Hampton Court? No I just sat down too quickly...

Good King Hal having a quick pas de deux.  The filthy beast.

I had waited a long time to do a gig at Hampton Court Palace.  It was one of those venues that just never seemed possible.  OK it is a closed shop to re-enactors.  You have to be top top chums with the company Past Pleasures and be prepared to work for their starvation wages most of the time.  I speak with some experience on this matter as I had auditioned for Past Pleasures some years back and was horrified by the paltry sum they offered me to work for them.  "Think of the kudos of working at Hampton Court!" Their boss had said.  Yes, think of my bank balance, I replied.  And so it seemed it would never happen.  But then the most unlikely of white-charger-riding-heroes swept out of the sunset.  BP are probably better known for crashing oil tankers on to rocks in Alaska or making obscene amounts of profit every year, but their Indirect Procurement Department (no, me neither.  Not a scooby.) had booked me to attend their "Town Hall" meeting day, which just happened to be at Hampton Court Palace.  I had asked along Sarah Morris, lovely Tudor Lady and top author on the subject, to join me as Queen for the day.  She was happy to oblige.  

I had booked at hotel right next to Hampton Court and drove up on the Sunday night as I thought it might be nice and quiet.  WRONG.  WRONG WRONG WRONG.  This was the Sunday night after a half term holiday.  The A303 was packed tighter than Robert Plant's spandex pants at an early 70's Led Zepp concert.  I spent a good hour sitting in the darkness that should have been Stonehenge, surrounded by huge 4x4 vehicles packed full of sour faced little school age f*ckers with i-Pads, playing Minecraft, or Candy Crush Saga, or watching Miley Cyrus do something really outrageous like write a decent song by herself and leave her pants on for once.  That would be nice.

I got to the King's Arms Hotel and met up with Sarah.  I nearly managed to embarrass myself early on by using the loo in my room, then deciding to wash my hands, I turned on the tap and was hammered in the crotch with a tsunami-like explosion of water which made me look like I had lost complete control of my bodily functions.  The next five minutes were spent in my room with the hair dryer trying to remove the offending stain marks.  We had a lovely dinner - I had  a wild mushroom and truffle risotto, with Parmesan shavings, and a pint of Hall and Woodhouse Badger ale.  Smashing.  I slept like a baby on a small bed that made alarming farting noises every time I moved.

Sarah and I had breakfast and then made our way round to Hampton Court.  We were in the Garden Room round the back of the Palace and were warmly reminded not to wander round the front should we upset any of the Past Pleasures slaves.... I mean actors.  It was generally a fun day - mostly me introducing the speakers, some of whom were funny and inspiring and others, such as their IT bod who needed beheading after only two minutes but insisted on giving his full.....well, I don't know how long.  It honestly felt like a lifetime.  Wonderful.  We'd had to get changed into our clobber in the cafe next door to where we were, so that involved us both going into the small gents and ladies to get our gear on properly.  I had finished when I got the call from the ladies that Sarah needed me in there to lace her in.  Now any top student of doubles entendres or any just voyeuristic tendencies, should have had a look in at that point.  We had Sarah, semi robed in her Tudor gowns, leaning on her hands bent over the sink in the ladies, as I stood close up behind her, two cords of cloth in hand, with her shouting out:  "DO ME UP MIKE!  AND DO IT HARD!"  Ooh er!  People don't realise how much I suffer in this job - here I was with Sarah Morris, who lets face it folks, is drop dead gorgeous, half undressed in Tudor undies, while I have to physically and forcefully lace her into her body hugging bodice.  What I did, I did in the name of Tudor Historical accuracy.  But I did have to have a cigarette afterwards.
Well BP treated us like Royalty, how else?  They fed and watered us splendidly, we took part in the whole day, helping out with the team quizzes and with me introducing all the speakers and posing for photos with most of the delegates.  We finished at about 4.30pm and Sarah and I were away just after 5pm.  The roads down to the M25 were horrendous, but the actual London orbital generally quiet.  I was soon at Amanda's house to see her and James, but they were out rehearsing their new play, but more of that later!
On the Wednesday I was up in Norfolk, in Norwich for a first appearance at Lionwood School.  I had been recommended by one of the teachers who had previously witnessed me doing my "thing" at Falcon Junior some years ago.  Lionwood was a brilliant school - great fun, some really cool teachers and cracking kids.  They had no idea I was coming, the children that is!  And their surprise on my first appearance was very edifying.  The joust came down to a very closely fought final, which was finally won by a very good Ladies team.  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 7.5 - 10.5 LADIES

Once more daylight appears between them, what can the gents do?  It is funny how the ladies just keep on winning.  That's life I suppose.
On the Thursday evening I was at the Mirren Studio in the Towngate Theatre in Basildon to watch The Thalians Theatre Group and their production of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol".  My lovely son James was in it as a street urchin, and also the little lad who Scrooge gets to go and get the turkey at the end of the play.  And Amanda was cast as one of the old crones who strips Scrooge's flat after his death.  They were both absolutely brilliant, the whole cast was.  You had to keep reminding yourself it was an amateur production.  But it was truly wonderful, great sets, lovely costumes, great actors and a genuinely creepy Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.  Amanda and James are truly bitten by the bug and have both put their names forward for the next production - a version of Terry Pratchett's "Going Postal".  I'm ordering my tickets already.

Billericay Dicky and the Tudor Revels

An early version of the Tiller Girls.  Not a raging success.

After all the ridiculous hammering up and down the M4, it was nice to spend a couple of slightly more restful days in Essex with my ex wife Amanda and my lovely son, James.  They have both been offered roles in an am dram production of "A Christmas Carol", with Amanda playing one of the old crones who sells off all of Scrooge's wares after he has died in the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come bit (and I refuse to make any comments about type casting, really), and James is playing the little boy that Scrooge asks to go and buy a turkey for Bob Cratchitt on Christmas morning.  I helped them with a couple of read-throughs before their latest rehearsal, and they were both near word perfect already!  James is going to be a star, I can tell, and his Mum isn't too shabby in the acting stakes either!

The Friday morning had me returning to one of my favourite schools in Essex - South Green Junior in Billericay.  I was warmly welcomed as ever by the lovely staff, and had another pleasant experience shortly before I was due to start my show by the appearance of my dear old friend Kevin Rowley!  He runs a company called Comprehensive Piano Services, and one of his jobs is to look after the servicing and tuning of all the pianos in the state schools of Essex and beyond.  He was there to re-fit a pedal on South Green's upright which had come off at high speed during a particularly violent interpretation of Grieg's Piano Concerto.  This is of course completely made up, I have no idea how the pedal came off, but off it was, and Kevin was the man for the job.  We had a little chat, but just as we really got cracking the children arrived for their morning and Kevin had to shoot off.  Well we had a great day with the children - tremendous fun, full of laughs and much noise.  Lunch was as ever served by the charming lady at South Green who does the food there - what a nice person she is! And then we were back for a mad afternoon, culminating in a very loud joust which the boys managed to win.  So our score clicks over to the slightly surreal score of:

GENTLEMEN 3.5 - 5.5 LADIES

I packed my stuff away and headed back to Amanda's house.  I offered to take James out to dinner that evening with his Mum, anywhere that he wanted.  The choice was his.  The Ivy?  Claridges?  The Fat Duck?  Nope.  He chose - Pizza Hut, as ever.

I was up early the next morning for the drive from Essex down to Southampton and my appearance at the event called "Meet the Ancestors" run by a local historical group in Southampton called The Tudor Revels.  I was bound to get the coffee one.  I was due to give another outing to my "Henry's Horrid History" show. I set off round the M25 in high spirits, but it was bound not to last.  Warnings began being broadcast on the radio stating that the M25 was shut in both directions by the M23 due to a massive pile up and traffic was at a standstill.  I plumbed in a detour route on my sat nav, but the stupid machine kept trying to take me back to the M25.  Anyway, I ended up cutting right across country in grey lowering weather, with pretty much everybody else appearing to try the same thing as I got held up in ever slower traffic jams on what I would imagine are normally quite charming A roads.  Arundel looked nice, if gridlocked, and I made a note to pop back and visit sometime when I wasn't in a hurry.  In the end a two hour drive from Basildon to Southampton ended taking nearly 4 hours.  I had been given directions to a nearby primary school to the venue where performers could park their cars in safety.  I arrived at the school two hours late to find the gates securely locked and not a sign of any one in sight.  I drove round to the little Tudor side street where the event was taking, nearly wiping out the town crier and the wise woman on the bonnet of my Mazda.  One of the organisers popped over to the car park and let me in, which was very sweet of her.  I had told lots of my old Skandia friends that I was appearing in Southampton (Skandia Life being a company I worked for in Southampton between 1998 and 2003 - just in case you haven't read past blog entries), and I was delighted to see some familiar faces!  First off there was Camilla Kennedy, who I hadn't seen since I left Skandia, then there was Kathryn Lee, up until this point the only person from my Skandia days to see me perform as Henry as she, her mum and her daughter came out to Barrington Court one weekend a couple of years ago to see me, which was really sweet of her!  And then there was the lovely Tracie Callaway-Sayce, her husband and two kids, again, someone I had not seen since 2003.  You can see the four of us all together in the Tiller Girl pose in the photo above.  We are, left to right, Camilla, Kathryn, Some old Tudor ruin, and Tracie.  Then I bumped into the gorgeous Sarah Morris, who was there at the show giving a talk about her books and signing copies.  Great to see her again.  Such a lovely lovely lady.  Well I was doing my show in St Julien's Chapel (not Sandy's) and we were packed out!  Staff on the doors were turning people away which was a shame for them, but most gratifying.  The show went down a storm - I chose Camilla to play Anne Boleyn and took great delight in chopping her head off - only pretend of course.  When I finally finished the show and went outside all three ladies were waiting to see me, and I was roundly hugged and congratulated.  Then along came dear old Graham Orris (Or Goff as we know him!), again late of Skandia, with his wife and children - they had been one of the groups who had arrived too late to gain access to the show.  Poor lad.  After some lovely goodbyes from the Skandia crew, I walked back to the car park with Sarah Morris, had a cuddle and goodbye from her, which was very nice, and then began the long slog back to Somerset.  The drive back was fine and I finished  the evening with a nice bottle of wine and some lovely memories of seeing such lovely old friends again.

About the most exciting things that have happened this week have been getting my car MOT'd, which amazingly it passed (!!!!!!) and then getting some of my costume repaired by the sainted Judy Hares in Martock.  Back on the road again this week with visits to Bromsgrove and Preston.  Thank God for that MOT.

Newberries, please!

Good King Hal suddenly noticed Victoria Pendleton had finally found her way into the shower block.  Grabbing his loofah and a soap on a rope, he was arrested shortly afterwards.

Last year I made my first appearance at Newberries School in Radlett in Hertfordshire and from my recollections I can see that I had an appalling journey to the school mainly because of the dear old M25.  I'd already experienced the joys of this road on Saturday morning when I drove up from Somerset to Essex and got stuck in God-awful traffic in the road works at Clackett Lane in beautiful sunny Kent.  As ever when it finally cleared and you were on your way there was nothing to see, so I have no idea what caused the problem.  But back to Newberries - I was determined not to have a 45 minute journey turn into a 2 hour marathon like last year, so I set out bravely early at just before 6am.  I arrived at the front door of the school at 6.45am.  I think the word is "bugger".  So with approximately an hour and 15 minutes to kill sitting on my jacksy in a Mazda in a quiet suburban back road in Radlett, I would need to be at my most creative to keep my mind active in this predicament.  So I went to sleep.  Genius!

Luckily I woke up in time and as I went in I was greeted by the caretaker.  I couldn't remember him from last year, but he was bound to remember me.  "Who are you?  What do you want?" he said.  Smashing.  Er... Henry VIII?  Tudor Day?  Big fat unlovable ginger psychopath to entertain and educate your pupils?    Yes, he knew who Henry VIII was but he didn't know me - this was because he was a new caretaker, the previous one having obviously taken one look at me last year and realised that his life was now complete and had retired.  Ah, bless...  The teachers remembered me, thank goodness and I was treated like Royalty for the day.  It was only about 30 children from year 4 today, but they had all made strenuous efforts with their costumes and were very enthusiastic about the day which was brilliant.  The morning went by with few hold ups and much laughter.

Lunch was fish goujons followed by some delicious fresh fruit.  Back to Tudor times and laughs aplenty with the stocks/pillory before we went into the jousting.  First up was a ladies race... well, words fail me.  I have been travelling round as Henry VIII for nearly 10 years now and done close to 1,000 shows, each one with a jousting tournament at the end.  In all that time, I have never seen two such utterly incompetent ladies teams.  Quintaines were knocked over,  quoits went flying and hysterics were had.  At first the teacher (Sue Rolfe) and I, laughed openly, but it went on and on and on and on, until our laughter ceased and we just looked on in silent amazement.  Eventually one of the teams staggered over the winning line and qualified for the final.  The two gents teams were brilliant and fought tooth and nail through to a tense finish.  It was obvious this final was going to be quite spectacularly one sided.  But I was wrong, not entirely, just mostly.  The Gents still won, but not by the cricket score most people had expected.  It was a lot closer than you could possibly have predicted.  So another gents win.  The score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 15 - 22 LADIES

The drive back round the M25 was relatively easy as well and I was soon back with Amanda and my lovely son James at their house in Basildon.  Today has been a day off which has been nice, but I am back in Tudor times tomorrow for a return visit to Lee Chapel Primary School in Basildon, so at least I don't have to be up desperately early.

Blog Author Stuck For Title

The King, treating the latest incumbent in his pillory to the dignity and respect they had come to expect.

Look out the window, go on.  Do it.  Look out of the window.  That's March that is.  T'rffic, eh?  Nothing like it for lifting the spirits after what feels like three months of darkness, snow, ice, howling winds, war, death, pestilence and George Osborne.  To be honest it looks exactly the same as February did, only apparently Carole Kirkwood on Breakfast TV insists it is two degrees warmer this week than it was last week.  Now Carole has a very warm occluded front and I for one would love to get my hands on her isobars, so I take her word as the truth.  If this continues over the next few weeks we should be able to boil kettles on our car bonnets by mid May.

When I published the last instalment of this travesty of the English language as she is wrote (sic), I was still going all girly and wobbly kneed over a night out at a Justin Currie gig in Bridport.  Well, to be honest I still am, but only slightly less so you will be thrilled to learn.  The week after the Currie night (geddit?) saw me back in the car and heading back to Essex - it was a dreadful journey.  Through the roadworks near Clacket Lane on the M25, some Latvian dickweed had decided to smash his lorry through the side barriers and then leaving it smeared halfway across the already narrowed carriageway.  I was stuck here for just over two hours trying to get past, and all this with a bladder the size of Austria and nowhere for relief.  I finally arrived at Amanda's house in Basildon and promptly re-filled Hanningfield reservoir single handed.  It was that good I had to have a cigarette afterwards.  It was lovely to see Amanda and my lovely son James.  He is now wearing glasses and he looks great in them.  A sort of subtle mash up of John Lennon and Harry Potter.

Tuesday 26th February - my 46th birthday.  46?  Jesus.  I am no longer even a record speed.  I've done 16, 33 1/3 and 45, so it's just 78 to go and that's it.  I was to appear at St Mary's School at South Woodham near Chelmsford. I had last appeared at this school back in 2006, but most of them there reckoned they remembered me.  It was a group of about 60 kids today and mixed across years 3, 4 and 5.  They were an absolutely fabulous group of kids, very funny and attentive and we had a fine day.  During the lunch break the teachers from the group suddenly came into the staff room where I was sitting with a birthday cake, complete with candles!  I was very moved. Back in the hall getting ready for the afternoon I was delighted to see that one of the dinner ladies looked like River Song from Doctor Who.  "Hello Sweetie!" I shouted to her.  She looked at me as if I was wearing a jacket doing up at the back and frothing at the mouth.  Mind you, so would you if someone dressed as Henry VIII just suddenly bellowed "Hello Sweetie!" at you while you were removing the shattered remnants of cottage pie from a school hall floor and had no idea of who the hell River Song was and what her catchphrase was.  The jousting after that was a good show, very close and exciting and ended with a long overdue win for the Gentlemen.  This finally gives the gents another point and moves us on to:

GENTLEMEN 12 - 19 LADIES

That evening I took Amanda and James out to dinner, which was very nice.  The following day I drove down to Maidstone to see my lovely Shelley and took her out to lunch at Mexa Mexa our favourite restaurant in town.  We had a lovely day together sharing the sort of intimacy only and man and woman deeply in love can truly experience.   Yes, we wandered round loads of charity shops looking for bargains, mad passionate loonies that we are.  I drove home to Somerset that night, and apart from spending some time with my mate Pete Flanagan and a nice evening pint at the Rose and Crown at East Lambrook with Matthew Applegate, not a lot has been happening.  But a rest is as good as a change.  Or something.

Coming up the straight for Henry, I have an evening at Leeds Castle, some filming at Hever Castle, I am appearing on Emma Britton's BBC Somerset show as one of her "Somerset Lives" on March 16th and by the end of this month we will begin jousting again with a visit to Knebworth House.  Hoorah!

So what the hell would you have named this blog entry?  Exactly.  Me neither.

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.

Nude Berries. (I'm Sorry, I'll Read That Again).

Good King Hal trying the brand new Shepton Beauchamp diet that involves being fed large quantities of a very delicious Thai Green Curry by bespectacled Tasmanian local shop owners in a churchyard, during diamond jubilee celebrations.  It is obviously a very niche market. 

And so it was back to the daily Henry routine again, but this time to a new school - well, new for me.  I was on my way to Radlett in Hertfordshire and a visit to Newberries Primary School.  As I was driving from Basildon the vast majority of the journey would be on the dear old M25 and according to the sat nav, if there was no traffic about the entire trip from door to door would only take 35 minutes at most.  About an hour and some minutes after leaving Basildon, I finally arrived at the school.  My God, the M25 - if ever there was a better advert for not living in the South East I am yet to find it.  We stopped, we started, we crawled along, everyone jumped on brakes, we all sped up, then we repeated the entire routine - over and over and over.

I was at the school a bit too early to go in so I found myself sitting outside in the car listening to BBC Radio 2 and the Chris Evans Breakfast Show.  Very first thing this morning I had signed into Facebook to see what, if anything was occurring with my "chums" in the wee small hours. Luckily no new fatwas had been issued for me and the only "contact" who seemed to be live was the Chris Evans Show - and was asking the inviting Facebook question - what are you doing?  To which at that point, no one had replied.  So I simply said I was going to Radlett to be Henry VIII at a school day, all the way from Somerset, my names Good King Hal, goodnight!  That sort of thing.  Well blow me down, just after the 7am news, Chris Evans reads out my message in full to the delight of the British listening public.  Almost immediately my mobile phone starts "pinging" with messages from friends of mine around the country who had obviously heard it!  Wa-hay! What a good start to the day!

And things got better - Nude Berries.... I mean Newberries Primary is a lovely school - absolutely charming and I was warmly welcomed by the teacher who had booked me, Sue Rolfe.  It was a year 4 group of about 30 children, so quite a small gathering for me.  But what they lacked in numbers they more than made up for in stupendous costumes, oodles of enthusiasm and lots of good natured Tudor fun!  The morning was partially interrupted by an assembly, but that just really resulted in me having a longer than normal tea break before lunch!

Lunch was that good old staple of primary schools around the country - sausages, potato wedges and greens, but by God it was tasty!  The less said about the "fruit salad" the better (for fruit salad read "lots of chopped up apples, two grapes and a mandarin segment floating in what appeared to be a cross between Sunny Delight and industrial floor cleaning fluid").  They should definitely stick to the savoury stuff!

After lunch we had some more good fun and finished with a closely contested jousting tournament.  I was expecting an equally close final but as it was, a very competent Gents team simply annihilated the Ladies to clinch a much needed victory for the lads.  Our score is now:

GENTLEMEN 18 - 27 LADIES

Have they left it too late?  Who knows, but it might be fun finding out.  The rest of the week consists of a return to West Pennard near Glastonbury on Wednesday, and then on to Paulton Junior near Bristol on Thursday, before I am back in the south east for a show at the Guildhall in London on Saturday and then a walkabout with the Tudor Roses at the lovely Ingatestone Hall in Essex on the Sunday.  If I see you at any of these shows, please say hello!

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!

Frigthfully inclement weather

Good King Hal, second from right at the back clutching a Union Jack, shortly after arriving in Basildon after a nearly six hour drive from Somerset. He was horrified to discover Amundsen had got there first, but was delighted to see that some of the locals had already had the runners off his sleigh.

My last two Henry shows of the year were due at Nelson Primary School in East Ham, and the following day at Knightwood School in Chandlers Ford in Hampshire. This was all as long as the weather behaved itself. Well, unless you have been living in a cave, or a snow drift (more likely) then you will be aware of what the weather has been like.

I travelled up from Somerset on the Tuesday and all was going swimmingly until I reached the south east. As I got east of the M23 turn off on the M25 the snow began to appear, and it got steadily heavier and heavier as I approached the Dartford crossing. The final stretch was done at a mere walking pace as the authorities had closed off the M20 exit and there was a massive snarl up around that junction. I finally got to the tunnel and sailed through! Great, I thought, I will be at Amanda and James' place within about 15 minutes. WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

The exit to the A13 was gridlocked. People fighting to get onto the M25 was snaking back across the exit and locking solid the roundabout. Idiots chopped and changed lanes as though this would do them any good. One particular twit in a crap coloured Ford Ka changed lanes about eight times, and each time I let him in with a little cheery wave which he virtually ignored. When he asked to change lanes AGAIN, I am afraid this time I refused to let him and was rewarded with a cheerful hand gesture which I was more than happy to return. We ended up sitting motionless on the roundabout down onto the A13 for about 45 minutes as the snow piled up around us. My, this was fun. As things slowly started to move I noticed that two huge lorries either side of me were jockeying to push in front of me, even though there was no space. It is times like this that I am glad I have a very loud voice. I wound down both windows, sucked in a huge lungful of air, and allowed the previous four hours worth of frustration pour out as I yelled:

"IF EITHER OF YOU TWO CHAPS IN THE LORRIES ARE CONSIDERING PUSHING IN FRONT OF ME, I SHALL FIND OUT WHERE YOU FELLOWS LIVE AND WILL KILL YOU!" I hasten to add I did not use the words "chaps" and "fellows". The words I did use did begin with the letters C and F, but I shall leave that to your imagination. But it worked, both the lorries allowed me through and one even flashed his lights cheerily at me and shouted something about me being a "fellow chap". I reciprocated his affections once more. But I got to Amanda's place.

Well, to cut a long Captain Scott type diary short (though there is less self sacrifice, fetid penguin blubber and frostbite involved) both of my days at the schools were called off. There was just no way I could get to either of them with the roads the state they were in. I instead kept myself amused by frequently getting thrashed by my son at Mario Kart on the Wii console.

So no more Henry's now until next January, however I start down at Leeds Castle on the 10th December as dear old Father Christmas. All this and I have very nearly finished my Christmas shopping which is surely a record.

Blean Junior, Kent

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

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

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

GENTLEMEN 2 - 0 LADIES

Not the score we were expecting after last years results.

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

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