98 miles". 98!? MILES?? Jesus...

We were booked into a hotel at Portpatrick, about 6 miles out of Stranraer, as most of the hotels we could find in the town bore a worrying resemblance to the farmhouse in the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre". The drive out to Stranraer along the A75 starts off very unpromising, but you are soon rewarded with beautiful rolling countryside, sea loch views and even mountains looming about you. The road ran on and on, the miles clicked over and we soon found ourselves ever closer to the promised land of the Portpatrick Hotel. And then, we were there! Oh dear... It's like The Ritz gone to seed. Paint on the outside of the building is off white, and peeling. Everything has a slightly down at heel look about it. The view down into Portpatrick's charming little harbour is very picturesque though. We booked in and were told we had about 20 minutes if we wanted an evening meal as they stopped serving at 8pm. We dashed up to our rooms, dumped our cases and did very passable Usain Bolt impressions to get down to the dining hall. It was a typical British seaside resort dining hall - you sit close enough to every other dining couple or group to hear every single word of their conversation. The meal choice was limited to either "chicken in sauce or gravy" or "Salmon in sauce or gravy". Wow. We both went for the chicken in sauce, which turned out to be a pre-cooked deathly white chicken breast with what appeared to be a yellow soup of some sort thrown over it. This was all served with the usual British hotel side order of blanched wraith-like vegetables and solid waxy potatoes. The best part of the meal for me was when my Father's starter came out. He'd ordered a Caesar Salad and was presented with a tiny side plate sized dish with approximately six tiny emaciated and limp bits of rocket lettuce leaf, with seven greasy looking croutons thrown over it and a thimble full of Caesar dressing drizzled over this. His face was a picture - no words were needed. To add to our enjoyment of the evening, in the dining room was an automatic digital grand piano that played itself - a lot. High tempo jolly versions of "Roll out the Barrels" would boom from it's hidden speakers, then the "Theme from Hawaii 5-0" would bounce along. After about five songs it would then go back to the start and repeat them, and repeat them. It was enough to make a serious music lover weep. We retired to the bar, had a couple of stiff whisky's and then headed for our rooms.

Another reason to come up to Stranraer and the area was for my Father to catch up with an ex-serviceman pal of his. They had served in Aden with the RAF Regiment in the 50's and have recently got back in touch again via the internet. Neither my Father or his friend John had seen each other in over 50 years, but were eager for the meeting. All we knew was that John would be coming from his home in Dumfries to Portpatrick on the Saturday morning. After breakfast we hung around in the hotel reading our newspapers waiting in case John turned up. It got later and later and still there was no sign. I was eager to get over to Stranraer and see where the heck Stair Park was (the football team's home ground). I left Dad at the hotel and drove over to Stranraer. The town is neither big, nor pretty, but it has it's moments. I drove round and round and could find not even a sign indicating where the ground might be. Finally on coming back into the town again from the north western side I saw a tiny, apologetic sign saying "football traffic this way" and pointing left. I followed this until I was on the London Road and there, just behind a sweet little children's playground in a typical Victorian municipal park was Stair Park football ground. There seemed precious little in the way of parking, so I guessed we had to get there early. I drove back to the hotel fully expecting to find my father and John regaling each other with stories of old, but my father was sat by himself in the lounge reading his newspaper still. No sign of John again. We had a pint in the bar and a sandwich for lunch, and still there was no arrival of John. We were starting to get worried. It finally got to 1.30pm and we decided he was not coming, and packed ourselves up and drove over to Stranraer. As it was John never turned up, but I think he and Dad have sorted out what went wrong. Oh, and if you're interested with the help of my Mother back in Wales we managed to contact Yeovil Probus and the show was postponed until next year - a relief. Back to Stranraer...

We parked right by the gates of Stair Park and went in. It is quite an attractive little ground dominated on one side by a new stand. The other four sides are a little more in keeping with a non-league ground in England, with the area behind the goal to your right (as you look at the pitch from the grandstand) being simple grass terracing about 10 feet high. We were very warmly greeted at the ground, and when people discovered we'd come all the way from South Wales and Somerset just to see this match, our stock rose incredibly. We were greeted by an elderly gentleman called John who gave us some of the background on the club, he then introduced us to the team manager, a ferocious sun tanned terrifyingly sinewy man called Keith Knox who crushed both of our offered hands and then returned them. He offered to give us a tour round the ground and meet the players after the match. As I said to my father as we went through the turnstile, we'd only do that if Stranraer won - it might be a bit embarrassing if they'd just been stuffed. We sat high up at the back of the stand right on the halfway line - it was a lovely view, not only of the pitch but of the distant mountains and sea you can see around you. The teams warmed up and there was much ooh-ing and ahh-ing from the Stranraer faithful about their big French centre forward, the brilliantly named Armand Oné. He looks a bit like Emile Heskey - large, dark and immovable. He'd scored a stack of goals this season and you could tell he was a big favourite with the locals, however for the start of this match, he was only on the bench. East Stirlingshire, replete in their black and white hooped shirts, ran out to the cheers of their entire away support - seven (I counted them) incredibly drunk men, some of them wearing tam o'shanters, and one waving a huge skull and cross bones flag with ESFC emblazoned across it. Stranraer then appeared and the match was on! It was a bit blood and thunder at places - hefty bone crunching tackles flying in, but there was some odd moments of finesse to admire, particularly from two of Stranraer's players - captain Danny Mitchell, and playmaker Scott Agnew. Finally, about mid-way through the first half, after taking a short corner, Stranraer powered in a bullet header from just outside the six yard box - 1-0 to Stranraer. Half time came and went, then we continued apace for the second half. Stranraer constantly looked the better team and in the 65th minute they thumped in their second from another corner. 2-0 to Stranraer. After about 70 minutes a ripple of excitement ran through the crowd - Armand Oné was coming on! He ran on to great acclaim and then did - absolutely nothing. He was obviously more like Emile Heskey than I realised. Really, apart from one neat flick-on his sum total contribution to the game was just short of bugger all. Then, in the very last minute, Stranraer got a free kick in a very promising position just outside the box. Before kick off, Oné had been practising taking free kicks from just such a position and had curled, smashed and drifted shot after shot past a despairing reserve goal-keeper. This was going to be good. A hushed silence settled over the ground as Oné stood over the ball. He took about four paces back, then ran up and..... smashed the ball many miles over the goal and the stand, and it sailed off into the sunset towards Portpatrick. The final whistle blew. Dad and I waited downstairs for a possible tour of the ground, but there was lots of kids hanging around desperate to get souvenir footballs signed by the squad, and after about 15 minutes we gave up and went back to the car. We had finally done it - we had seen Stranraer play a match, and they had let us down by comfortably winning 2-0. What a shame! Somewhere near Portpatrick a surprised fisherman was wondering where the hell that football had come from that had just smacked him on the back of the head - if you hadn't guessed it was from Oné with love.

We have lift off... THAT free kick from Armand Oné just before it went into orbit and brained a fisherman in Portpatrick.

Back at the hotel there was no message from Dad's friend John, so we went and had dinner. It was a minor improvement on the previous night - a sort of school dinners approximation of a roast beef dinner, but the automatic piano was still hammering away in the corner belting out "Green Door", "Blue Moon" and various other "timeless classics". i.e. crap. We had been promised that on the Saturday night there would be entertainment in the lounge bar - an accordionist who was very popular apparently and that getting a seat early was a must if you wanted to see him. While we were finishing our puddings in the dining room, he began in the lounge, but we could still hear him. Now I hate accordion music, it does nothing for me and this was very run of the mill ordinary "Mist Covered Mountains" usual Scottish fayre. We finished our meals and walked out past the lounge, expecting to find it packed. It wasn't. A grim faced couple sat right in the middle seats in front of the musician, and that was it. There was no one else in the room as he honked merrily away in the corner. And the poor sods couldn't get up and walk out - how can you when you're the only ones there? Dad and I were very sympathetic and laughed like drains. As we sat in the bar downing some more whisky a terrible sound began emanating from the lounge as well as the accordion. It was a sort of high pitched nasal vibrato bleating. What the hell was it? It was the accordionists singing voice. This set us off guffawing again, little heathens that we were. It was time for bed.

We checked out after breakfast on the Sunday morning and headed back along the A75 towards Carlisle. Once in Carlisle we parked up in a retail outlet estate and pondered our next move. There was a Premier Inn right next door, but despite their advertised "from only £29 per night", they actually wanted £61 per person per night for room early. We headed down towards Penrith for a meet up with my friends Andy and Kate Blundell at their antiques workshop at Temple Sowerby (yes, I know John Summers is reading this and thinking why didn't he come and see me? We had very little time and weren't even supposed to see Andy and Kate, John, but I promise to come and see you next time, honest!) and on the way see if we could find a nice little pub which did bed and breakfast. Well we did just that, at a delightful little village called Armathwaite with a pub called The Fox and Pheasant Inn. Check them out at http://www.foxandpheasantinn.co.uk/ and if in the area go and see them, it is worth it. We went down to see Andy and Kate, and Andy talked to us all round his workshop, and then all round his show room, and then in his back garden over tea. He scarcely paused for breath for about 2 hours. Very impressive! But it was great to see them both. Such a lovely couple.

Back at the Fox and Pheasant music was being played on folky instruments and a man was handing out bowls of a pease pudding type dish. Apparently this was Carling Sunday which is only celebrated in certain parts of northern England and Cumbria on the weekend before Easter. The split peas or Carlings are boiled up with a knuckle of ham and then served with a dollop of butter in them, a big splash of vinegar and then a dousing of pepper. Delicious! He assured us this was a traditional thing in the north of England. I personally think he was a brilliant itinerant split pea salesman making a fast buck, but it was a bit different and fun.

Monday morning we drove back up to Carlisle, picked up the repaired Mercedes, said goodbye to the Santa Fe and headed on back down the M6. We paused for lunch at a very nice pub called The Mill somewhere near Stafford, then carried on down to the M50 and then along the A40. Finally, at about 5.40pm we were back at Newcastle Emlyn. It had been a long, fun, at times difficult, expensive but very memorable trip. When I mentioned the idea of going to see Berwick Rangers play sometime soon my father beat me unconscious with a rolled up copy of the Daily Telegraph. I took that as a "maybe". I drove back to Somerset this morning - I still can't believe we did it.

Easter holidays now for Henry VIII. The next show is on the 26th April at West Pennard School near Glastonbury. Should be a fun one like it always is up there. But no accordion music and singing, please.

Somerton Infants

Good King Hal on his way home from the stock exchange. (Geddit???)

I never ever do infant school visits as most of the Key Stage 1 pupils just won't get the talky bits I do as Henry. However, I was contacted by Somerton Infants a while back, I explained my situation with being a talky show, but the teachers insisted they wanted Henry VIII at their school! So I worked out a day for the little 'uns with as little of the lengthy wordy sections as possible. I drove up to this delightful Somerset town through fantastic spring sunshine - it seems to have been a long time coming, but it was welcome anyway. I wasn't due to start at the school until about 11am anyway, so it was a nice lie in and lazy-ish morning for me. The drive up was great only partially spoilt by what seemed to be a larger than normal amount of road-kill about. Wherever I went there was squashed this, flattened that - all just about intact enough to see what they had originally been in the first place. It sent my strange mind wandering. How about a children's TV show and series of books all about these mangled remains? We could have great fun thinking up characters names! Splatty Squirrel! Phlattened Pheasant! Bloaty Badger! Hammered Hedgehog! Exploded Rook! Crunched Crow! Oh the fun! Imagine what the jigsaws would be like?

But enough of this repulsiveness. The school itself was a delight - very bright and friendly, lovely teachers (the single dark haired lady in particular got my vote!) and very, VERY excitable young children! I did a walk around first to the classrooms, meeting each of the years as I went. Some of the questions in these early sections were hilarious - one little girl wanted to know if the costume I was wearing was the sort of thing Henry wore when he went to a "bank account" (sic). It suddenly dawned on me that she meant "banquet" - how sweet. I finished the morning session with a talk in the hall, taking little snippets here and there from my normal talk. I ended up with some music and the children seemed to really enjoy it.

Lunch was yummy again - more pasta and bolognese sauce as I got the other day from Noremarsh Junior. This was equally tasty and very filling. The afternoon was spent with yet another jousting tournament. Some of the really little ones struggled with the lance and horse, but they soldiered on, mostly with huge grins spread across their faces! And guess what? The ladies won AGAIN! Unbelievable. The score now goes to:

GENTLEMEN 20 - 26 LADIES

It really is as one sided as Spurs' lame efforts in the Champions League against Real Madrid last night (snigger, snigger). All that and a nice drive home through beautiful Somerset countryside, in bright sunshine and with a cheque in my pocket from the school. Marvellous. Tomorrow I am off to Wales to pick up my father for our "Stranraer Sojourn!" Keep reading this blog in the next few days to find out what happened.

Noremarsh Junior, Wootton Bassett

Good King Hal about to have a light supper (14 roast oxes, 26 roast sheep, 342 chickens, Eric the late lamented Royal Turbot and a small Diet Coke - got to watch the pounds) with a few close chums.

I had last visited Noremarsh School in Wootton Bassett a couple of years ago. The town, famously in the news in recent years, is close to Swindon, which is one of those sorts of towns in Wiltshire that is incredibly difficult to get to from Somerset. There is no real obvious direct route. One way suggested by my sat nav was to drive up the M5 and then miles and miles along the M4 which just smacked of idiocy to me. In the end I did a sort of hotch-potch of A303, A350, A361 etc etc. This also included a big hold up around the suburban delights of Chippenham. The journey seemed a lot longer as there was no Chris Evans on Radio 2 this morning and instead I had to endure Richard Madeley and his appalling taste in music.

I got to Noremarsh school and it is, just like last time, and absolute delight. I am greeted by Mrs Parker who booked me the previous time - a lovely lady originally from Weston-super-Mare. No wonder she moved. It was a truly fun day all round, with delightful teachers, great kids, and lots of good humour and joking all day. I was using the head teacher's office as my dressing room, bless him, which meant me evicting him at various points during the day so I could rip all my clothes off (and no one wants to see that, trust me). But he was very good natured about it and even rigged up a blind on the window in his door so I wouldn't upset any passing impressionable types.

Lunch was a real rarity - a school dinner that was (1) delicious, (2) in no need of any seasoning to give it flavour, and (3) filling! It was a pasta bake with a bolognese type sauce and with cheese crumbled over the top. I could get used to this very easily.

The afternoon was the best fun I have had in a long time. Really funny, laugh out loud kids, me pretending to flirt with one of the teachers (which brought some of the kids to the point of hysterics they laughed so much), a great stocks session and finished off with the usual pounding finale of the jousting tournament. This was of a really high quality with the final result in the balance almost all the way, but was won, inevitably so it seems, by the ladies team. They now score as follows:

GENTLEMEN 20 - 25 LADIES

Great stuff. I packed up and was soon on my way home. All this and Manchester City sticking 5 goals past Sunderland at the weekend. How marvellous.

There was one really funny spot to the day - two little girls who said that I shouted too much, and burst into tears nearly every time I said or did anything. When I asked the teachers if they were alright, their reply was refreshing in it's honesty. "Oh, those two, don't worry about them, they cry at everything. They're just pathetic!" So there you go!

I am off to Somerton Infants tomorrow up near Glastonbury for a banquet with the little ones up there, then on Thursday I begin a long journey that will finish in, of all places, Stranraer. Watch this blog for more info soon!

Parwich Primary, Derbyshire

Good King Hal attempts to bring peace to the Middle East, however the child is obviously a music lover and appears to be trying to escape.

I had never done a Henry show in Derbyshire before, so this was a real first for me. I was going to be driving up from Essex having spent some time with Amanda and James. Once more I was booked into one of those charming characterful Travelodge places, so beloved of all commercial travellers. Now my sat nav is not the most reliable thing in my possession at the moment, and on the Travelodge website it suggested you typed in another post code for the hotel than the one it officially had. Who was I to argue with that? I followed the sat nav's directions all the way up to the outskirts of Ashbourne near the Peak District, and then headed off for where it assured me the hotel would be. WRONG again. Nothing - not a sausage. I found a small petrol station and wandered in through the driving rain to ask for directions. The nice lady behind the counter smiled at me as I came in. Before I could even say a word she said "You're looking for the Travelodge, aren't you?" Was I that obvious? Apparently EVERYONE who goes into that petrol station and doesn't buy fuel has been sent there by their sat nav with the post code given to them by Travelodge in the first place! Or was she making an unsubtle pass at me? No, of course she wasn't.

I drove back the way she had shown me and saw that the hotel stood in what was basically glorified waste ground with only a Harvester-style plastic pub anywhere near it. Now I love pubs, good old fashioned English pubs. These modern plastic pubs have about as much in common with a proper English pub as I do with Jonathan Rhys-Myers. Yes, we both play Henry VIII but only one of us is even vaguely attractive to the opposite sex. So the idea of a plate of "Surf'n'turf with a complimentary salad bar to visit, and with a nice foamy pint of John Smith's Smooth Flow to wash it all down!" filled me with shuddering dread, so I was far more pleased to see that there was a Marks and Spencer food store just up the road, and so I headed there to stock up for the evening. I came back, checked into the hotel and wandered up to my room. It was a much newer hotel than the one I stayed in recently when in Shrewsbury, with the only difference I could see that the room was smaller and the bathroom considerably so. My car was one of only three in the car park at that time. I had just settled into the room when I heard the unmistakable sound of stiletto heels on concrete outside - being the nosey git I am I peaked out the window. There was a dazzling glamorous blonde lady in a steaming clinch with a man in a business suit. I looked on in awe as they appeared to be on the point of devouring each other - and what were they doing coming out of a nice Travelodge at about 4pm on a weekday? Perhaps they worked there! Perhaps they had just finished a hard shift stripping beds and replenishing complimentary tea and coffee sachets in the rooms and were congratulating each other with a vacuum like snog in the car park? They eventually disentangled each other and got into separate cars. As they drove off I could see a baby seat in the back of the business suited man's car. Now I may be putting two and two together and making 5,834, but my immediate thought was "what a bastard". I hope I was wrong.

I was up bright and early this morning and was soon driving up through the delightful town of Ashbourne and out into the countryside to find Parwich. In the drizzly incessant rain everything looked a bit grey and depressing. I soon found it and eventually the old Victorian School. I had only been there a few minutes when Laura Smith, the teacher who had booked me for the day, arrived. She was absolutely charming - one of the nicest ladies I have met in a long time. The plan was to do the morning "talky" stuff in the school classroom, and then in the afternoon to travel down to the village hall for the jousting etc. A bit like we had done at Broadclyst in Devon recently. It was a smallish group of about 26 children with a range of ages from years 3, 4, 5 & 6. Quite a few of them had come along in fabulous Tudor costumes. We had a great morning and finished off with a lovely meal of sweet and sour pork - delicious! I then moved all the gear down to the village hall, a delightful brand new building with a fine resonant main room. I went into the large disabled loo to get changed before the children came over and was horrified to discover an enormous "Richard the Third" lurking, unflushed in the toilet there. It looked like King Kong's finger and was rapidly flushed away by yours truly. The deeply worrying thing about it was that it was lying in the pan completely on it's own - no used toilet paper! ARGH! Did the person who gave birth to this leviathan simply haul up their trolleys at the end of the session and, unable to contemplate the thought of drowning their new born dreadnought, simply waddled off into the sunset? It scarcely bares thinking about. Anyway, rapidly changing the subject, the afternoon was a belter with a fantastic stocks session followed by an even better jousting tournament. We were joined by the infants from years 1 & 2 to cheer on the teams for this, and in culminated, yet again in a fine win by a very good ladies team. This now makes our score:

GENTLEMEN 20 - 24 LADIES

They are starting to get away again! I finally packed away, said goodbye to Laura Smith, and was on my way home. Parwich looked so much nicer in the bright sunshine - a really beautiful place, very quaint and definitely worth a return visit. I'll be back! I left Parwich at about 3.40pm - I arrived at my place in Crewkerne at almost smack on 7pm, tired but pleased to be home again for the first time in well over a week. I have tomorrow off, which must be an April Fool Joke of some sort or other, and am next being Henry on Monday when I make a return visit to Noremarsh School in Wootton Bassett in Wiltshire - close to where Andy Partridge lives in Swindon! HELLO ANDY!

Radlett Prep School

Would you believe that Good King Hal had trouble finding this school? And it has an automatic toilet and a Ukrainian teacher. Remarkable.

I hate loathe and detest the M25 more than I can possibly let most of you know. It is a road that brings me only bad memories of hot static traffic jams, idiot lane hoggers and more queueing. Therefore anytime I have to go anywhere near this road I try to do it as out of hours as possible. I have been staying in Essex for the past few days - Basildon to be precise. Now from sunny Basildon to Radlett, where the school is, can be no longer than about 45 minutes - but that would be 45 minutes on an M25 with no roadworks, no other traffic - NOTHING. That never, ever happens. The nearest you can get to it is by driving as early or as late as you can possibly manage. Therefore to avoid any heartache or masses of traffic I left sunny Basildon at 5am. Now I know this sounds like overkill, but come on. I found Radlett remarkably easily, but could I find the Prep School? Could I heck. I drove up and down Watling Street (for 'tis where the school is) in the pitch dark and could not find even a hint of the school. I even stopped and asked a very early morning commuter in Radlett High Street if he knew where it was and he claimed to have never heard of it. Finally after driving nearly all the way into Elstree and heading back, I saw a tiny sign for a "school ahead". I slowed down and turned into an unmarked side road to be presented by a fairly non-descript set of gates, but with the magical words "Radlett Prep School" emblazoned upon them. They were locked, it was 6.30am, but I had found them! I parked up in a nearby lay by, turned on the Chris Evans Show and snoozed for a little while.

The school itself was lovely - a fine old Georgian building with various lumps and bumps added over the years, all built on a site which is even mentioned in the Domesday Book. I was warmly welcomed by teachers and staff alike, including the remarkable head teacher, a lovely friendly avuncular man who has worked at Radlett Prep for the previous 41 years! It was a group of about 50-60 children, all in brilliant costumes and full of laughter and sparkiness. They seemed to really enjoy the day and thankfully laughed in all the right places.

There were two very remarkable things about this school - one was the toilet I was allowed to get changed in. It was a small old fashioned looking room, but had recently had a technological re-fit and was now kitted out with state of the art hi-tech bog stuff. (Let me know if any of this techno babble is losing you). The toilet was automatic, the taps were automatic and even the hand dryer was automatic. With the toilet you either waved your hand (or any other appendage you felt like waving around) in front of a sensor and it would flush automatically, or if you finished with the WC, moving towards the sink to wash you hands would also cause it to flush automatically. This particular sensor was obviously very sensitive as it would go off at the drop of a hat. Change your shirt - FLUSH! Put socks on - FLUSH! Clench buttock cheeks a bit too quickly - FLUSH! You get the idea. Every so often you'd go a bit too close to the hand dryer and suddenly WHOOSH! This would kick in like a small jet engine cranking up for lift off. In between flushing and whooshing I would get changed and would come out of the small room with people staring at me wondering what the hell I had been doing in there. The other truly remarkable thing at this school was a year 4 teacher from the Ukraine. If she had been my teacher at school I'd still be there, purposefully flunking exams. "You're being held back for another year, Farley!" "Really? Woo-hoo!" She wasn't just smouldering, she was "burning down the house".

Lunch was a surprise. The surprise being that they didn't do any! I had to drive back to Radlett and find a shop to get some sandwiches. After another fine chat with the head teacher I set up for the afternoon session. Everything went swimmingly and the jousting tournament was a belter. This time the ladies stormed to a very worthy victory. This now makes the score:

GENTLEMEN 20 - 23 LADIES

Last night I sat and watched the England v Ghana international from Wembley. James decided to watch the match with me and lasted all of about 5 minutes before the lure of his Nintendo DS took over! I cuddled up with him in bed last night which was lovely - he is such a cuddly little boy!

Today I am driving up to Derbyshire and staying near Ashbourne, before tomorrow heading to the little village of Parwich for an appearance at their school. Should be fun!

Drayton Junior

Angela Lamb (right) yesterday, just before popping home for lunch (a boiled egg, two slices of toasted bread, a cup of coffee and a waggon wheel).

Ah! Sunshine! Spring time! Sap be a rising, ooh-arr! etc. You catch my drift. Early morning starts are much more fun when there is some daylight involved, as witnessed yesterday. I was back at Drayton School in north Norwich, so I had driven to Essex to stay with Amanda and James on the Tuesday. Even being this much closer to Norwich, it is still a two hour drive from sunny Basildon to sunny Drayton, so I was up at 5am and out of the door by 5.30am. Early mornings are also made more human now by being a completely "Sarah Kennedy Free Zone". Bliss! Vanessa Feltz may never be my first choice as a radio presenter, but in comparison to Sharah (sic - or is that hic?) Kennedy she is like Vaughan Williams' "Lark Ascending" compared to the "Crazy Frog" ring tone. i.e. only one of them makes you want to rip the radio out of it's housing and spray it with bullets from an Uzi before setting fire to it.

This was my fifth, or even possibly sixth return visit to Drayton School, and it is truly one of my favourites in Norfolk. I was warmly greeted by all the staff as usual, and particularly Angela Lamb who is a dead ringers for Julianne Moore (hence the picture above!). It was a group of about 80 children today and we were in the main hall with it's migraine inducing floor design. They were a lovely group, great costumes, very eager to learn and only one or two slightly lippy ones which is always a good thing. The morning went through at a fair old pace, with only a break for an assembly to slow us up. Lunch was an unappetising looking burger with saute potatoes, which goes to prove how wrong you can be as it was delicious. Mrs Lamb took the more intelligent option and went home for lunch.

The afternoon was a good one and culminated in what was originally a quiet joust that soon turned into a deafening joust. And just to prove me wrong, the gentlemen won AGAIN! They are now virtually equal footing with the ladies. This is much closer than last year. Our score now stands at:

GENTLEMEN 20 - 22 LADIES

They will now lock horns again on Tuesday at Radlett Prep School in Hertfordshire. After the show it was back to Basildon for cuddles with my son and a few games with him on Club Penguin on line (don't ask). And look outside - it's sunny again! And in Basildon! Surely there is a law against that sort of thing.

Christ Church School, Downend

Good King Hal (left) after discovering the price of a single tyre for his Mazda 323F.

Isn't it nice that the weather is finally warming up? Spring seems to have been a long time coming this year. How nice it was to wake up both Saturday and Sunday morning this weekend and to be greeted by bright sunshine and warmth. Perhaps I should put a roof on the flat (that was a joke BTW). On the Sunday morning I decided to use this wonderful early spring sunshine and to head over to Barrington Court for a walk around the gardens, not as Henry, but just as me. Simply to stretch the legs and get some fresh air in my lungs. That was the plan, anyway...

The day after the Cornish trip last week I had noticed that one of the rear tyres on the Mazda was a bit squishy, so I drove to a local garage and pumped it up. I drove over to Barrington on the Sunday afternoon for my walk, only on getting out of the car did I discover that the same tyre was now very flat again. Bum. I decided to utilise Barrington Court's resources and sat in Matthew Applegate's office flicking through the local Yellow Pages to see where the nearest tyre fitting station was. Everything local was closed as it was Sunday, the nearest places being either Taunton or Yeovil. I pumped the tyre up a little and headed for Yeovil. I arrived at Kwik Fit in South Street to be greeted by a man in oil soaked overalls who looked like the off-spring of an unfortunate encounter between the Stay Puff Marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, and a skinhead. He was on the phone, saw me walk into the reception area, and just walked off - no acknowledgment - nothing. His little assistant who was working for another customer looked about 12 and wore a Benny from Crossroads hat. The Stay Puff Marshmallow man continued to stalk around the garage bellowing into his phone while the little lad progressed and finally finished with the other customer. All joking aside the little lad was brilliant and got the tyre done in double quick time. I went for the cheapest option on the tyres, and even that was nearly £70. I finally paid and left, while the Stay Puff bloke continued to bark into his phone - I wonder if he does any work there at all..?

Monday morning saw me up bright and early again for a drive up to Downend in North Bristol and a first ever visit to Christ Church School. Downend is the birthplace of W G Grace (hence the piccie above) and is a fairly pleasant suburb. The school was brilliant - great teachers, lovely kids and a pleasant day all round. They had even organised a wonderful Tudor banquet at lunchtime with pottage, pease pudding, a chicken stew and all finished off with a delicious plum pudding. I could get used to this. The afternoon was a riot - much excitement from all the children and ended with a brilliant jousting tournament. The Gents champions had only won their semi final as they had been slightly less pathetic than their opponents, but come the final they had really pulled their socks up, and despite being behind for a long while, they stormed through to a very well deserved victory. This makes the score now:

GENTLEMEN 19 - 22 LADIES

Much more interesting and close - unlike the Rugby this weekend...

Today I am driving up to Essex and tomorrow I am back at Drayton School near Norwich in Norfolk, then next week I have visits to Radlett School in Hertfordshire and then up to Parwich in Derbyshire - I will be away from home for about 10 days.

I must dash, Jeremy Kyle is currently berating a monosyllabic 16-year-old girl who insists she is mature enough to start a family with her equally cranially challenged 17-year-old boyfriend. There goes the neighbourhood. Next stop, ESSEX!

Truro Prep, Cornwall

Good King Hal (right) appearing in black and white, something to do with either (a) shortages, or more likely (b) he was alive in the 16th Century and colour photos took a long time to come back from the chemists.

My brain is obviously turning to mush these days. Following on from getting myself double booked the other week, I received a message on Tuesday evening from my friend Minti down in Cornwall asking me what time I was going to be turning up to stay with her, her other half Gary, and their lovely kids. I had completely forgotten our telephone conversation from a few weeks previously when Minti had graciously offered me a room for the night so that I would be close to Truro Prep for the morning start. More abject apologies from me, but thankfully Minti just thought it was hilarious.

I left from Somerset relatively early on the Wednesday morning, but it was a very pleasurable drive. The weather was kind, the roads mostly empty and the scenery as I drove down into Cornwall became quite rugged and interesting. It was nice to see the A30 over Bodmin Moor empty, rather than how I remember it during summer holidays - a long thin, winding car park, with over heated engines, families and tempers. I stopped in the early morning sunlight near Jamaica Inn and bought myself some breakfast, which was most welcome. You approach Truro Prep school via a tiny back lane near Truro golf club, and then in through a small winding back driveway. The previous two visits to this lovely school had been at the height of summer, and lunch had consisted of a slap up hog roast served out on the cricket pitch. It was warm and sunny today, but certainly not warm enough for the delights of an outdoor hog roast. As ever I was warmly welcomed by the lovely staff of this delightful school, and everyone, and I mean EVERYONE had dressed up in Tudor costumes. The morning was to be a different from my normal Henry days - I would give my opening "Six Wives" talk four times over to each different year group that was studying it. So I kicked off just after 9am, shortly after being serenaded by the school orchestra through a strangulated version of "Greensleeves", and then a rumbustious singing of "The Tudors Had Arrived" song by some miserable person with the initials T.D. who should not be approached by small children or Henry VIII impersonators.

My opening talk was to the year 5 group who were quiet to begin with, but really picked up as the talk progressed. Next I was with the year 3 group, who simply sat in stunned silence throughout the talk with a vague look of terror on their faces. We had a break for about 2o minutes, where a cup of tea was most welcome. Then it was back for year 6 who really got it and thoroughly enjoyed the show. I finished the morning with year 4, who were a smaller group and a little quieter than the year 6's. Lunch was in the main dining hall and was a sumptuous Tudor affair consisting of roasted pheasant, beef or chicken, slow roasted vegetables and roast potatoes (OK admittedly the pheasant and the potatoes would not have been on Henry's menu) which was absolutely stunning. The pheasant in particular was delicious - moist tasty and a delight. There was some pottage and bread as a starter, but just in case it tasted like real Tudor pottage I gave that a wide berth. The pudding was a sort of cheesecakey/milk puddingy filling, with lots of cinnamon and raisins, in a pastry case. It was interesting, much in the same way I am sure industrial floor polish is interesting.

After lunch I had to judge the children's costumes in a parade of the whole school - not an easy job. Then after that we had a long superb jousting tournament in the big sports hall. It was a fabulous tournament over many races but was eventually won by a very capable ladies team, that now brings our score to:

GENTLEMEN 18 - 22 LADIES

I was supposed to go an meet an old friend, Annalise who I used to work with at Rochester Cathedral in Kent, as she now lives and works down near Truro. Sadly, I didn't get away from the school till after 4pm and I was due out for dinner with friends near Langport that evening by 7pm, so I knew I would be cutting it fine. Therefore I had to blow poor old Annalise out, and promise to visit her another time soon.

I got back to Somerset and almost immediately had to go out and meet my friends at the Halfway House Inn at Pitney near Langport. We had a fabulous meal and lots of laughs. So all in all, a really nice day! My next Henry show is on Monday at Downend in Bristol, the birthplace of WG Grace. How thrilled you must all be to know that!

Mereside School, Shrewsbury

Good King Hal and Anne of Cleeves having a quick nose round their new under stairs cupboard.

Now I was originally due to go to Mereside School in Shrewsbury in Shropshire on the 7th January, but the school had phoned and requested the date be put back. Originally this was to the 4th March, but back then I was suffering with a terrible chest infection and cough that made me explode every so often with eye watering volcanic eructations of the stridulating, gear crunching kind. Not a pretty site and not something to show off to impressionable children in Shrewsbury. Therefore the show was postponed again and this time back to Monday 14th March.

Shrewsbury is a long way from South Somerset, so I decided to drive up on the Sunday and stay overnight at a hotel so that I would be nice a fresh for the Monday morning. I booked myself into this wonderful little place called a "Travelodge" - you might have heard of them, quaint roadside lodges with lots of personal character, and.... no... I can't go on. I cannot tell a lie. They are the hotel version of the Roman Empire - doesn't matter where you go, they are all exactly the same. I booked in and sat in my room flicking through the TV channels - all the stuff you could imagine, plus for some reason a Russian news channel - in English. Bizarre. I had been assured by the Travelodge website that there was a Little Chef AND a Burger King adjacent to the hotel, so even if I wasn't going to be eating haute cuisine I would at least not have to stagger too far for a plate of heart attack and chips. WRONG! Both the fast food outlets were closed for refurbishment, so my Sunday evening meal consisted of cold sandwiches bought from a local petrol station. I had driven to where the school was early in the evening on Sunday so I knew where it would be for Monday morning. It was only about five minutes up the road, so that was good news to me.

I got up on the Monday and drove down to the school. I was very warmly welcomed by the staff and teachers, and soon found myself with the children in the hall. It was a nice big group of about 90 children. To begin with they were quite quiet, but they soon warmed up and as the day progressed the laughs got louder. Lunch was a full proper plate of sausage and chips - who needed Little Chef anyway!

The afternoon joust was hilarious, loud and nearly blew the roof off the hall! It culminated in a narrow victory for a very good Gents team. This now brings our score to:

GENTLEMEN 18 - 21 LADIES

All the staff were delightful and took part in a final joust with great enthusiasm! Bless 'em all! The drive back was relatively easy despite a bit of a snarl up round Birmingham, but I guess that is just par for the course.

The last time I had been to Shropshire for anytime was back in 2002 for a holiday with my wife. We stayed in a lovely little village near Ludlow called Downton on the Rock. Amanda was pregnant with James and upon arriving at our self catering cottage she had decided she needed a lie down and a rest. Being on my own, I had soon exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the cottage - I had turned the heating on and off, opened the fridge door to see how quickly the light came on, and had taken to dancing to Test Match Special on Radio 4 Long Wave. In a fit of boredom I decided to shave my beard off. I first grew my beard at the age of 21 and by 2002 I was 35, therefore I had not seen my face completely bald for 14 years. I was worried I had possibly turned into a potato. I nearly shaved it all off, but chickened out at the end and left myself with a small goatee. I woke Amanda up shortly afterwards with a cup of tea. She didn't notice the beard, in fact she didn't notice the beard for another two days, until I pointed it out to her while having lunch out somewhere. Bless.

My next Henry show is tomorrow, Wednesday the 16th March at Truro Prep in Cornwall, a lovely school I last visited back in 2008. Should be a fun day! Shame I forgot I had promised to drive down the night before and visit my friend Minti where she lives near Rough Tor in Cornwall. Whoops. I shall make it up to her and Gary sometime soon, honestly!

St Michael's followed by St Michael's...

Good King Hal (left), halfway through a terrifying transformation into a werewolf, playing a growl kornholt solo of "It Must Be Jelly Cos Jam Don't Shake Like That". Oh, the humanity...

After the trials and tribulations of the Bedford day and the joy of my on line banking experience, it was nice to be back to being Henry VIII again. On the Wednesday it was back to one of my longest running schools, St Michael's Junior in Wimborne in Dorset. The lady I usually see at Wimborne is called Jane Eyre, but she is off doing a year overseas with the VSO in Gambia. That or she's doing 12 months in Parkhurst.

Despite her absence there were plenty of familiar and friendly faces on my arrival. As usual on going back to schools I visit frequently there is the cry of "Is it a year already?" from all and sundry, which I think they mean in a nice way! It was a larger group than in previous visits - 140 children this time, and they were a good fun, sparky group. They laughed a lot and joined in well, and pretty much all of them were dolled up in fabulous Tudor costumes. Some of the homemade ones were of a very high standard. I spent a very pleasant lunch break with two of the younger members of the female staff (always a good thing), teaching them how to tell jokes. Neither of them had much of a clue, but then I suppose when you're that pretty and young, who needs humour? That's why I am sitting here alone, in an apartment in South Somerset dressed as a clown with a revolving bow tie on.

The afternoon session was as loud and raucous as it can be and culminated in a stunning jousting tournament won by a very good ladies team. This made the score after the Wimborne show:

GENTLEMEN 17 - 20 LADIES

The drive home was quite pleasant, not too much traffic and along that road from Wimborne to Dorchester with lovely views and scenery all around. I got home, made some dinner, turned on the TV to see Spurs about to take on AC Milan, and promptly fell asleep. Then Spurs always have that effect on me. (DAMN YOU, RICKY VILLA!!!)

And isn't it funny. You wait all year to do a show at a school called St Michael's, then two turn up at once! I had last visited St Michael's in Twerton near Bath back in May 2010, and as I usually see them at about that time of year it seemed odd turning up at this school on a cold breezy morning. Where was all the warm early summer sun?? Again it was good to see some old familiar faces, plus some new ones. This was a group of about 90 children, very excitable and sometimes a bit of a handful, but I kept them happy for most of the day. On the Tudor quiz which I do in the morning, one little lad managed to score 1 out of 20, which is far and away the lowest score anyone has ever got, but I didn't tell him that. Bless him! Lunch was a cannon ball sized baked potato swamped with baked beans and cheese, with a nice crisp salad on the side. Smashing.

The afternoon was riotous, but fun! Some of the kids laughed so much at the stocks routine I honest thought some of them might have little accidents, but the floor remained resolutely dry. The jousting was again of a very high standard and the final finished in a thrilling dead heat between the gents and the ladies. It went to a one quoit race off to find the winner which the ladies just about squeaked home in. The gents score is starting to drift again! The score is now:

GENTLEMEN 17 - 21 LADIES

Good stuff. The drive home was marred only by having to endure Victoria Coren on the Steve Wright Show on Radio 2. Why does he never have Giles London on his show? He'd be great! If you've never had the chance to enjoy him, please check out the occasional blog of the capital's smoothest, smartest, most nepotism-riddled restaurant reviewer - Giles London at http://gileslondon.blogspot.com/ as you will find he is nothing like Giles Coren in The Times at all. Honest.

My next Henry appearance is at Mereside Junior in Shrewsbury on Monday. This was the show postponed a couple of weeks back when my chest was really bad. It may be tempting fate, but I feel better now! COUGH SPLUTTER! DOH!

Head for The Hills!

The final remains of Good King Hal (left) after the events of Monday the 7th March 2011.

There are some days that you look back on, when they are over, and you honestly think to yourself - what the hell did I get out of bed for in the first place this morning? Now I didn't entirely think that last night before I slumped into the land of nod, but I was close. It all began with getting up early in the morning.

Now according to my work calendar, Monday 7th March I was due at The Hills Lower School in Bedford. This entailed setting the alarm for the morning at 4am, for a 4.30am departure for the three and a little bit hours drive to Bedford from South Somerset. I deliberately put my alarm clock the other side of the room when I have to get up that early - it entails me actually having to get out of bed to turn it off, not just throw an arm at it and potentially fall asleep again. However I am always very aware of having to get up early, and frequently on nights like this my brain keeps whirring away while I try and get to sleep. It says "You might oversleep! What will you do then?" or "You're still not asleep and it must be nearly 4am by now! You'll fall asleep at the wheel and kill yourself!" However, with clever use of a Charlie Brooker book and some "Night Nurse" for my still gently burbling chest, I did eventually fall asleep. And I got up in time as well! I was very proud of my morning ablutions and was up and out of the flat by 4.30am. The roads at that time of day are an absolute delight of course, no one around at all, and I sailed serenely up the A303 towards the A34. (Well, as serenely as you can in a Mazda 323F).

The last couple of times I have visited Bedford it has been a nightmare to get into. Roadworks upon roadworks, tons of non-moving traffic and a rapidly ticking clock. But this time, it was a doddle - and I soon found myself past Milton Keynes and Buckingham, and virtually on the door step of the school. Apart from some poor sap in a Vauxhall Astra having his engine blow up as I drove behind him, it was a pretty much hassle free arrival at the school. The surroundings looked remarkably familiar. As I turned into the gate of the school it said "Welcome to Hazeldene Lower School". Huh? Hazeldene was a school I used to visit as Henry, but I hadn't been here since 2007 - why had my sat nav brought me here? Because, believe it or not, The Hills Lower School is on the same site. They use the same gate! Two completely separate Lower Schools with their front doors approximately 10 yards apart. Madness. I sat in the car having a quick swig of my drink before I went in, and watched with interest as another car parked over by the Hazeldene entrance. A young female teacher got out, and unaware she was being eyed by a dirty old Tudor monarch, paused to adjust her stocking tops. Well, that made my morning, I can tell you! I don't know who you are madam, but you did me the power of good.

As I got into the school I met the teacher I was dealing with - a very nice lady who had bombarded me with emails and questions over the previous couple of weeks. Still, it was nice to be here. I was warned by several members of staff that the group I would be with today, a year three group of two classes, were challenging and excitable to say the least. Who was I to argue with them? So I got all my stuff in the hall, got changed, and then ended up sitting on my "April" in the staff room for an hour as the kids had a singing lesson. Finally I got in the hall with the kids. They were very excitable and at times, quite a handful. One lad with some obvious learning difficulties was like a Jack in the Box of energy, with almost Tourette's Syndrome scatter gun approach to shouting out at me whenever he felt like it. It was only a brief morning, but it seemed quite long.

During lunch I chatted to a very nice lady who looks after all the gardens where the kids grow their own fruit and veg. I suddenly noticed I had a whole ream of missed calls on my mobile phone. It was messages from a school in Hertfordshire wondering where I was as I was supposed to be with them on the 7th March. Huh?? One of the teachers allowed me to sign onto a PC to check my emails to see what was going on and, uh-oh, they were right. I had well and truly double-booked myself. I had told both The Hills and this other school that I would be with them on the 7th March. The only thing I think that could have happened was that both schools had hassled me for information on dates a lot and all the time I was at Leeds Castle away from my office. As excuses go it is pretty lame, but it was the best I could do. I mailed the teacher in Hertfordshire with abject apologies filled with sackcloth and ashes, and promised to sort something out for them.

The afternoon was equally loud and hard work. Not sure I have shouted quite so much to such a small group for a long time. But they seemed to enjoy most of it and the jousting was very loud and raucous, and ended with another win for the gents! This brings our score up to:

GENTLEMEN 17 - 19 LADIES

Much more interesting. I unloaded all my gear back to the car, and then found the gates were locked. I went back into the school and found the caretaker. He assured me they weren't locked it was just made to look that way. I walked back to the car. The gates WERE locked. I walked back and got the caretaker who trudged out to unlock them with all the enthusiasm and gusto of a sloth on mogadons. I went through the gates only to find that there was now also an OUTER set of gates. This was purgatory! Luckily they weren't properly locked so I got out and headed off for a three hour drive.

The drive home was OK, apart from one little snarl up near Stonehenge. I got back, exhausted, finished and very low after such a hard show. I decided to cheer myself up to see if my pay had gone into my bank account. It hadn't. I checked up on why not and found out the standing order for it from my business account had been entered with the wrong month - my rent was due today and I didn't have enough in my account to cover it. ARGH! I phoned the bank and got onto their automated system. First they wanted my account number keyed in - done. Now the sort code keyed in - done. Now the second numeral from my personal security number. My what? What personal security number? The condescending electric voice just kept repeating it, like the boring teacher in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." I thought, I know I shall go in on another number and talk to a real person. I tried to but ended up at the same information superhighway cul de sac. In the end, very frustrated and eager to sort this out I tried to postpone my rent payment on line by one day - I was told I was too late in the day. ARGH!!! I know, inventive GKH thought, I shall phone the bank's new customer line, that way I am guaranteed to talk to a real person and they won't need this mysterious Personal Security Number crap. I keyed in the number - only to be told that the line was only open between 8am and 8pm. And the time at that very instant??? 8.01pm. AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH! Cue complete "mental mental chicken oriental" moment with the King. The phone gets ripped from the wall and is thrown on the floor and bludgeoned to death with it's own hand piece. Not a pretty site.

Today I went out and bought a new phone and discovered that my pay had gone through as an emergency payment thanks to my lovely company "Past Presence Ltd". The school in Hertfordshire now think I am the dot over the letter I in the word SH*T and I am currently watching Barcelona players doing passable impressions of dying swans every time an Arsenal player breathes next to them. If anyone ever builds a time machine I shall borrow it for one journey only. I shall go back to the evening of the 6th March 2011, and I will turn off my alarm clock.

Tomorrow, the 9th, I am back at one of my all time favourite schools, the very wonderful St Michael's School near Wimborne in Dorset. Should be fun.

Hazlegrove and Heaving Chests (Ooh-er!)

Good King Hal starring in the latest blockbuster "Babe 3 - Pig in a White Wine Sauce, with shallots, aubergines and potato rosti, all served with a nice chilled Chablis". Certificate 18.

My son has a certain temper with inanimate objects, when they won't do what he wants them to do. Sadly, I can hide this no longer - he gets this from me. And with me it isn't even inanimate objects. If anything isn't doing what I want it to do, it is in danger of being smashed to pieces or thrown across the room. I am usually this same intolerant idiot when it comes to being ill. Now I have just finished my week long run at Leeds Castle and it is usually when I am there that I fall ill with a bad chest - but I have waited until the week after to get all yukky. Now, whenever I lie down my chest goes bubble-bubble-wheeze and I begin coughing and sometimes can't stop for several eye-watering minutes. This is where my temper with inanimate objects goes to a new level, as I get so angry with my lungs for not working properly I just want to rip them out, squeeze them dry, run them through a mangle and then stuff them back in again. As I can't actually do this for real (please, children at home - DON'T try this) it means I have been having terrible trouble sleeping of late. So the night before I was due to drive to Hazlegrove School near Sparkford in Somerset I gave up on my bed after a couple of wheezing coughing filled hours and headed instead for the warm comforts of my almost world famous "Coma Chair" (C) Mike Farley 2010. Now I knew not to sleep with my feet on the floor as this could bring on such horrors as deep vein thrombosis, scurvy and Mongolian Luirghi Fever of the Fallen Arches (or something like that). So I dutifully stuck my legs up on a stool, stuck on the latest recorded edition of Neil Oliver's "History of Ancient Britain" and as predicted I promptly fell fast asleep.

I woke up at some damnably early hour and found that my feet had at some point in the night fallen off the stool. I was now blessed with ankles that felt remarkably like over ripe cantaloupe melons. I still felt ill and my chest burbled away merrily as I drove up the A303 to Sparkford, pausing only to cough alarmingly and wipe my watering eyes. Hazlegrove School is in a remarkable old house that apparently, I was informed later, was once slept in by Catherine of Aragon... or was it Katherine Parr? Well it was one of them. Mind you, the amount of places I have been in my time as Henry VIII and been told that one of the six wives once slept there, or that Mary I slept there, or Queen Elizabeth had eaten a Ginsters pasty there etc. The other one I get all the time is mostly American women coming up to me at events and telling me they're related to Anne Boleyn. Well so am I - we're both mammals for Christ's sake. Anyway, I am getting off the subject.

Hazlegrove School was lovely, the teachers were unbelievably friendly and helpful and very sympathetic to my burbling chest and frequent Krakatoa cough explosions. The kids were great and called the usual private school names like Hector or Ned, or Jensen or Barry (not really). The lunch was lovely, a very tasty roast pork with veg and roast potatoes. The afternoon session went very well and finished with two of the finest jousting teams you will ever see, but ended with the Gentlemen's team just sneaking a narrow victory over a very good ladies team. This makes our score:

GENTLEMEN 16 - 19 LADIES

I felt totally wasted after the show. Just exhausted and burnt out. All I could think of was that I was due to get up at 4am the next morning and drive three hours up to Shrewsbury for a visit to Mereside School. To be honest I just couldn't face the idea. I needed rest and lots of it. When I got home I called Mereside and they were lovely - they said it was fine and the show has now been postponed back to the 14th March. Phew. This meant I could have a lie in this morning and get better, and you know what? I feel much better for it. Therefore the next Henry day is now on Monday at The Hills School in Bedford.

Henry's Horrid History - an overview

A brief reminder of Good King Hal's previous performances of "Henry's Horrid History" at Leeds Castle three years ago. You can be assured he did not have a fireplace like that in his marquee this time around.

Leeds Castle, near Maidstone in Kent. Three shows a day. Nine days straight off. A total of twenty seven shows. But it wasn't, actually. It was only twenty six. This was because the very first show we did on Saturday the 19th February no one turned up for, which could possibly have given you the idea that this was some sort of portent of doom. How wrong we were! As the week progressed more and more people attended the shows - on sunny days (and we had a couple of those) we were reluctantly having to turn some people away. This prompted Leeds Castle's management to add an extension on the side of the grand marquee I was in to get more bums on seats. On our best day we had just short of 600 punters in for the three shows which was wonderful.

Once more I stayed with my sister at her house in Stockbury near Sittingbourne, and I was right royally pampered the whole time I was there. Cath and her husband Julian were perfect hosts, and it was great to see their lovely friendly dog Charlie again. They have a new addition to the household with another rescue dog living with them - she is a tiny Lurcher called Oona. She is very affectionate, but blotted her copybook slightly by peeing all over my bed on the last night I was staying there. Well, Cathy SAYS it was the dog... Perhaps she was trying to tell me I had out stayed my welcome!

My set up at the Castle was impressive. They had erected a large square marquee next to the maze up near the aviary. Dallas, the genius who builds so many of Leeds Castle's temporary, but brilliant props and sets, had constructed me a partitioned off "dressing room" in one corner of the marquee, and had brilliantly disguised my big Father Christmas chair from the grotto and turned it into a throne for the King. I was to do three shows a day - one at 11am, one at 1pm and one at 2.30pm. We quickly had to change the 1pm show to a 12.30pm start as my talk clashed with the bird flying display outside by World of Wings and I was getting drowned out by their PA system and mood music. As crowd sizes increased as the week went along, my voice was coming under more strain, so I was issued with a throat mic and amplifier for the rest of the week - which was great and saved me from sounding like Barry White by the end of the run.

Lots of friends came to see the shows. Adam and Lisa Hudson with their kids came on the first Saturday, my old friend Bonnie came down from Lincolnshire with her family on the Wednesday, a couple of the teachers from White Woman Lane School in Norwich came on the Thursday, and on Saturday the 26th February (my 44th birthday!) I had loads of visitors! My sister Cath and her husband Julian came, along with my sister Sue all the way from Wales! There was my old friends Anne and Ben Lyle and their lovely daughters Nell and Tilly, Michelle Coda and her chap Matt, plus cute daughter little Victoria, my lovely friend Ali Bessell and her sister Laura, her husband Steve and Ali and Laura's Mother! After I finished the last show on the Saturday I was going to announce to the crowd it was my birthday and maybe try and get them singing "Happy Birthday" - but I was out manoeuvred as Darlene Cavill, the wonderful events organiser at Leeds, had pre-empted me and led a large phalanx of staff from the Castle up the central aisle of the marquee brandishing champagne, a birthday cake and a massive card. For once I was mostly lost for words, until I said "bloody hell" quite loudly into my throat mic, which got one of the biggest laughs of the day. As usual everyone at the castle was so friendly and helpful - Becky Lander, Jeanne Beaton, the Cheeseman's, Adam, and just everyone who helped - I could not have done it without you.

So mostly it was good fun - there was one lady out of the hundreds who came to visit the show who complained to Darlene that my show was "unsuitable" for primary school children as I hadn't used any audio visual displays. Ah, so that is where I have been going wrong for the previous 700 shows I have done throughout the country. Also, on the morning of my birthday as I drove into Bearsted to buy some lunch for later on I was nearly challenged to a fight by a very aggressive lady. I was trying to turn into the small Tesco garage as she was trying to get out - but she was being partially blocked in by a very impatient man in a 4x4 with a trailer on the back. He had got so close to her she could hardly go forward or back. I gestured for him to move back, but he ignored me and I gestured for her to come out, but she made it clear she couldn't. Time was flying, so I drove away to the other smaller petrol station on the other side of the road. As I was walking towards the front door I heard a shout behind me.

"OI!" I turned round. It was the woman from the stuck car at the Tesco's forecourt. "Were you having a f***ing pop at me back there!?" She shrieked, stalking towards me with a deranged look in her eye. I decided to placate the mad cow.

"No, I was getting hacked off with the idiot in the 4x4 with the trailer behind you..." I began. She almost immediately nearly burst into tears.

"Oh, sorry!" She shrieked. "I've had such a stressed out morning... and then I got stuck in the front of Tesco's, and then..." She'd obviously had a bad morning. I was sorely tempted to lean out of the window as I drove off and shout "I REALLY WAS HAVING A POP AT YOU, YOU MAD DERANGED COW! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!", but my gentlemanly side got the better of me.

Finally, to the lady who obviously reads this blog religiously - I got back to Stockbury for a cup of tea, then I drove up to Basildon for a cuddle or two with my son, and I am driving back to Crewkerne tomorrow. Glad you and your pink-haired friend enjoyed the final show - nice to see you!

Henry's Horrid History Part 1, plus lots of other things...

Lots of things have occurred since I last updated this blog, and though I am tired and aching for bed, I cannot let this opportunity go to get things "back on track" so to speak.

Last weekend I was in Wales spending a few precious restful days with my parents out in Newcastle Emlyn. We had a nice, brief couple of days, but managed to fit in a trip to the wonderful Harrison's Cafe in town and a trip to see my old friend Carole Evans (nee Davey) at her lovely pub/restaurant The Daffodil. I drove back to Somerset on the Monday. By Tuesday I was back up the A303 and M3 route back to Essex. I was to stay with my wife and son for a couple of days while I did a couple of shows in the south east. But not before a brief early morning appearance on Emma Britton's show on BBC Somerset. It was good fun to be back in the studio with her and we had a lively if predictable debate about dog mess... (Enough said really). From Taunton I headed straight up to Essex.

On the Wednesday it was a 5th return visit for me to Wickford Junior School in South Essex. This is a fabulous school, full of bright sparky children and some very cool teachers indeed! We had a fabulous day marred only by the grotty weather. A simply deafening jousting tournament finished the day off a treat with the inevitable victory for an excellent ladies team. This brings the score at the end of this day to:

GENTLEMEN 14 - 19 LADIES

My son James went to his karate class on Wednesday evening and, despite this only being his third visit, he came away with his first badge for his kit. Amanda and I were so proud of him, and he was rather pleased with himself! I drove down to Kent on the Wednesday evening to stay with my sister Cathy near Sittingbourne.

Thursday I was back down to the Isle of Sheppey and Queenborough School. I had last visited here back in 2008, but it was so nice to be back. The staff and children at this school could literally not do enough for me. They were all so kind and helpful, and we had a really fun day all together as well, which makes life a bit easier! The final of the jousting in the afternoon was, as predicted, deafeningly loud and boisterous and resulted in the narrowest of victories for a very good gents team. Which finally brings us to half term and the score standing at:

GENTLEMEN 15 - 19 LADIES

All still to play for.

On the Friday I had a meeting over lunch at Leeds Castle with Darlene Cavill and her assistant Becky Lander with everything set up and ready for the off on the Saturday for Henry's Horrid History Show. Saturday morning dawned grey and miserable - the rain poured and the wind howled. My venue this time around is a very nice posh marquee erected near the maze and the Wykeham Martin Centre (if you know Leeds Castle!). It is heated, has a stage and seats about 170 people comfortably. My shows are at 11am, 1pm and 2.30pm each day. Today at 11am , there was not a soul to be seen as the rain hammered down and the wind moaned like Robert Smith with his finger caught in his guitar strap. So after an extended and unexpected bonus lunch break the show finally started at 1pm. We had about 50 people in, including my old friends Adam and Lisa Hudson, late of The Hoop Cricket Club with their two fine sons in tow. They seemed to really enjoy the show, especially when I "executed" Lisa in the Anne Boleyn section of the talk! It was great to see them all. The final show of the day only garnered about 25-30 people, but the forecast is a little better for tomorrow, so fingers crossed.

And now, finally, at long last...bed...

Westonzoyland & Ashcott

Good King Hal suddenly realising that the 2011 International Parrot Prodding Championships held at Barrington Court were missing one vital ingredient. Parrots. Who's a silly boy, then?

The drive back to Somerset on the Wednesday was quiet and uneventful. A little bit like England's international friendly against Denmark that evening, but at least we played quite well and won. Thursday the 10th found me at Westonzoyland up near Bridgwater. The last time I had visited this school was back in 2007 and I strongly remember sitting in the car outside the school and listening to England being trounced at Cricket on the radio by the Aussies. My how things have changed. (Actually I have just re-read my blog entry for back in 2007 and though England made a bad start we actually stuffed the Aussies in that match. My memory is obviously playing games with me!).

The weather for the visit this time was pretty much the same as my last visit - rain, rain and more rain. But the wonderful friendly school was there the same again! It was a biggish group of children with everyone from year 3 up to year 6. Some of the year 6 children remembered me from my previous visit back in 2007 - one of them it had been her birthday the last time I had been and I had sung "Happy Birthday" to her. She says how clearly she remembers it, but I assured her with the right prescription she could forget this horror. The day was excellent, lots of laughs, lots of Tudor silliness and good to be back with old friends again. After a very pleasant roast dinner lunch it was on with the show culminating in another win for the Gentlemen! This brings us to:

GENTLEMEN 14 - 17 LADIES

More and more interesting.

The following day was an almost identical journey in pouring rain up to Ashcott School near to Bridgwater and Glastonbury. Now Ashcott was the very first school in Somerset I ever did way way back in the mists of time - or 2004 as it is now known. I had been here once since then, in 2008 and now here I was back in 2011. Another hugely warm welcome. It was a small group of children today, about 35, but what they lacked for in size they more than made up for in loudness and enthusiasm. The morning was cool - very silly and with some of the children showing remarkable depth of Tudor knowledge. One young lad I had been pre-warned about was hugely into dinosaurs and I was told that at some point he would try and introduce the subject of dinosaurs into the Tudor day - and he did! During our question time session he asked me if the Tudors knew about dinosaurs! Good lad. I grabbed some sandwiches from the local village shop and was then back on for the afternoon session. We had a visit from a photographer from the Western Gazette and then it was more jousting. Back to form this time. The ladies romped to a fine win. This now brings us to:

GENTLEMEN 14 - 18 LADIES

I am off to Wales this weekend to see my parents and then back up to Essex next week for a return visit to Wickford Junior, then Queenborough School in Sheppey in Kent, then half term arrives and I begin my run at Leeds Castle.

White Woman Lane School

It was just before the swimwear section that some members of the judging panel started to suspect Miss Ukraine was not all she was cracked up to be...

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING BLOG ENTRY CONTAINS A BARELY CONTROLLED, ILL THOUGHT OUT CHILDISH RANT AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE...

I am surprised that somewhere called White Woman Lane School is allowed to exist anymore. Surely it should now be called "Caucasian (though not exclusively Ethnic majority) Non-Gender Specific Though Definitely NOT Phallo-Centric Lane Educational Collective". Or am I just sounding a bit world weary and cynical? Hardly surprising with all this horrible stuff called "politics" flying around at the moment. I just cannot be bothered with it currently. I seem to be constantly bombarded with messages from well meaning friends these days, either as emails or on Facebook, urging me to support this, or protest against that, or leap out of a 4th floor window dressed as Cardinal Richelieu whilst quoting the complete works of Marcel Proust before you plummet into the pavement below. And quite frankly, what is the point? It is either smug right wingers telling me we've all got to tighten our belts, work harder and save money (except if you're a banker of course) or fire brand left wingers telling me that unless I save a rain forest or hug a Muslim before tea time then I am no better than a child molester. ARGH! Just leave me alone! It doesn't matter what I say, think or do, nothing will ever change! There will always be them and us, and they'll always be in charge and have us by the you know whats.

Right, rant over! It was a fifth (or was it sixth?) return visit to the above mentioned White Woman Lane School. This is a lovely school in the northern suburbs of Norwich and is always a treat to return to. The same familiar and friendly faces greeted me from the teachers and all the children (about 75 of them) had pulled out all the stops and come in a fine selection of brilliant Tudor costumes, a lot of which were home made. The journey up was nice and relatively easy, and the early morning start was more enjoyable than it sometimes used to be as Sarah Kennedy has been replaced by Vanessa Feltz on early morning Radio 2. Now this may sound like the equivalent of announcing that you are delighted that bubonic plague has been replaced with a raging cholera epidemic, but trust me on this - if you are ever up early at some point, Ms Feltz is a massive improvement.

The morning session at the school was a raging success, and things went from strength to strength with a loud and raucous afternoon. It culminated with another great jousting tournament in which a fine ladies team forged into such a huge lead that the gents team just packed up halfway through, knowing they were well beaten! This now makes the score:

GENTLEMEN 13 - 17 LADIES

Wonderful stuff. I am driving back to Somerset tomorrow as Thursday and Friday this week I am at Westonzoyland and Ashcott in that county. Watch this space for their reports - and no more shouty-crackers ranting - promise.

Stapleford Abbotts

Stapleford Abbotts School with a big reminder written on the road outside as to whether the Government should shut the place or not.

Back in Essex again, but this time to visit a new school I hadn't done before. The weekend before had been nice and restful and combined such diverse delights as a breakfast at Bilby's in Crewkerne, Manchester City sticking three past West Bromwich Albion and then the even more delightful news that Manchester United had been well and truly stuffed by Wolves. Ah, life is full of such little joys every now and then. Meanwhile, back to Essex. I stayed in Basildon on the Sunday night but was then up relatively early for the short trip over to Stapleford Abbotts, near Romford. Stapleford Abbotts is one of these places I have always been aware of (I was born and brought up less than 10 miles from it) but had for some reason or another, never been to. It is in that sort of no-mans land of not quite rural Essex and not quite desolate disgusting Romford drabness that for some reason is remarkably appealing to Premiership Footballers - a group of people Charlie Brooker so cleverly described as the World's thickest millionaires.

The school in the village was very easy to find and a warm welcome awaited me - and a cup of tea! The hall out the back of this school is brand spanking new and has fabulous acoustics. It was only a half day today and a smallish group of just over 30 children. They were a bit over excited a the start, so I told them some of my best jokes, and that soon quietened them down a bit I can tell you. One lad in particular was hugely knowledgeable and seemed very excited about history in general. He'll probably become a plumber. After a quick break I then had to race through the rest of the morning with embarrassing haste as a posse of dinner ladies (or lunchtime helpers or "ingesting median sojourn operative facilitators" as we probably have to call them these days) swarmed at the other end of the dining hall and cast disparaging looks my way. We still managed to get a really good jousting tournament in which ended with another win for the gentlemen! They are really coming right back into this now. Our year long score now reads:

GENTLEMEN 13 - 16 LADIES

There will be another chance for them to close the gap further tomorrow when I am up at the crack of dawn again to head back for another return visit to White Woman Lane Junior School in Norfollk.

March 25th this year sees the first of what could prove to be a regular Hoop Cricket Club reunion. I used to play for the Hoop between 1991 and 1998, so I am looking forward to getting back there and meeting such a large group of old friends, that is if everyone turns up as they say they will.

Malvern Wells & Broadclyst

Peter Paul and Mary after an accident with a codpiece and a time machine. The man on the left used to frequently smash custard pies into Chris Tarrant's face. What a great bloke.

Now why is it, when you have to get up early you cannot get to sleep, yet when you have a day off you can't keep your eyes open? This happened to me on Wednesday night - I knew I had to get up pretty early as I had a nearly 2 hour drive to get up to Worcestershire and Malvern Wells for a visit to a school. However, whenever I put my head to the pillow for a snooze my brain would immediately start questioning me as to what the heck it thought I was doing. I was sorely tempted at one point to surrender and succumb to the "coma chair", but in the end that wasn't necessary.

Malvern Wells is a lovely area, pretty houses and delightful countryside. Malvern Wells school is pretty wonderful as well. The teachers are all lovely and friendly, none more so than the very pretty Ella Jones who had booked me. Now you really know when you're getting old when the teachers are closer in age to their pupils than they are to you! Ella was lovely - very friendly and helpful and was absolutely right when she stated how wonderful her class were. They were brilliant, quick witted, and a delight to work with from start to finish. The only problem I had with the school was finding somewhere to get changed! There was a toilet down near the hall where I was working, but it was so small I couldn't even get my suitcase in it, let alone my not inconsiderable bulk. In the end I had to use a kitchen, but it only had a sort of half sized cottage door on it, so I had to make doubly sure no one was around before I started whipping my gear off. The afternoon was brilliant and ended with another thrilling jousting tournament, finally culminating in a long waited for win the for the Gentlemen.

GENTLEMEN 11 - 15 LADIES

That helped the gents score a lot. It has been a long time since I had visited a new school and had such a good time before, but Malvern Wells was a big hit with me! Great stuff. The drive back wasn't too bad either, but I had to be up early the following morning as well - not as early as for the Malvern visit.

Today I was on my way down to Devon and another visit to a new school - Broadclyst Junior School just outside Exeter. They had heard about me from reading about my frequent visits to the Maynard School. The day today was going to be distinctly odd - firstly I wouldn't be in the school as they no longer have a hall at Broadclyst. So instead I found myself setting up in the village hall just round the corner. (And boy, what a village hall! Delightful, gleaming and looking like it has only just been renovated!) Added to which I was doing two completely different groups in the day. In the morning I would be with a combined year 5 & 6 group, while in the afternoon I would have a combined year 2 & 3 group. The morning was with about 120 children, and it was superb! The children were funny, sharp, and just as with it as the Malvern children had been the day before! Wonderful stuff. Loads of laughs and they even videoed a large part of my performance which they are promising to send to me. I'll see if I can upload some of it to this blog or the website. The morning finished with a pulsating tournament that ended with yet another win for the ladies.

GENTLEMEN 11 - 16 LADIES

Just when the gents thought they were getting back into it...

The afternoon session was a bit more of a slog, as (a) I was tired by now and my cold addled throat wasn't very happy about being used again, and (b) being only years 2 & 3 the group were quite immature after the older group of the morning, and consequently were more hard work. But it was still fun and loads of laughs. And just to keep an even keel - the gents won the afternoon jousting!

GENTLEMEN 12 - 16 LADIES

How exciting is this getting? OK, not at all, but I don't care!

I have tomorrow to myself (a real rarity) then I am driving up to Essex on Sunday. I have a couple of days in the south east next week, then back to Somerset for two more days down here.

Redstart School, Chard

The above picture is either (a) Good King Hal whacking his head on a low roof, or (b) proof that he has a halo. Please send your answer, with a £50 note to: Good King Hal, The South of France Villa Appeal, Knackers Row, Catford, near England.

For all the long distance staggering about I do, occasionally (just occasionally) I get a really local show. So local in fact, that it is the travelling equivalent of opening your front door and simply falling forward onto your face. This was that toppling forward. I first went to Redstart School in Chard about six years ago - then never heard from them until about six months ago. I went and did a Tudor day with them, and here I was much less than a year later being invited back. It's like waiting for a bus. Six years and nothing, then two come along at once.

Redstart is a lovely school. The children were terrific, great fun and in some brilliant little Tudor costumes. All of the staff and the teachers were a delight and couldn't do enough for me, almost to the point of waiting on me hand and foot. I am not complaining, honestly, just ever so slightly embarrassing. It was a year 4 group today and they were at the very beginning ominously quiet, and I wondered if the day was going to be difficult. But they soon warmed up and were a delight to work with. Loads of laughs, some great Tudor knowledge and a nice relaxed air with everyone just enjoying the day.

I had a lovely lunch with my dinner being brought to me in the staff room by a poor lady with a bad back - she was in great pain but insisted on getting the meal for me. Didn't she know I wasn't a real King??? The air was so relaxed and convivial in the staff room that I very nearly drifted off into a peaceful sleep - but just managed to catch myself before I started snoring.

The afternoon was great fun. The kids just loved the stocks session, bless 'em, and then the jousting was an absolute classic. Two very good teams, who could have quite easily won any other school visit I had done, but it was, rather inevitably, the Ladies who romped away for a very good victory. This now makes the score:

GENTLEMEN 10 - 15 LADIES

The boys are beginning to be left behind. This could get very one sided. I am next back on the road tomorrow morning with a first visit to a school in Worcestershire with a visit to Malvern Wells School in....er.... Malvern Wells. An early start.... YAWN.

Something Old, Something New....

Good King Hal, taking part in one of his favourite pass-times - international pro-celebrity wench hugging. He is now up to Olympic standard and is rapidly going blind.

And so it was to be back on the road again, two visits coming up, one in Essex and one in Hertfordshire. My first trip was on the Wednesday with a return visit to Tolleshunt D'arcy, the wonderfully named village near Maldon in Essex. I hadn't visited this school (St Nicholas') for a couple of years, but it was nice to be back. The trip to the school was entertaining, but not in a very nice way. My sat nav, halfway out of Basildon (where I was staying) suddenly decided to just freeze up completely. I tried turning it on and off but all to no avail, it would not pick up the route I needed. In the end I had to remove the data chip and put it back in making the whole system re-boot. But it seemed to work, the sat nav picked up the route again, only to then lose it again. And again, and again. Over and over it kept losing the satellites. It was a wonder I made it to the school at all! But I did. It was nice to see the teachers I had worked with before, including the glamorous TA who was a dead spit for the gorgeous Linda Lusardi! It was a small year three group, which was hard work occasionally, but most of the time they were a good, lively group and seemed to thoroughly enjoy their day with the King. The jousting was a lively affair and finally culminated in a long overdue victory for the Gentlemen! This made the score:

GENTLEMEN 10 - 13 LADIES

I left, and then encountered more problems with the ****ing sat nav. My predicament was not helped by the A414 down to Danbury and the A12 (my route home) was shut for no adequately explained reason. With the sat nav badly mis-firing I had to find my own way home. I eventually drove out back to the A12 via Hatfield Peverell. I was very glad to be home. That evening my wife and I took James (my lovely son) off to his karate lesson - this was only his second lesson, but he seemed to really enjoy himself. They certainly keep them moving there and by the time we got him home he was cream crackered!

The following morning I was up very early for a drive up to Ware in Hertfordshire for a visit to St Mary's Junior School. I was not sure how well my sat nav would behave so I took along a spare unit, quite an elderly one, that my wife has acquired as a sort of "belt and braces" approach. Typically, just when you thought it would be a day of frequently re-booting my sat nav, it worked perfectly. I got to the school very early, so decided to go off and find some petrol so I wouldn't have to stop on the way home. Apparently, they have never heard of petrol stations in Ware. I drove round and round and round, and eventually was forced to use the naughty sat nav and ended up driving nearly half way to Hertford before I found one. Mind you, it turned out to be worth it as the very attractive young lady who served me also turned out to be gobsmackingly dim as well, as she only charged me for my petrol and not the sandwich and drink I had bought for breakfast. The actual Tudor Day itself at St Mary's was a delight. This is a lovely school - great kids, lovely teachers and a warm friendly atmosphere throughout. It was a memorable first visit and a delight from start to finish. The jousting was a rollicking affair with so much noise. But a seemingly small and unsure ladies team stormed through to a remarkable victory! This now brings the latest score as:

GENTLEMEN 10 - 14 LADIES

I have a couple of days with my lovely son in Essex now, before heading back to Somerset this weekend. My next Henry appearance will be at Redstart Primary in Chard on Tuesday. I am looking forward to it! Oh, and there is talk of a Hoop Cricket Club reunion sometime soon - watch this space.