Another Year Older...

Good King Hal, blowing a raspberry on Sarah Morris' face in front of the Houses of Parliament while sipping proseco. A novel way of protesting.

February 26th - my birthday.  My 47th birthday this time around.  47?  There must be some mistake!  I can't be that old...  When my dear late lamented grandfather, the near legendary Charles Mee, was 93 years old, I was having lunch with him one day, and I asked him a question I was dying to know.  As we sat in Tomassi's, the Italian restaurant in Southend in Essex, I asked him how old he felt inside - without thinking, how old did you actually feel.  He thought for briefest of moments and then said "about 45".  However, he did say he felt that young until he was walking down the street, and paused to look in the shop window, and wondered who the doddery old fool was staring at him, until he realised it was his own reflection.  I know exactly where you're coming from Grandad.  I am very handsome until I look in a mirror.  Mind you, at the age of 93 I soon realised why my Grandfather had cantered down to this Italian restaurant so quickly - it was all the tall leggy brunette waitresses.  I did tease him about this, and my Grandfather, being one of the last great Edwardian gentlemen (i.e. sex or anything regarding women was not spoken about in public) blushed a little and then said: "Well, the day you stop looking you might as well give up."  Wise words indeed.

For my 47th Birthday I took a near last minute decision to head to Southampton and meet up with two old friends from my years working at Skandia Life, now some 11 years in my past.  Therefore I was at the Tavernetta restaurant and meeting up with Ruth Le Mesurier and Sue Marsh, and we had a lovely time.  The years just rolled away and it as almost like we had never been apart from each other.  The meal was lovely, as was the large glass of Merlot.  All too soon it was time to part, and before I headed back to the NCP to take out a mortgage and pay for my parking, I popped into Skandia House and saw the lovely Sue Plumb on reception, and saw old chums from security Ian Fitzpatrick and Trevor Allery.  Very little had changed, Trevor had slightly fewer teeth and marbles, but not much else.  I also saw a young lady called Fern (your surname - I regret Madam, I have forgotten, forgive an old fart) who's telephone I used to repair on a regular basis on my days at Skandia.  This happy stroll down amnesia lane over, I was soon in the car and on my way home.

Thursday 27th February, it's time to go back to being Henry.  I drove up to the village of Cheddar and a first visit to Fairlands School.  It was a big group, of about 180 year six children, but such a lovely group, it was a delight to work with them.  This was one of the finest schools I have visited for a long time.  I had got the job through a contact at the school who knew people at Hugh Sexey School at Wedmore.  We had a truly memorable day, great fun all the way through, and culminated in one of the most memorable jousts in a long time.  The final was incredibly close, it was down to the last rider on both teams, the boys seemed to just about hold the whip hand, when the last lady knocked the final quintaine she was at very badly - her final quoit catapulted up into the air and all looked lost.  But this girl was good and coolly skewered the quoit in mid air with her lance and galloped home for a remarkable victory.  Astounding.

GENTLEMEN 12.5 - 21.5 LADIES

That could be it already lads.  Surely no way back from there.  The drive back home took me south past Glastonbury and Somerton, and on one last high patch of ground I looked west across the levels of Somerset and saw.... a sea.  It was like looking out across some vast inland sea.  The floods were still out in force, that was for sure.

I went to see my mate Pete Flanagan in Tatworth on the Friday.  He asked me a small favour... could I drive off and collect some more music memorabilia for him.  No problem Pete, where do you want me to go?  Oh... Southampton, again.  So two days after driving down to Southampton to see everyone at Skandia, I was in Pete's BMW driving back to Southampton to meet his mate and collect some signed Jimmy Page posters.  Boy, I lead an exciting life sometimes.

Friday night was a special night as it was Matthew Applegate's official farewell bash at Barrington Court.  It started at 6.30pm and I arrived about five minutes late to find the whole place heaving with people.  This just went to see how popular Matthew was, and also at how deep the anger is felt by all the people at Barrington for the way the complete tossers in the National Trust management have treated him.  First Matthew made a fine, sweet, amusing speech.  It was touching, not maudlin and was just right.  Then Matt's lovely wife Sue stood up to make a speech.  Barely holding back her tears and anger she delivered a stunner.  One of the most moving speeches I have ever heard.  There was barely a dry eye in the house.  I was delighted to be recounted a story by one of the volunteers who told me the previous week they had been summoned to the Court House for the pre-season briefing.  The man mainly responsible for Matthew's demise, a loathsome creature by the moniker Turner, delivered his attempt at a rousing gee up speech for the masses - and sat down to a deafening silence.  One of the other managers was making their address when they happened to mention Matthew's name - this caused a spontaneous and sustained round of applause to burst out among the people in the room.  Wonderful.

We had a lovely time, laughing and joking with Matthew and all his wonderful staff.  It was great to see Rachel Brewer again for the first time since her baby Oscar was born.  Old deputy Visitor Services Managers to Matthew, Tamsin and Toria turned up - one from Cornwall and one all the way from York, just to see Matthew.  That is the respect in which this man is held.  NT management will find out one day.

I've had a lovely relaxing weekend watching Manchester City win the League Cup for the first time since 1976, which was great fun.  And now it's back to the daily grind.  And all I've got to look forward to now is my 48th birthday.  Oh, and ogling women of course.  As my Grandfather said - once you stop looking, you might as well give up.  Good work, that fellow!

One Final Barrington Court Wassail

The ideal place to stick South Somerset National Trust
Managers.  I reckon we should have got a Wicker Man...

Barrington Court is a delightful Elizabethan country house in South Somerset, and was the first large property ever purchased by the National Trust.  I first worked there in 2005 when I was asked to host a Tudor Day for Barrington Village School who decided to have the event at Barrington Court, rather than in the cramped surrounds of their sweet little school.  I was welcomed to the property by the Visitor Services Manager, a charming man by the name of Matthew Applegate.  We had a great day and Matthew and I got on like the proverbial house on fire.  He invited me back to be Henry VIII at the property at different times over the years and always it was a delight to appear there.  What I particularly liked about Barrington was the rapport that Matthew had with his staff, both paid and volunteers.  They were a really dedicated group of friendly people prepared to do anything for each other and for the name and reputation of the old building.  There was a pride in what they did.  Barrington was never seen as a prestige venue by the National Trust, most of the local spotlight being pointed directly at Montacute up the road towards Yeovil.  Barrington was run on a shoestring budget, in a sort of mixture of amateur enthusiasm and general goodwill.  And it worked a treat.  Excellent events were staged time and time again.  Various imaginative brilliant exhibitions and live shows, and quite a few Henry shows from me.  Sometimes I would do my shows for the place and there would be some money in the pot for me, but the majority of the time I did free shows for them, because I loved the house so much, and bought into the ideal of the staff and volunteers.  But unfortunately corporate management these days just cannot leave well alone, can they?  Faceless suits are moved into areas of authority, and these short sighted narrow minded "executives" seem hell bent on doing something... anything to desperately try and justify their very existence in the job they are doing.  There is a very old adage - if something ain't broke, why the hell try and fix it?  And this is the case with Barrington.  A particularly unpleasant faceless suit has been parachuted into a position of power and for some reason seemed determined to try and make Matthew Applegate's position untenable.  Goal posts were moved, frequently, structure of the running of the venue changed again, and again, to no discernible improvement.  From an outsiders point of view it almost seemed like they were trying to push Matthew to the very limit of his patience to make him walk away from a job that he was brilliant at, and very popular for doing.  But he is a man of substance and virtue and would never have deserted his staff and volunteers.  So once more, after even more changes of goalposts and targets, the suits-that-be did the final dirty and simply abolished Matthew's position.  So his job has gone, but you also have to consider that he also loses his home (he has a flat on the estate) so the National Trust are also making him and his young family homeless as well.  The reaction from the volunteers is one of silent rage.  Anger that someone so popular with them has been so ruthlessly dispatched in such an unkind, underhand way.  And at Christmas as well.  The spirit of Ebeneezer Scrooge is alive and well and living in the management of the National Trust in South Somerset.  I for one, will never do a free show for these people again.  If they want Henry VIII at their property then they are going to have to pay my full whack.  One of Matthew's finest legacies to this property was the re-introduction of the age old practise of a Wassail - the blessing of the apple trees on the old twelfth night (17th January), amid much carol singing, gun firing, drum banging and scrumpy drinking.  At the very peak of these events, probably about 5 years ago, the evening was magical.  Drumming groups, mummer's plays, musicians, hot food and drinks, and literally hundreds of guests gathering in the orchards of Barrington and joining in the tradition.  The last two Wassails have been smaller, private events, but this one was very special as it would very probably be Matthew's last event at Barrington in his current role.  Invites were sent out to a few people, and Matthew's popularity was very evident in the turn out - probably about 50-60 people gathered round a roaring brazier (as seen in the picture above), big lusty glasses of Barrington cider were drunk, poems were recited, traditional Wassail carols were sung, and we progressed to the apple trees and blessed them with toast, cider, drumming and gunfire, all to help bring forth more wonderful apples for the next harvest.  The only thing to have made it even better was to have had a Wicker Man in the orchard and one or two faceless suits stuffed inside and giving it the full Edward Woodward screaming hysterics as we chucked lit torches at them...  It was nice to see all the old faces from Barrington there, plus Jo and Blue Walshe, late of Shepton Beauchamp Post Office stores and soon to be moving to a well earned retirement in the south of France and even Kate Churchill, formerly Matthew's assistant from a couple of years ago.  THIS, if the management of the National Trust needed it, was ample proof of the popularity of the man they have so ruthlessly stabbed in the back.  He will not be forgotten and they will never be forgiven.  It was a really lovely evening.

Monday the 20th saw me back on the road and being Henry again.  My visit this day was to Blundell's Prep school in Tiverton in Devon for my 10th visit to this lovely school.  I was greeted warmly as usual, but it was a sort of disjointed day starting off in the main hall for the first hour, then shunted off to the pre-prep school hall for the remainder of the morning, then back to the main hall for the afternoon session.  All the kids in the group were dressed in fantastic costumes and were up for a really fun day.  I was in the first throes of a head cold and felt pretty croaky and unwell, but the enthusiasm of the children carried me through the day and it was fun all the way.  We finished the day with a belting jousting tournament that was won, for a change, by the boys.  But it was very close.  Our score moves on to:

GENTLEMEN 11.5 - 15.5 LADIES

So again, the gents make it look a little more respectable.  I got back to Crewkerne, had dinner and flaked out on the sofa in front of the TV.  Another wild evening for me!

The cold remained, as did the sneezing and snot, and two days later I was up bright and early for a drive up to Brent Knoll School, in the village of the same name just off the M5 near Bridgwater.  I was last at this school about five years ago and today it was group of about 70 children and a mixture of years 3, 4, 5 and 6.  They were enthusiastic and loud, which is how I like my groups.  We had a load of laughs and I was treated Royally by the lovely staff of this brilliant school.  One lady from the staff even very kindly walked all the way to the local shop and back to get me some lunch - even treating me to a Belgian bun for afters!  What a lovely lady.  The afternoon session was a bit quieter as years 3 and 4 disappeared off for a swimming lesson, but years 5 and 6 thoroughly enjoyed the stocks and then had a deafening jousting tournament that ended with the inevitable victory for the ladies.

GENTLEMEN 11.5 - 16.5 LADIES

Great stuff.  And so it was just left for me to pack everything away in the car, and head for home, stopping on the way to purchase a much needed bottle of wine.  I had a thoroughly splendid evening watching Manchester United being dumped out of the Capital One Cup Semi Finals by Sunderland on penalties.  If anyone deserves to be recognised in the New Years Honours list for services to sport it should be David Moyes. The joy his crap Man Ure team has brought to all football lovers throughout this land is almost immeasurable.  Arise Sir David - a job well done!

I am off to Essex and then Kent this weekend for my brother in law's 50th birthday party, and then next week my Henry appearances are in Swindon (home of XTC!) and then back to Barry Island in Wales.  I shall then be spending a few days with my folks at their place in Newcastle Emlyn.   I can't wait for the rest and pampering!

Maltman's Green, 50 Years of Who and Mistletoe Fayre.

Good King Hal and Jane Seymour having a "moment" on the stairs.

And so a week of work began with a trip back to Maltman's Green School near Beaconsfield in Buckinghamshire.  On my previous two visits, the first time I went I arrived horrendously early and had to sit around kicking my heels until someone turned up to let me in, so the next visit I decided to stay at a nearby hotel and wander over at a reasonable hour.  That time I got stuck in horrible local traffic and was nearly late, so I decided to leave early in the morning from Somerset and enjoy a gentle perambulation up to Buckinghamshire and try and arrive on time.  Initially this seemed to be going the way of the original journey as I was miles ahead of my time, and so I was already contemplating how I would pass the time until the school opened.  What could I do?  Untie my belly button and see if my bottom fell off?  Possibly.  Try and work out what the hell anyone finds entertaining about The X Factor, or any programme remotely to do with Simon Cowell?  Probably not enough time for that one.  Plan an atom bomb attack on Chatham?  Well, that one is quite well advanced already and to be honest if I did do it, probably no one would notice I'd been.  I can see the headlines already...  100 MEGATON BOMB DROPPED ON CHATHAM IN KENT... GOVERNMENT ESTIMATE NEARLY £2-WORTH OF DAMAGE.  But what the heck.  In the end my desires to have a restful stop and think were scuppered by a lorry catching fire on the A40.  By the time I got to this road I was less than six miles to the school and had about an hour and a half to spare.  That entire hour and a half was eaten up by sitting in the stationary traffic caused by this conflagration and I arrived at the school pretty much on time.

Maltman's Green is a lovely school.  It is an all girls private school, but comes across as very friendly and quite down to Earth.  I was very warmly welcomed by the teacher who had booked me, even though she sounded and looked very poorly, the poor love.  She was full of cold, very croaky and obviously not herself.  And the poor love didn't last that long.  Less than half an hour into the day she had to leave to go home.  She either felt very ill or had heard all my crap jokes before.  I reckon on the latter...  I was looked after by a very nice teacher who had officially retired the previous year, but came back from time to time to help out, and had come in especially to take over from the poorly lady.  And she could not do enough for me!  She even went off and got my dinner for at lunch time - an OBE is in the post to her, even as I type.  The kids were great, very lively and fun, and there was a good deal of good Tudor knowledge from all the pupils.  The jousting was great as well, but of course, being an all girls school I can't add their score to the ongoing jousting score.  That would be just unfair to the boys, and lets face it folks, they need all the help they can get when it comes to the jousting.

I left just after 3.30pm and had a very pleasant, if dark journey home.  It was overcast and miserable most of the way and there was a definite chill in the air.  Winter, if not in full vigour, is certainly close to finishing it's warm up routine.  I stopped at Waitrose in Crewkerne and treated myself to a bottle of wine, and then nipped to the Chinese for a very welcoming take away.

Thursday night I met up with Matthew Applegate from Barrington Court for a pint or two at the Rose and Crown at East Lambrook.  When I arrived he was in a very down state of mind.  Hardly surprising considering the way he and his family have been so appallingly treated by the National Trust lately.  He even looked cross when he discovered there was a quiz on at the pub that evening. At first we were going to sit it out in an adjacent room, but eventually we decided to take part.  There was just me and Matthew in our "team".  Most of the other tables had at least 6+ players on them.  And we won!  Wonderfully!  Though quite what I fully intend to do with my £12 prize money, I don't know.  A holiday in the Seychelles, perchance?  On £12?  I could get six months in Chatham for that.  In fact, I could buy Chatham for that and get change.  But it was great to see Matthew and he seemed pretty well cheered up when we left, but I think a couple of large slugs of Lagavulin had helped his general demeanour as much as my bonhomie.

Saturday and Sunday was the annual Barrington Court Mistletoe Fayre.  I was due to be doubly blessed at this event with the lovely Sarah Morris joining me on the Saturday, and the beautiful Katherine Miller playing my Queen on the Sunday.  As it was, poor Sarah had to cry off a couple of days earlier as she was just as poorly as the teacher at Maltman's Green had been.  She sounded truly unwell when I spoke to her on the phone.  So for the Saturday it was to be just me wandering round.  On the Saturday we were blessed with perfect weather.  It was bright, sunny and very cold - absolutely wonderful.  And the crowds turned out in their droves.  We supposedly had well over a thousand visitors on the first day alone, which is probably close to a record for the Mistletoe Fayre.  When I had finished at Barrington, I drove back to Crewkerne to pick up Katherine Miller from the station.  It was lovely to see her.  As you can see from the picture above, she is a stunningly beautiful lady, but is just so kind and friendly with it.  One of the nicest, gentlest souls you could ever wish to meet.  I drove her over to her digs at Shepton Beauchamp - she was staying at the Duke of York pub run by my good friends Paul and Hayley Rowlands.  They have superb new B&B facilities there and were kind enough to let me book the room for Katherine at a reduced rate.  Kat and I had dinner together at the pub - a sumptuous meal.  I have to say that my chicken and chorizo pie was quite outstanding, but the shoulder of lamb that Katherine had looked even better.  We put the World to rights and had a wonderful laugh and long chat into the night, before I drove back to Crewkerne.  I was not destined for an early night though...

Doctor Who has been one of my great passions since I was seven years old.  I can tell you the very moment I was bitten by the bug.  I was taken shopping in Chelmsford by my late paternal grandmother.  Whenever this happened she would buy me (or my sisters when it was their turn) various little pressies throughout the day.  As it was, our last port of call this particular day in 1974 was WH Smiths.  I was in the book department looking for something to keep me occupied for the weekend - and I first laid eyes on the wonderfully exciting covers drawn by Chris Achilleos, of the Doctor Who books range by Target Books.  My grandmother told me I could have one, but which was it to be?  The Abominable Snowman, showing a large Yeti menacing Patrick Troughton, or The Daemons, which showed a giant devilish figure seeming just on the verge of stamping on Jon Pertwee.  I could not make up my mind.  But time was racing and my Grandfather, fresh out of The Nags Head in Baddow Road, would be waiting in his car behind Bond's Department store, ready to whisk us to Moulsham Street and the fish and chip shop, and then home to their house in Margaretting for the cod and chips feast.  So I took blind luck and chose The Abominable Snowman, as the Yeti just looked so menacing.  I got to my Grandparents, started reading, and was transfixed!  It was a terrifying tale and great to read, plus it was a whole Doctor Who story I had never ever seen or even heard of before!  The next morning my Doctor Who addiction was completed when my Grandmother presented me with a copy of The Daemons as an extra present!  From then on I was completely and utterly hooked.

Saturday night just gone was the 50th anniversary of the first ever broadcast of Doctor Who, and a special was made and transmitted on BBC1, and throughout the globe featuring current Doctor, Matt Smith, David Tennant as the previous incarnation, and the incomparable John Hurt as a mysterious and, up till now, unknown previous Doctor.  It was epic, wonderful stuff and I sat transfixed watching this programme and immediately felt myself transported back to those Saturday early evenings in the 70's.  The escapism of it all.  The Doctor could take me away from the misery of school (God, I hated it) and whisk me off to unknown lands and planets, where nothing from my normal life mattered any more.  And the absolute icing on the cake for me with the 50th Anniversary show, was right at the end, a cameo appearance from Tom Baker - my Doctor.  He looked as old as I felt after that day of marching around Barrington, but it was still him.  That mysterious stranger, the hero who didn't kick the door in and machine gun all the baddies.  Guns were for thugs, this man was an interstellar gentleman. He would baffle them with science, humour, jelly babies and his galactic sized intelligence.  God, how I wanted to be like him.  So to Doctor Who, and the fellow anoraks like me who have had the mickey taken over the past 50 years for our love of this pacifist superhero, thank you.  Thank you for everything.  And here is to the next 50 years of limitless time travel and adventure.

Sunday was back at Barrington with Katherine Miller - the weather was a little overcast, and the numbers probably slightly down on the Saturday, but it was still tremendous fun.  Any walkabout at an historical house is pleasant, but when you get to do it in the presence of a beautiful intelligent lady like Katherine it makes it all the more special.  We had laughs a plenty, had a good jaw about life, the universe and everything, and the day seemed to pass in a shot.  We spoilt ourselves by buying some goodies at the end from some of the myriad of stalls, and soon we were changed and I was whisking Katherine back to Crewkerne Station and her train back to London.  I waved her off from the platform, and then drove home and, you guessed it, watched the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary episode again.  What an anorak!  It really had been a fantastic weekend.  Fun all the way and how a two days of historical house visits should be.  Not a cross word!

Next stop for the King is tomorrow with a return to the lovely Maynard School in Exeter, and a chance to catch up with my friend Keagh Fry.

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

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

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

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

Walking With MP's...

Lovingly, the King blew an enormous raspberry on the back of Anne Boleyn's hand.  How the long winter evening's at Hever must have just flown by.

Summer has taken a long time to come along.  As I might have mentioned once or twice in this blog before, the winter just gone seemed almost limitless, but I am really enjoying the springtime we are now enjoying.  And with springtime comes more walkabouts for the King.  Last Sunday I was back at Barrington Court near Ilminster for a few hours of strolling the grounds and leaping out of hedges startling old ladies.  The weather started off alright, but unfortunately eventually closed in, and visitor numbers dwindled.  Towards the end of the day I was sitting in the large Kitchen of the court house, where I normally do my one man shows, and I was playing my recorder.  I love playing music in the kitchen at Barrington as the acoustics are so wonderful.  Sounds like you are hooked up to an enormous reverb unit with the settings going all the way up to 11.  Well I was happily tootling away to a couple of tourists, when I saw a woman walk past the doorway in the corridor.  She suddenly reappeared in the door and stalked towards me.  I wondered what she was going to say, it could have been anything, but when she did open her mouth I was dumbstruck.

"What are you going to do about the next Queen?" She shrieked, almost shaking with anger.  I stopped playing and looked at her with some puzzlement.

"Next Queen?"  I wasn't really sure what she was on about.  "Which next Queen?"  I imagined she was mucking about and was going to say how angry she was about Katherine Howard, or Anne Boleyn or any one of Henry's Queens. I was way wide of the mark.

"Yes!  The next Queen!"  She bellowed.  "Camilla!"  Now I really was struggling.

"What about her?" I eventually managed.

"WHAT ABOUT HER!?" She was doing a very good impression of the Alien Queen that Sigourney Weaver beat the crap out of in the movie "Aliens", and was scaring me.  "If Camilla becomes Queen there will be REVOLUTION in this country.... REVOLUTION! The people just won't accept her!"  I really had no idea some people's lives were so empty that they'd waste that much time getting this angry about something as pointless as this.  "Diana's blood is on their hands!  Charles and Camilla MUST make way for William..."  I made the fatal mistake of mentioning something about William being more approved than Charles simply because he was prettier, and that Diana was no angel when it came to manipulating the press, but that was it, she was off again.  More frothing at the mouth, shaking with anger, a final finger wagging at me and then she stomped off.  I sat in stunned silence before glancing at the other tourists in the room.

"How do you follow that?" I asked them.  One silently shook his head, so I picked up the recorder and began playing again.  Wonderful.

My next Henry appearance of the week wasn't until the Friday evening when I was to give a talk in Crewkerne at St Bartholomew's Hall for the local Liberal Democrat group, with local MP and Cabinet Minister David Laws in attendance.  Well they all seemed to enjoy my silly jokes, particularly one about David Cameron and George Osborne going off on a tour together.  I'll explain it all to you next time I see you.  Please remind me.  After my "turn" I was invited to stay for the supper afterwards and ended up sitting next to Mr Laws.  I had met David at various previous events I had visited and he is a nice affable chap and easy to talk to.  As he works in education now I did make a couple of requests - (a) could he ensure that Henry VIII and the Tudors stay on the national curriculum for as long as possible, and (b) next time he was alone with Michael Gove could he kick him in the bollocks as hard as he could.  He said he would look into a feasibility study in both my requests.  You heard it here first folks.

Sunday (today) saw me up and about bright and early for a drive up to Sudeley Castle in Winchcombe near Cheltenham in the Cotswolds for a walk about with Tudor Gowns and the Tudor Roses.  With the remnants of my cold hanging about, particularly my awful chesty cough, I had a dreadful night's sleep on Saturday and had coughed so much I had very sore stomach muscles.  Luckily the weather was bright and warm for the drive up the M5 towards Sudeley.  We had a good day wandering round the grounds meeting and greeting  the tourists, but by the afternoon numbers had slowed down and my cough addled sore muscles were really giving me merry hell.  So just before 4pm I surrendered and wandered off to get changed.  I said goodbye to Emma and Rachel of the Tudor Roses, and then also to Zarrina and Diane of Tudor Gowns before trundling off home.  I am quite sure I will sleep well tonight, my ribs still hurt, but perhaps my cough feels a bit better.  Or is that just wishful thinking?  I'll let you know tomorrow after I have tried to sleep tonight.

Walking and Talking

Good King Hal, wondering who the hell has photo-shopped Barrington Court out of existence.

Here is a look at the first photo from last week's photo shoot at Barrington Court with the supremely talented Simon Plant.  I think this picture looks stunning and would like to take this opportunity to thank Simon for his talent and skill.  What a guy!

I was back at Barrington Court on the Sunday for the first of my summer afternoon walkabouts at this lovely NT property near Ilminster.  I was delighted to be joined by Emma from the Tudor Roses, dressed as a lovely Katherine Parr, her son's Jonny and Matty as two young princes and the wonderful Darren Wilkins, armed to the teeth as ever with his trusty camera, who followed us around snapping away.  It was a quiet afternoon at the Court but it was nice to meet a greet people from all over the country.  I was so moved that Darren and Emma had chosen to drive all the way from Kent to spend the afternoon with us over at Barrington.  We weren't the only "attractions" there for the day, there was also a choir who were stationed in the main ball room in the house and warbled their way through various numbers including "Pass Time With Good Company" (another PRS cheque in the post for Henry!) and "Swing Low Sweet Chariot".  Their singing was very good and sounded lovely in the court house surroundings.  The sainted Mattew Applegate, long suffering Visitor Services Manager at Barrington Court looked after us superbly and organised some tea and biscuits for everyone in the afternoon.  Well we went down to join the choir for the drinks and were welcomed by them very much the way a North Atlantic Convoy during the second world war would have greeted the sight of a U-Boat.  Noses were looked down, we were at first ignored and then, comments were made about us.  While I was fixing some tea for Emma, Darren and myself, the main conductor was standing behind me with two of her warblers and I quite clearly heard her comment "His costume, do you think he made it out of a sofa?" and they guffawed happily together.  I can honestly say they were one of the unfriendliest coldest bunch of fish seen outside of a north sea trawlers net.  Obviously for reasons of me being a polite and lovely bloke, I would never name which choir this group were.  However they are a choir, they often perform in chambers and they come from a town in south Somerset.  That begins with Y.  And ends in L.  Anyway, after a few turns around the gardens and buildings, we changed back into our civvies and treated ourselves to a drink and some cakes in the fine cafe at the reception area of Barrington.  And then I was on my way back home to Crewkerne while Emma, Darren and the boys faced up to the much longer trek back to Kent.

I was up early this morning for a drive back to Downend just to the north east of Bristol for a return visit to Christ Church Junior School.  I had last appeared here back in 2011, and this time I was booked by a new teacher called Marie Harrison.  It was to be a big group for the day - approximately 150 children from years three and four combined.  Marie was lovely and made me very welcome, but then so did the whole staff and children.  They were a big group, but just a delight to work with!  The morning got off to a slightly delayed start, but it was worth the wait.  The whole morning was great fun and some of the children's costumes were just magnificent.  After a nice lunch break it was back to the hall for a fun session with the stocks before finishing with a deafening joust.  This was finally won by several lengths by a very entertaining and confident Gents team - and about time too!  They romped to a worthy victory.  Finally they can peg the ladies back slightly.  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 13 - 21 LADIES

I had a little fun on the drive back when my sat nav decided to go a bit wibble on me, and I ended up driving up and down the Keynsham by-pass a couple of times for no adequately explained reason.  Still I am sure it gave the locals something to talk about.

Back home I said "HELLO" to a bottle of Merlot and some dinner and then settled down to watch the final episode of Broadchurch.  Not the best of the series by a long way, but it did at least manage to tie up the loose ends of the story in a fairly agreeable way.  Oh and Man Ure won the Premiership.  Now that IS depressing.  A day off tomorrow and then I am off up to Ilmington in Warwickshire for a Henry day at their local school.  So another early start.

Model Citizen

Insert your own hilarious bonne motte here. I simply can't be arsed.

People find it hard to believe I am a model.  I find it hard to believe as well, especially when I look in the mirror and see the R101 with a beard staring back at me.  But I have done a few modelling photo shoots over the years as Henry.  And today I had another assignation.  And where would this photo shoot be taking place?  Which exotic distant sun kissed shore would my delicate little size 12's be plodding around on?  San Tropez, perchance?  Rio de Janeiro, maybe?  Close, but no cigar folks.  I had to be at Barrington Court near Ilminster by 8am this morning.  Hey, who said showbiz wasn't glamorous?

I was to meet up with local professional photographer Simon Plant.   I arrived just after 8am, and then attempted to find somewhere to get changed.  Most of the Court House was still locked up and alarmed, so I headed for Strode House next door and eventually found myself in the big disabled loo, using that as my luxury dressing room.  Well it was lovely to be out in the sun for the photos.  The early morning sun across the sculpted manicured lawns at Barrington looked lovely, and Simon happily snapped away.  He mostly wanted me to look mean and slightly intimidating.  I've been very good at that lately it seems, and I carried on by scowling merrily at the camera whilst clutching a big stick.  We got a few puzzled looks by passing early morning gardeners, but after only half an hour we were done.  Simon was very pleased with the results and has promised to email me the final proofs when done.  I shall post a load on here when they are done and your comments would be most welcome folks.

I got changed and then bumped into the sainted Matthew Applegate, and then the equally sainted Rachel Brewer.  I hadn't seen Rachel since the Mistletoe Fayre last year, so it was great to catch up.  And still my meetings weren't over - just after this Rachel took me to see Sarah Kennedy, another NT lady, not some ex-BBC Radio 2 lush.  I hadn't seen Sarah for ages either so it was nice to see so many old friends.  I stopped off at Ilminster on the way home for a cup of tea at Bilby's and a natter with Tris Pinkney.  After all of this I got home and it was still only just 11am.  What a day!

The afternoon was bound to be a let down and was.  The highlight of the afternoon was a visit to my Doctor who took my blood pressure again, grunted at me and invited me back for more excitement in the same vein in 30 days time.  I can hardly wait.

I am back at Barrington Court on Sunday for a Henry walkabout, and will be accompanied by Emma and Darren from Tudor Roses for their debut at the Court house.  I hope the weather holds up for us.  And now back to sitting on the sofa by myself and sighing.  What a wild way to spend a Friday evening!

Song of a Baker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GENTLEMEN 12 - 21 LADIES

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

Wassail, Snow and Tiverton, in that order...

Good King Hal, as he looks every night in his dreams, scratching his arse with a bloody big sword.  As you do.

The annual Wassail at Barrington Court has undergone something of a change in recent years.  In the past it was open to the public and was quite a big event, with drumming bands, mummers plays and lots of entertainment... and Morris dancers, still you can't have everything.  However, some of the recent evenings have been less than successful, mostly due to dreadful wet weather, but also with the National Trust management showing about as much enthusiasm for promoting the event as your regular vegan shows when offered a tour of a local abattoir.  So this year, Matthew Applegate, the much venerated Visitor Services Manager at Barrington decided to go for a small, intimate, invite only evening, and his plans paid dividends.  The weather on the evening of the 17th was far better than it had been for some years.  It was dry for a start, piercingly cold and the threatened snow was at least six hours away. 

Matthew had set up an area by the garages out the back of Strode House (the Jacobean pile right next to Barrington Court) and there was a brazier blazing away and adding warmth and welcome.  From his own garage Matthew and his lovely wife Sue were serving warm mulled cider, normal cider, apple juice for the kids, and home made cider apple cake, which was made with Matthew's own fair hands and was delicious.  About 30 people had been invited and it was lovely to see such people as Jo and Blue Walshe from Shepton Beauchamp post office, and Paul Jessop and his fiancee, the lovely Marion Lewis both from Barrington Pottery.  We began the evening with me doing a reading of The Gloucestershire Wassail, followed by Matthew's friend, the aptly named Dick who led us in a singing of "Here We Come a-Wassailing" and the "Somerset Wassail" songs.  After this and a fair bit more cider we then processed round to the orchard and gathered under one of the mature apple trees.  Here Dick poured cider over the roots to feed the tree, cider soaked toast was placed in the branches to encourage birds into the tree, and then we all made a load of noise, hollering shouting and whooping, followed by two loud blasts from a shotgun, to help scare away the evil spirits that might ruin the cider harvest.  Wonderfully pagan and great fun.  We then staggered back to the welcome warmth of the brazier.  Matthew, bedecked in his fine slightly grotty looking bowler hat, was by now very merry indeed, and had noticed that the wood supplies for the brazier had grown low, and he was much vexed by this.  He disappeared for a while, before returning with an almost comically long lump of wood in hand, whilst brandishing a huge saw in the other hand.  Several people approached him and suggested with the amount of cider that had been imbibed, that the introduction of very sharp sawing implements might not be the best idea ever hatched.  I left shortly after this, but heard nothing of any lost limbs or fingers.

Sometime over the next few hours, a snow white blanket descended on Somerset and many other south western areas.  I awoke on the Friday morning to find Crewkerne submerged beneath a heavy fall of snow.  Luckily I had no where really to go that weekend, and so I just battened down the hatches and continued to check the wine levels in my drinks cabinet.  They were fine, but getting gradually lower.  Not sure why...

This morning saw me up and out the door bright and early for a trek down to Devon and another annual visit to Blundell's Prep School in Tiverton.  I have always enjoyed my visits to this school, and this year was no different.  The sainted, and wonderfully named Stef Jeffs is long gone, and so to sadly is former Somerset opening batsman Nick Folland, so I can't pick his brains any more about the true horrors of facing Curtley Ambrose on a "bit of a sticky".  Instead I was in the safe hands of the very welcoming Steve Hirst, dressed again as a sort of psychedelic jester.  We had a great day with a lovely group of kids, about 30 of them, all in brilliant costumes.  One young lad was in an executioners costume that his mother had made, and it was of such high quality that many a full time re-enactor would have been proud to wear it.  Well done, Mum!  The morning shot past rapidly amidst much laughs and Tudor nonsense.  After a fine lunch of meat balls and rice, we were back in the hall for a grand joust finale.  This was quiet to begin with, but like a snow ball running down hill, it started to pick up momentum, and by the final it was quite deafening.  The final itself was a one-sided affair, where a much fancied ladies team was trounced by the gents.  This brings our score for the year to:

GENTLEMEN 10 - 13 LADIES

So there IS some hope for the lads after all.

It is another local gig tomorrow with another return visit to a lovely school - Birchfield Junior in Yeovil.  I always look forward to this day as well, so lets hope we have a good one.

Oh, and the picture at the top of this blog - it isn't me at all silly!  I knew that all the way through.  It's actually my identical twin brother.  Handsome devil...

Mistletoe Fayre 2012 Pts 1 and 2

Good King Hal adopting the "George Osborne Move" in getting money out of terrified elderly peasants to help support a poor investment banker fallen on hard times and down to his final Porsche and only £12 million to see him through at his hovel in Mustique.

Two days of the Mistletoe Fayre alongside a weekend with my lovely Shelley and the benighted Sir Owen of Leeds Castle and the Broomfield Exit.  What could possibly go wrong?  Well, the weather for a start.  For a few days it had hammered down with rain, and then it continued in much the same way, in enough quantities to make someone like Noah think "shit, where did I put my nail gun?"  However, Shelley made it to Somerset from Kent, and we had also managed to get to Barrington from Crewkerne across some of the dampest, wettest most mud caked roads you have ever seen.  Our cars were soon Somerset two-tone - normal body colour and then caked on layers of mud, cow dung and assorted flattened road kill. 

The Mistletoe Fayre looked as good as ever, the Blackdown Babes had done themselves proud!  Matthew Applegate also looked particularly chipper and happy, which was lovely to see.  Shelley and Owen accompanied me on the first day and we treated ourselves to lots of lovely yummy things like some pork and apple sausages, fresh meat pies, Scotch eggs and even some Cherry Brandy.  All real healthy stuff as you can tell.  Then in the evening, Shelley spoilt me even more, in a way only a woman can do for a man she truly loves.... Yes, we sat and watched "Prometheus" on DVD.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I think.

On Sunday, Shelley and Owen decided to make a run for the east ahead of the anticipated rain, and would include a stop off at Tidworth to see Owen's brother Jamie at his barracks.  I went back over to the Mistletoe Fayre and had another fine day, had a few chats with the lovely Rachel Brewer and took great delight in drinking some of her magnificent mulled cider.  Delicious.  Then to add to the fun and games, all the electrics in Barrington Court house fused plunging everyone into darkness.  I was in the old kitchen when it happened first - the lights flickered for a moment and then conked out.  It reminded me somewhat of when you watch movies of the Titanic and the electrics all fail on the doomed liner.  Well, just to keep up with the same sinking feeling I immediately started playing "Abide With Me" and "Rock of Ages" on my recorder.  But as far as I was concerned it was women, children and Tudor despots first, and when the lights had finally all been sorted I thought enough was enough for the weekend, and I made run for it.  So another very successful Mistletoe Fayre and another lovely weekend with Shelley. 

Old Cats and Wombles. Plus Dear Madam Barnham...

Good King Hal wondering why he is still clutching a gear stick, hours after parking the car.  Perhaps he did it manually, perhaps it was just automatic.

Roads, roads and more roads.  And Travelodges.  When you last read this riveting missive, your favourite mock Tudor monarch was ensconced in a Travelodge near Kings Lynn in Norfolk.  It doesn't get much more exciting that this folks.  No wonder anything up to six people still bother reading this travesty of the English language.  And of those six people, I thank you all and will buy each and everyone of you a beer.  But I feel this blog has almost run its course.

Anyway, away from me moaning about people not bothering to read this crap, back to Henry on the road.  According to my sat nav, the drive from Kings Lynn to Old Catton School in Norwich should take about an hour and a quarter, so I gave myself and hour and a half, just to be on the safe side.  I should have given myself longer.  The traffic was bad all round, but by the time I reached the outskirts of Norwich it was horrendous and the journey ended up taking me over two hours and made me a bit late.  But there were fun moments.  Whilst driving along the A47 to the west of Norwich I drove past the Canary and Linnet Pub where many years ago a whole group of us had spent a mad New Years Eve, with a miserable landlord with a round pool table (yes, round).  It was a space saving pool table where you could turn the table round for your shots, but we soon discovered in our drunken states that if you racked all the balls up in the middle, removed the frame and then spun the table round all of the balls would immediately shoot straight into the pockets.  Very life affirming.

Old Catton School was a sight for sore eyes when I arrived and I was doubly lucky that they were having a morning assembly before the school day began so I had a bit of spare time to get my stuff in and get changed into my frock.  We had a fine morning with a lovely group of children.  They were lively knowledgeable and fun to work with.  The afternoon joust was incredibly loud and threatened to blow out the windows of the hall.  It ended with much needed victory for the gents, who now cut the useful lead the ladies had.  Our score after the Old Catton show:

GENTLEMEN 6 - 8 LADIES

And so I was on my way, heading first of all to Essex for an evening with Amanda and my lovely James.  We had a fun evening watching a bit of Night at the Museum 2 and eating a very welcome curry.  But when they went to bed early it was time for me to hit the road again and head down to Maidstone and see my lovely Shelley again.  I had the Thursday at leisure and was taken for a nice shopping trip round Maidstone by Shelley before she bought me lunch at Mexxa Mexxa, a marvellous Mexican restaurant near the Haslitt Theatre.

Friday was Children in Need day - and I was a King in Need.  It was too early!  And I was driving on the M25 (ARGH!), heading for London (ARGH!) and a return visit to St Matthew's School in West Wimbledon (ARGH!.... no actually, hang on, this is a lovely school).  It was lovely to be back and I was very warmly welcomed by one and all, especially the lovely Katie Barnham who booked me there, or "Dear Madam Barnham" as I deliberately miss-spelt her after the XTC song.  It was a funny little group today, just 20 children and of them, only five boys.  They were quiet to begin with, but soon perked up and we had a great day all round.  The afternoon session, including the jousting was very exciting but due to the lack of boys at the school made scoring this tournament an impossibility.  As it was a mixed team of boys and girls raced to victory.  So no change in the overall score.

So it was back to Maidstone for a long weekend with Shelley, but it wasn't terribly restful as poor Sir Owen was a bit poorly and Shelley didn't get to sleep much.  But we had a nice time anyway.  It was back to Somerset and a couple of days visiting old friends, and to keep that whole simile going I am off to Southampton today to see old friends at Skandia Life for a bit of lunch.  This weekend is the Mistletoe Fayre at Barrington Court, so hopefully I should see you all there briefly.  The King will not be staying long!

A Bit of a Pickle

Good King Hal and Natalie Dormer show you how "that" scene in The Tudors would have looked like if it had taken place indoors, on a boat, and with clothes on.

Sometimes life goes past so fast that if you blink, you can miss some of it.  That is how this last week has felt to be brutally honest.  No sooner had the two days in Bristol gone last week, then I was getting ready for a visit down to my place from the lovely Shelley, and Sir Owen of Leeds Castle.  They arrived on the Friday afternoon, mainly to see me, but also to come along to the annual Chut Fest at Barrington Court, to which I had been invited again by the splendid Matthew Applegate.  As ever the whole of Chut Fest was a roaring success - very busy with plenty of interested punters wandering around sampling Chutneys, Jams and Pickles, and much fun to be had with Matthew, Rachel Brewer and everyone else.  Shelley and Owen stayed over until Monday morning when we went on our separate ways with me heading off to Romford in Essex for an afternoon at a school, and Shelley and Owen off back home to Maidstone.

My afternoon was at Broadford School in Harold Hill, which is the Latin quarter of Romford.  I had previously visited this school in 2009 for a full day, but I had managed to remember where the site was, so I felt quietly confident when I arrived.  Nope, confidence might have been a bit misplaced - the reception area was partially boarded up and visitors were encouraged to go to the new building.  I couldn't find the new building and it was hammering down with rain.  This was beginning to be a bit of a pain.  I saw a lady with a push chair and asked her where the new school was, and she patiently pointed out the obvious and massive new build behind the old school house.  Oh, THAT school.  I drove round to a big side entrance to the car park on the side of the new school building.  I got out in the pouring rain and pushed the buzzer entry on the gates.  There was no reply, so I pressed it again.  Still no reply.  By now I was virtually soaked to the skin, so I had one last hopeless go with the bell and was delighted to get a reply.  Soon I was in and drying off in a very welcoming staff room, along with a warming cup of tea.  It was a fun afternoon with a combined group of years 3 and 4, with just an opening talk and music from Henry and then a loud and exciting jousting tournament.  It was a very closely fought final between two very good teams, but I had to disqualify the Gents team in the final as one of their riders only collected three quoits before returning to base and handing on to the next team member.  This brought out score back to:

GENTLEMEN 3 - 3 LADIES

So any advantage the gents had has already slipped away.  Normal service now resumed?  We shall see.  I spent the Monday night with my lovely son James in Basildon, desperately trying to convince him of the positives and advantages of an early night.  He didn't seem to get the message.  I personally had to go to bed early as I was up and out of the front door at the crack of dawn the next day.

So the Tuesday dawned with me heading back to dear old St Cecillia's School in North Cheam in Surrey - this was my 10th year of visiting this lovely school and it was, as ever as pleasure and delight to be back there.  The journey down was hard work, with the M25 being in an absolute pig of a mood with stacked up cars and drizzly lousy weather.  I eventually arrived at St Cecillia's and was warmly welcomed by the caretaker (with yet ANOTHER new car) and all the other staff members, nearly all of whom said "is it another year already?"  It was a group of about 60+ children, all of whom were in fantastic costumes, as were the teachers.  What can I say about St Cecillia's which I haven't already said in previous blog entries about this school?  It was a superb day as ever, plenty of laughs and warm friendliness from all the staff and children.  The final joust was predictably loud and exciting and, with one poor little lad having a bit of a melt down in the final, it was left to a ladies team to walk away unopposed with the title.  The score clicks inexorably on to:

GENTLEMEN 3 - 4 LADIES

So there is something faintly familiar about how the scores are starting to turn.  I drove from North Cheam back down to Maidstone to spend another evening with Shelley.  We had a lovely day out in Maidstone (it is possible, honest) on the Wednesday, before I drove back to Somerset that evening.  I was home just after 11pm, but I had to be up early again as I was back on BBC Somerset the following morning as they were broadcasting live from Montacute House near Yeovil and I was on their tour bus as a special guest.  Emma Britton wasn't available as she was on leave and so the show was run by Vernon Harfield instead, who obviously has designs on being the next Jeremy Paxman.  And he is ALMOST there, he just needs to get his nose and sense of moral outrage a bit more pronounced.

I am now full of cold and considering an early night, or death.  To be honest, the way I feel at the moment, either would do.

600th Blog Post - and a pair of Bristols (two schools that is...)

Good King Hal and Lady Katherine celebrate the 600th posting on this blog by re-enacting the famous bow scene from "Titanic".  As a special celebration Celine Dion was torpedoed on the Thames and sank with all hands.  Good.

600 posts on this blog?  Wow.  Please feel free to send thanks and congratulations, that is if anyone actually ever reads this thing.  I do wonder sometimes...

Anyway, enough of this self doubt nonsense, it was back to being Henry VIII at schools this week, with visits to two separate sites in Bristol.  On the Tuesday it was a visit to a brand new school for me - Two Mile Hill Primary and arrived at about 8am to find a packed car park.  The only way I could get in was not to double park but TRIPLE park, but I left a polite note on my dashboard explaining who I was, where I was and what the people could do if they wanted me to move (unprintable).  There were a lot of stairs in this school, and a lot of locked doors, and it was just my luck that my big "treasure chest" that I carry a lot of my props in, decided today was the day to break it's handle, making it very difficult to carry.  I had a feeling I was beginning to know how Sisyphus felt... It was a big group on this first day of the week - about 160 children and a mix of years 3 and 4.  I have to be honest and say that the year 3 group in particular were quite hard work - not really badly behaved, just very fidgety, loud, and seemed like very immature year 3's.  It made for a long-ish morning, but I felt by the end of the pre-lunch session that I had won them over and turned the corner.  After a very convivial lunch in the staff room we were on for the afternoon session.  As expected the stocks routine was loud and well received and the jousting tournament was pretty loud and popular as well.  The final itself was closely fought but ended up with yet another win for the Gents team.  So our score at the end of this day stood at:

GENTLEMEN 3 - 1 LADIES

Possibly the biggest lead that the Gents have had for a long time!  I drove out of Bristol and made my way gently down the A37 and back to South Somerset and home.  I was very tired when I got back.

It's funny isn't it - you wait all year for a school in Bristol, and then two come along at once.  For the second show I was back at a school I last visited back in 2010.  It was Elmlea Junior (not a cream substitute before you ask) which is located in the deliciously named Bristolian suburb of Westbury Upon Trym.  As I recalled the area around the school was quite nice and leafy, it is a shame the weather was so dreadful as I arrived, with rain falling mostly downwards but with an occasional tendency to go sideways and spatter against the window.  It was another mixed group of years 3 and 4 today, but this time about 180 of them, but this time all decked out in fantastic Tudor costumes, as were the teachers.  The morning was partially truncated by a whole school assembly but it did mean I got a longer morning break, which I something I will never complain about.  We had a great time on the quiz, even if one little chap did very blatantly cheat by altering all his answers at the end - apparently according to the teachers it wasn't the first time he had done this at school.  I can see a career in politics looming for him.  Lunch was a nice roast pork dinner, and then before we launched into the stocks and jousting, there was a brief and long overdue revival of my coat of arms designing session - but it seemed to go down very well.  The stocks were loud and popular, but the jousting tournament was truly deafening, to the point that we had to stop it at one point, take some of the more sensitively eared children out and beg some of the girls to not scream quite so piercingly during the tournament.  At times it sounded like Concord coming into land.  In the final a Year 4 boys team was full of confidence and they took on a very shaky looking Year 3 girls team.  But amazement above amazement, the ladies romped to a famous victory that sent the crowd into delirium!  I posed for a few photos and then began loading stuff into the car.  The score in the joust goes back to:

GENTLEMEN 3 - 2 LADIES

It is going to continue being close.  After loading some of my boxes back in the car, I came back into the school to be told one of the little girls who had been in on the day was in hysterics.  I immediately assumed she had been effected by the deafening screams and shouts during the joust, but apparently her tears were caused by the fact that my day was over and I was going home!  Oh bless!  Elmlea is a superb school and it was a delight to be back there.  See you in two years folks.

This weekend is one of double delight for me - my lovely Shelley is coming down to stay and.... (insert fanfare here) ..... it is time for Chut Fest 2012 at Barrington Court!  So the King will be there on both days, so come on down an say hello.  And don't forget your jams, chutneys and marmalade's.  Saints preserve us. (GEDDIT?)

Oh, and if anyone IS reading this and wants to send messages of congratulations on reaching 600 posts on the blog, please feel free to make comments, either on here or on Facebook.

Barrington Court and Horrid History! (and Burrow Hill Scrumpy - don't do it).

Lady Katherine and Good King Hal having a quick "Vulture" session at Barrington Court much to the amazement of the people around them.

Just what I needed!  After the rigours of the jousting season finally began to recede it seemed only right that I should go back to being Henry in my "Horrid History" show, this time at dear old Barrington Court.  The original idea was for me to be joined by a phalanx (or is it a flock?) of Tudor Roses, but initially with poor Emma Fuery sidelined after back surgery, one or two others couldn't make it, and in the end I was accompanied on the Sunday by a Tudor Rose (singular) - namely the lovely Katherine Miller.

My weekend was nice anyway as I had my lovely lady Shelley Hughes staying with me along with her son, the renowned Sir Owen of Leeds Castle and the Broomfield Exit.  The Saturday walkabout was very nice as the weather was very kind, not too hot and no sign of any rain.  Shelley, Owen and I had a quick picnic in the grounds of Barrington Court before I went off to get changed for my official Royal duties.  I strolled the grounds from 12.30pm until 2.30pm, where I then stepped into the Great Hall only just recently vacated by Anthony Gormley and his "Morphs".  It was a good show on the Saturday, a nice group of people and lots of laughs.  Sir Owen held my cane for me during the show, a very important job!  It was also nice to see Russ Wardell and his lovely wife at the end of the show.  We popped home to my flat and awaited the arrival of Katherine from London, and it wasn't long before we were down at Crewkerne Station picking her up.  She was to be staying at the Duke of York pub in Shepton Beauchamp just down the road from Barrington.  We delivered her safely there and decided to have dinner with her at the Duke.  We had a lovely meal, but by this time (about 8pm), poor old Sir Owen was done in, and even the temptation of a chocolate ice cream couldn't persuade him to lift his head from the table with barely audible mentions that he was "tye-erred".

The Sunday weather looked a bit dodgy as we drove over to Shepton to pick up Katherine for the second day of the Horrid History walkabout.  A spattering of rain as we got out the car didn't look too promising, but in the end we got away with the weather altogether, and I am a poet and I didn't know it.  Another picnic in the grounds was followed by Shelley helping to lace Katherine into her dress!  Soon we were off perambulating again, and this time the Horrid History Show was transplanted into the old Kitchen where I have done so many shows in the past at Barrington.  We had a huge turnout for the Sunday show and, if anything it went far better than the Saturday performance - loads of laughs from the crowd and many handshakes and congratulations afterwards.  Matthew Applegate, the Visitor Services Manager at Barrington was delighted, and was even told he was a "poo-poo man" by Sir Owen, which I am sure made his day complete.

We dropped Katherine off at Crewkerne Station after the show and she was soon winging her way back to the mighty metropolis that is London - it was lovely to see her again.  She is such a nice lady.  Shelley then treated me to a Chinese take away, which was most welcome and we finished off the evening watching Doctor Who (recorded from the Saturday night!) and my favourite movie "The Apartment".  A lovely evening all round.

Shelley and Owen headed back to Kent on the Monday morning and I went back to the flat to get everything ready for my next few days away doing shows and visits.  I attempted to write this blog up last night, but rather idiotically did it after drinking almost industrial amounts of Burrow Hill Scrumpy.  Now this was an incredibly stupid thing to do.  I woke up sitting on my sofa at 3am, freezing cold but happy that I had at least not published the rubbish I had been typing.  WRONG.  I looked at my blog and there for all to see was an entry that started off very lucidly, but rapidly descended into complete nonsense.  It was like reading Shakespeare after he'd had a goblet of mead too many.  Hamlet's soliloquy starts off all right with his "to be or not to be..." but unfortunately ended with him shouting "Grrrrrrrr.... thnarg bucket banana!" at Ophelia and then passing out on the chaise longues.  So kids, if you're thinking of writing a blog under the influence of scrumpy - don't do it!  (The really worrying thing is that by the morning 25 people had read it and two people said they liked it....  I hope they like this substitute and sober blog as well!).

Off to Kent now, then Essex for my first school visit of this educational year as I am off to West Leigh Junior near Southend.  Looking forward to it immensely.  But no more scrumpy....

1,000 Umbrellas & Attack of the Morphs

Tony Hart's latest attempt at World domination. This is what a plague of Morph's looks like.  And it's art. 

After some months away, I had been invited back to appear on Emma Britton's show on BBC Somerset, being broadcast this particular morning "live" from the BBC bus at Barrington Court. As it is the middle of flaming June, I naturally woke up to the sound of heavy rain smashing against my bedroom window and a strong wind howling round the eaves.  Looking out across the streets and rooftops of Crewkerne it was a vista of wet misery and countless umbrellas.  Ah, it must be nearly Wimbledon fortnight.

I drove down to Barrington Court and arrived just after 8.30am.  The bus was parked up behind the court house and I was soon inside chatting to Emma and her team.  It was nice to be back with them again.  I was on the show with a lovely lady who worked as a fundraiser for Marie Curie Cancer Fund called Amy Llewellyn from Yeovil.  Our first burning topic of the day was do you throw your rubbish out the car window, or take it home with you.  Just like Question Time... Our second topic was as it is nearly Father's Day how do you feel about your father.  Well obviously my Dad is an absolute hero of mine, so I bigged him up tremendously - I hope he appreciates just how famous he is in Somerset now.  I also managed to get in a plug for my lovely friends The Tudor Roses, which they were very grateful for later.  My pleasure ladies!

When the broadcast had finished I bumped into Barrington potter Paul Jessop who very kindly invited me to his birthday party this evening (Saturday) and was then taken into the Court house to have a sneaky peak at the art installation you see in the picture above - Antony Gormley's "Field for the British Isles" that at first glance appears to be a massive convention of Morph characters from "Take Hart".  But on closer inspection it really works on so many levels - tens of thousands of these figures in three different rooms in Barrington Court, each with a beady pair of blank eyes staring at you, and each one subtly different from the one next to it.  They also gently change colour as well, so you get swathes of terracotta, then a deeper rustier colour cuts through, then slightly greyer etc.  And in the large kitchen, the sun cut through briefly and dazzled on the little army of figures.  Well worth a visit - particularly if you like Morph and being stared at.

The rain and horrible weather continues - will summer never come?  "And just when I thought that my vista was golden in hue - 1,000 umbrellas opened to spoil the view..."

A busy week next week - Newberries School in Radlett, Herts on Monday, then back to West Pennard near Glastonbury on Wednesday and Paulton Junior near Bristol on Thursday.

Jubilee Day - Party and Walkabout

Above, a desperate attempt to discover if Cheryl Cole actually hit any right notes during her duet with Gary Barlow's stubble at the Queen's Jubilee knees up in the Mall.  Probably not.

Ah, what a day!  I had been asked some time ago, to appear in the village of Shepton Beauchamp near Ilminster for their children's street party to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.  And today was that day.  And not content with doing that, I was also invited to then go to Barrington Court for a Right Royal perambulation round their grounds afterwards.  Smashing.

On arriving in Shepton Beauchamp the first thing you discovered was a road block stopping people from roaring through the middle of the village and mowing down vast hoards of children as they stuffed their faces with sandwiches.  I was allowed through so that I could get changed and begin my wanderings.  The atmosphere was great amongst the villagers - Shepton  is such a friendly place, I really miss living there (I was resident from 1999 to 2003) but it was good to see so many old familiar faces.  Just before the children were to begin their lunch I was handed a glass of very strong scrumpy and a bowl of Thai green curry - well, it would have been rude to refuse, so I gulped down both which were fabulous.  We then moved to the tower of the church for the launching of parachute wearing teddy bears.  Now this may not sound the most exciting thing ever, but it kept the entire crowd entertained for nearly 20 minutes.  There were gasps of wonder as some bears floated serenely to the ground, there were cries of laughter when some very haphazard descents were made, and there was even screams and sympathetic "aaahs" when one or two parachutes failed to open and the poor bear beneath plummeted to a speedy reunion with Mother Earth.  One poor bear got halfway down and then snagged on the lower part of the church tower, which elicited the largest sympathetic noise of the day!

The children then sat down for their feast.  I bellowed out a welcome to one and all and got three heart cheers for the Queen's 60th anniversary.  Great stuff.  But then I had to move on and head for Barrington Court.  As Barrington is so close to Shepton I decided to leave my tights on under my trousers for this short jaunt there.  As I was driving it suddenly dawned on me how awful it would be if I was in a fatal accident at this point.  The Police, on recovering my body would find me with a pair of white tights on below my normal clothes.  They would obviously suspect  that I was a Conservative MP.  I can imagine the knock on the door my parents would get.  "Mr and Mrs Farley?  We have some grave news for you I'm afraid... your son has been in an accident, but you should have seen what he had on under his trousers.  It was disgusting..."

Barrington Court was packed when I arrived, which was good to see.  I had a great time wandering the grounds, meeting and greeting people.  Towards the end of the afternoon the sun even began to force its way out from behind the clouds.  It was so nice to see so many people there and having a lovely time.  Towards the end of my two hour stint, Matthew Applegate found me and offered me a cup of tea.  So I ended the afternoon sitting in Matthew's office supping a much needed and wonderful cuppa.  So all in all a great way to spend the Bank Holiday Jubilee Monday, and the fun doesn't stop there.  I am off to Sudeley Castle again tomorrow to chase the Tudor Roses round the grounds again, and then on Wednesday I am up at the crack of dawn to drive over to Leeds Castle in Kent for another week of jousting.  And funnily enough I am looking forward to it!