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!

Santa Claus 0 Good King Hal 2

Good King Hal, ruthlessly torturing the Invisible Man, mostly with his jokes.

St Ives?  That's Unigate isn't it? No no no!  That is St Ivel, and we all know about that, well certainly in my family we do.  Lot of history with St Ivel, but I won't spill the beans, not as yet.  No, St Ives is a town.  It's two towns actually, one in Cornwall, and one in Cambridgeshire.  Luckily, as I was in Essex to begin with, I was due at the one in Cambridgeshire.  So it was a crack of dawn start for me in Basildon, and then on the beloved M25, the slightly less beloved M11 and all the way to St Ives and an appointment at Westfield Junior School.  The drive up was relatively painless, not too much traffic and I arrived with about an hour to spare before I was due.  So I parked up in a side road and had a little snooze for a while.  I woke up to find a woman taking her dog for a walk, looking through the windscreen at me as though I was a Martian invader.  People asleep in cars obviously doesn't happen in Cambridgeshire very much, no doubt I shall be headline news in the St Ives Thunderer in it's next issue.

I made my entrance at the school and was warmly welcomed by the teachers, two lovely young ladies who pampered me with a nice cup of tea and recommendations that the children were terribly excited about my visit.  I still felt half asleep, but was slowly getting there.  I was given permission from the caretaker to park the Royal jalopy right round the back of the main hall, right next to the main door so I could unload with ease. It was a lovely group of children today, loads of fun and some of them showing off just what good knowledge they had of the Tudors.  The children and the teachers had all dressed up in splendid costumes and it made the day that much more memorable.  The morning zipped past quicker than an innings by England in the current Ashes series.  We broke for lunch where I was brought a delicious tuna baguette by a very kind dinner lady.  Or lunchtime assistant, I should say.  The stocks were a raging success, with great crashing waves of laughter from the children.  We finished with a rollicking joust in which a very competent Gents team galloped home to a memorable win.  They needed that on the overall score and it clicks over to:

GENTLEMEN 9.5 -  12.5 LADIES

A fine end to a wonderful day at this splendid school.  I packed my stuff away and left St Ives to begin the long trek back to Somerset.  And it was a long trek.  I left the school between half three and four, and finally arrived home tired, but happy at nearly 7.30pm.  

The highlight of the Wednesday was a beer in the evening with the sainted Matthew Applegate of Barrington Court.  The poor man has been treated appallingly by the National Trust of late, pushed to the very limits that most men could take, and now they have finally fully plunged the knife in by making him redundant, just after Christmas.  We met over at East Lambrook at the Rose and Crown Pub and drank some lovely Palmers Beer and sat in front of a big roaring fire.  We even treated ourselves to a wee nip of Lagavullin Scotch Whisky to wish ourselves a Merry Christmas, and a hopefully much better New Year, because personally for both of us, 2013 has pretty much sucked.

Thursday was another early start and an hour long drive up to Weston-super-Mare and a first visit to another new school for me, the deliciously named Windwhistle Primary School.  This was a Year 3 group and though they weren't as responsive as the St Ives lot (who admittedly were older) they were very rewarding in the end.  My only concern was that I was under strict instructions from the head teacher not to put any of the teachers in the stocks as it might "undermine the teacher's authority with the children".... or something.  So, being the good little Tudor despot that I am, I didn't put anyone in.  Just some kids!  The day ended with a quite remarkable joust!  The ladies roared off into the lead, with their first rider miles ahead of the first gent, who was struggling badly.  Their first rider collected all of the quoits, and then dropped the lot!  She had to recollect them, meanwhile the first chap had managed to only get two quoits.  The young lady then roared round and collected them all again, only to drop them all again!  By this time the first lad had finished and handed on to their second rider.  The first lady finally finished as the lads handed on to their anchor leg rider. Unfortunately he had a complete nightmare of a round with horses, quintaines and quoits flying alarmingly round the hall, much to the amusement of some of the teachers.  Meanwhile the ladies roared round and stormed home to the finest comeback since Lazarus.  Amazing scenes of excitement from the children!  So our score amazingly moves on to:

GENTLEMEN 9.5 - 13.5 LADIES

The ladies surely are now unstoppable.  I packed everything away and began the drive back down the M5 towards Crewkerne.  I got in and then received a phone call from Leeds Castle wondering if I was free to come in and be Santa Claus this coming weekend as they were short staffed.  Sadly, I couldn't as I will be somewhere else altogether!

So my final two appearances before breaking for the Christmas holidays is tomorrow (Saturday) when I shall be slogging up to Chester for a corporate appearance at Chester Town Hall, and then on Tuesday a final Henry school visit of 2013 at Evercreech in Somerset.  Then it is off to Wales for cuddles with my son, tons of turkey, pounds of puds and no doubt a touch of the old "ho-ho-ho's" along the way.  And I promise to jingle my bells, all the way.

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.

I'm Too Sexey (and Warwickshire)

The Hinge and Brackett reunion tour looked like being a big success all round.  Book early folks to avoid disappointment.

After a very pleasant St George's Day doing just short of bu99er all, it was back to work with avengence on Wednesday.  I was up at just before 5am to get ready and then drive up to Warwickshire for a first visit to a new school for me - Ilmington Junior.  I had no idea what to expect - Warwickshire is one of those counties in the country that I know very little of, and I tend to just mentally sort of lump it all in with the West Midlands.  So at the start of my journey up the M5 I was picturing dark satanic mills, whining Brummie accents and more Staffordshire Bull Terriers on leads than you could shake a stick at.  How wrong I was!  My sat nav brought me off the M5 as the same exit that I usually use when driving to Sudeley Castle.  I then had a pleasant dawdle through some very picturesque Cotswold-like villages and found myself boundary hopping between Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, back to Gloucestershire and then suddenly in Warwickshire.  Finally I turned off on some very pretty little b-roads and was then in the village of Ilmington.  It is absolutely delightful!  A church spire dominates in the middle, but all around is rolling hills, chocolate box cute cottages and all seems like a very rustic idyll.  I had to park outside the school as any car parking has gone as there are builders in extending the school out the back.  I had only been sat there for about two minutes when a car pulled up in front of me, a very lovely lady jumped out and immediately beamed a dazzling smile at me and shouted "You must be Mike!" through the windscreen.  Indeed I was.  This was Claire, the lady who had booked me for the day.  She warmly welcomed me, showed me some of the Tudor work the children had already done, and even made me a nice cup of tea. What a nice lady.

Well this was a fantastic school.  It was only about 30 children, but they were so full of fun, enthusiasm, laughter and a desire to get involved, that it just made my life so much easier.  Great fun was had during the whole of the morning with lots of very silly laughs and the children joining in the banter to a great effect.  Lunch was basically a sort of healthy version of sausage and chips, but it was very warming and filling.  Back in the hall we ripped through the afternoon and ended with another great jousting tournament.  This one was incredibly close and the gents really should have won, but their final rider on the last leg got his lance caught on the quintaine and quoit (always an eye waterer that one, folks) and the ladies nicked in for an improbable victory.  Another win!  My goodness.  The score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 13 - 22 LADIES

There is surely no way back for them now.  I packed my items back in the car in bright spring sunshine and 18 degrees of warmth, lovely.  The journey home was luckily free of any hold ups and I got back to Crewkerne at just before 6pm.  There was no sitting on my laurels that evening.  Good heavens no!  Now my social life these days is usually about as exciting as Morrissey's stag night, but I was out for a drink with the very wonderful Matthew Applegate, and we went to the Rose and Crown at East Lambrook, now with it's new owners and full of welcoming charm again.  The Palmers 200 beer was like nectar and we had a lovely relaxed laughter filled evening.  Wonderful, just what I needed.  Thank you, Matthew!

I was back on more familiar ground on Thursday with my eighth annual visit to the deliciously named Hugh Sexey Middle School at Blackford near Wedmore.  What a brilliant name.  Can you imagine being called that?  The amount of times you would have to bite your lip when a lady would come up to you and say "Are Hugh Sexey?"  Well, it has been mentioned a few times...  I love this school.  It is always a massive great group of children, all in brilliant Tudor costumes and to add to my delight I am surrounded by gorgeous looking female teachers.  What is not to like?  It was about 170 children today and all bar roughly four of them had put in an effort with their costumes.  One little girl had a very big phobia about people dressing up in costumes, so before my visit I'd had to send in photos of me in my Henry gear and me in my civvies, just to put her at ease.  I then met her before the show just to show her I was a normal person... (normal???  HA!), but she was really good, and was fine throughout the day and even took part in the jousting tournament in the afternoon.  Well all I can say is it was a blinding day - fun all the way through, some brilliant costumes from the kids and a lovely visit back to one of my favourite schools.  And then, just when you thought you were getting into a rut - the gents only go and storm to a brilliant victory in the jousting.  Well done lads.  Our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 14 - 22 LADIES

And with two more shows to come next  week let's see what happens.  I drove into Glastonbury after the show to try and pay some money into my business account.  It was horrific in town.  Glastonbury always seemed to attract a varied group of eccentrics down the years, but now they are bloody everywhere!  Everyone has brightly coloured trousers on, or mad hats, or dreadlocks, or lumps of metal hammered through their noses.  I even saw one bloke who looked like a middle aged company director, with his face painted to make him look like a frog, happily walking down the High Street hand in hand with his equally straight looking wife with what appeared to be an Earthing rod nailed through her nostrils. It reminded me very much of Tony Hancock's disgracefully underrated movie "The Rebel" where he meets all the Jean-Paul Sartre fans in Paris who are appalled at his tales of conformity in commuter London (everyone in suits with bowler hats and umbrellas), and when you see them, every single one is dressed the same.  It was the sort of street scene that if you did see a bloke in a bowler hat, suit and carrying an umbrella you'd scream "look at that freak!"  Anyway, it was packed with the added fun of an enormous either funeral or memorial service for someone very popular taking place in the central church.  Parking was at a premium, but I managed to find a space right opposite my bank.  Hoorah!  I fought my way through the loonies in grass skirts being "alternative" (yeah, right) and got to the bank to discover it had closed ten minutes earlier.  Now THAT was alternative.  So I drove home, stopping only at Long Sutton and the wonderful little shop there to buy some scrumpy cider - I think I had earned it.

In the next week I am off to Newberries School in Hertfordshire for a return visit, then to Lee Chapel in Basildon for a similar repeat, and then the following weekend I am hooking up again with the Knights of Royal England for three days jousting at Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire.  I can't wait.  It can't be any more miserable and cold than last time.

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.

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.

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. 

Big Blog No Looky

Good King Hal asking King Charles II of Spain in drag, to spare him a couple of hundred groats for a cup of Reformation.... TEA!  He meant tea.

Honestly, loyal folks out there, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is failing fast.  I am slowly losing the will to write this blog to be honest.  The worst thing I could do was to publish it on Facebook, as now they send you a weekly update as to how your page and posts are doing.  The caption competition?  Regularly garners somewhere in the region of 200-300 hits.  My little one line updates?  Anything from about 80 up to 200.  My blog entries?  Er.... well, not as many.  In fact a recent one which I had written and taken a long time over getting it right managed to only get 19 hits.  Now that is not the sort of results you are looking for after pouring your guts out on the page.  So despite doing three shows this week I have struggled to find the enthusiasm for writing the damn thing up.  Perhaps I should just make it all up, and see if anyone notices.  OK, lets do that for a bit.

Ahem, OK, so I was at the "Skyfall" premiere the other night in my full Tudor gear.  I had been asked to go along by Cubby Brocolli's ghost and a small bowl of petunias.  I was accompanied to the soiree by Cardinal Richeleu, Max Jaffa, The Dagenham Girl Pipers and Dog the Bounty Hunter.  We arrived in a stretch limo made out of two off cuts of a Bond Bug and a US Military Hummer.  I waved at the crowd and shouted "God kväll mina underbara brittiska vänner! Denna Bygel-BH dödar mig, men tack och lov kan jag skaffa mig en Pimms och saft kort. Toodle pip!"  It's amazing where a bit of fluent Swedish can get you - Ulrika Jonsson's house for a start.  Just ask Sven.  Anyway, I tripped up the red carpet, but didn't spill a drop.  Sir Alex Ferguson came to greet me with a big smile on his ravaged red face.  I felled him with a swinging left hook.  As he struggled back to his feet I once more pole-axed the puce faced thistle arsed Scottish whinge bag with two short upper cuts and a lethal rabbit punch.  The crowd cheered tossing marmite vol-au-vonts in the air.  Just at that moment I felt a weak pathetic tap on my shoulder.  It was Daniel Craig in an I-Zingari romper suit with matching bonnet.  He mumbled something in that weak girly voice of his.  "WHAT?" I roared back at him, in my finest Brian Blessed.  So startled was he that he didn't need Movicol that night.  He finally managed to mumble something about leaving his wife alone.  I reached past him and grabbed Rachel Weisz, pulled her to me for a vacuum like snog and then said "Don't let's cheapen this, it was fun while it lasted, but you'll get over me..."  She fell to her knees, begging me to have her back, but it was too late.  I was already halfway up the Shard skyscraper with Fay Wray in my hands, and trying to stop bi-planes shooting me up the arse.  But then, all of a sudden, I couldn't have been more surprised when who should open a window on the 126th floor but... (continued on page 96).

There, that should confuse some of my foreign fans on Facebook.  Or perhaps I should have shouted in Czech?  A teď něco úplně jiného. Zde je Good King Hal obvykle blog.  See?  I told you.

Well for those who really do read this far, this is how the week has gone.  Sunday saw me driving back to the Isle of Wight, one year on from that awful journey (please see former entry about that!).  This time around my voyage to deepest darkest Ventnor was most pleasant, and apart from missing the 3.45pm boat I was booked on at Lymington, hassle free.  On the boat however, the personal choice Fascists have got to work.  No longer can you just kip in your car for the 20 minute crossing - oh no.  No, you are not allowed to enjoy that little pleasure.  You are forced, virtually at gun point up to the passenger lounge where you are assailed by piped music, advertising video screens and over priced coffee and sandwiches.  And if you complain you get keel hauled, which in the Solent is not much fun.  I arrived at Hannah Larkin's place (the teacher who books me at St Francis' School in Ventnor) just after 6pm and we went straight out, with a friend of hers to a nice pub called The Dairyman's Daughter at Arreton. 

The following day at the school was fun, hard work,  but ultimately very rewarding.  The jousting session in the afternoon was deafening and culminated in another win for the gents.  They have been doing a lot better of late and have managed to claw the score back to:

GENTLEMEN 5 - 5 LADIES

I left Ventnor and drove across the island in beautfiul early winter sunshine, taking in the magnificent views from the old Military Road down to Freshwater Bay.  Lovely. I managed to get an earlier ferry than expected and was soon being forced at gun point back up to the passenger lounge.  I drove back through Christchurch (for my sins) and eventually found myself at home munching through a very welcome Chinese meal.

I spent Tuesday visiting my old friend Pete Flanagan over at Tatworth where he lives, and it is nice to see him back on his feet again after such an awful injury he suffered in a road accident just over a year ago.  Again for details, search this blog.  On the Wednesday I was up bright and early for a trip back down to Knightwood School in Chandler's Ford near Southampton.  I was warmly welcomed as ever by Lee, the caretaker, who made me a bucket of tea and then told me his latest health problems, which was a bit of an eye opener.  Knightwood is such a brilliant school and we had a great day in their brilliantly architectured hall.  Even a disappointing lunch wasn't too bad - the dinner staff hadn't been told I was coming so hadn't cooked enough, but they let me have some home made pizza.  Now normally cheese at a primary school is as mild as Rowan Williams, but today the cheese on the pizza was more like being shouted at by Rev Ian Paisley.  It was CHEEEEEEEEESE, with a capital ouch.  But it filled a hole!  Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves on the Tudor Day and once more the joust went down a storm and we finished with another victory for the ladies team.  They now poke their noses back in front again, just holding off the gents.  Our score moves on to:

GENTLEMEN 5 - 6 LADIES

It was surprisingly cold down in Chandler's Ford that day and I was grateful for my big coat and heating in the car.  The drive home back through Salisbury was just like my old days going back from Skandia Life in Southampton.  I also might be startling some other old Skandia chums as the local rag for Southampton came along and did a load of photos of me for publication.  It will interesting to see if anyone in that neck of the woods notices.

Thursday was another show day, but a lot closer to home this time.  I was off back to the lovely Parkfield School in Taunton and another meet up with the legendary Head Teacher there, the deliciously named Mr Wynford Sides.  Parkfield is a delight, and it didn't disappoint one jot this time round.  Great fun day, lovely to see all my old friends there, including Christine - Bonjour, mon petit ami français!   A group of 60+ children, all very enthusiastic and all dressed in great costumes was the recipe for a perfect Henry VIII day. Even lunch was great - each year the staff at Parkfield insist on nipping out and buying me lunch, which makes me feel very grateful, but embarrassed.  So this year, on the way in I had stopped at a Spar store in Ilminster and had grabbed some sarnies and a drink.  I told EVERYONE at the school I had done this - everyone that was, except one.  And she trudged off to the local Tescos and returned with a lunch for me, only to discover me chewing my way through my own sandwiches when she returned to the school.  Bless her, she let me keep the lunch she'd bought, so I had it as a light dinner in the evening when I got home.  The final joust was another nail biter and finished with another victory for the ladies.  So our week finishes with the score at:

GENTLEMEN 5 - 7 LADIES

I drove home, ate my second lunch and then went out for a drink with Matthew Applegate at the Rose and Crown at East Lambrook.  Luckily the landlady wasn't there, so we had a lovely evening.

(cont from page 96)....with thick bleach and an oven glove.  But it wasn't enough.  Sure enough rivulets of molten magma began seeping under the door of the crofters cottage.  I turned quickly to see if anyone had any bright ideas.  Bryan Ferry was simply rocking back and forth on a stool in the corner saying "go to a happy place go to a happy place" over and over.  Douglas Bader was worried he'd be burnt to the ground (ba-doom-tish!) and Lily Cole STILL hadn't replied to my message on Facebook.  Call yourself a cousin???  With a final surge of energy and adrenaline, I leapt out of the window in a shower of glass and landed on the former speaker of the House of Commons, Bernard Weatherall.  I said "I thought you were dead."  He said "You can talk, dressed as Henry VIII".  I cuffed him playfully round the ear with my speaking trumpet and was soon on my Honda Fireblade roaring through the countryside on my way for a date with destiny.  But would you believe it, but who should come round the corner on a traction engine, with the Somerset T20 squad, Schnorbitz the dog and Dorothy Squires, but none other than old....(cont. next week).

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....

West Pennard and Paulton Junior

Good King Hal, belting out an eye watering version of "Don't Fence Me In" on Tudor Britain's Got Plague on Ye TV1.  Lord Callow of the High Slung Slacks called it staggeringly bad, before being hung drawn and quartered, which gave him a chance for a bit of a re-think.  His brutal execution certainly perked up the music charts.

After the early week visit to Newberries in Hertfordshire, it was nice to be back in Somerset and visiting two of my favourite schools in my home county.  First up was Wednesday and a seventh visit to West Pennard School near Glastonbury.  I first ever went to this school on the invite of Ian Gouge, a wonderfully insane teacher and one of the nicest blokes you could ever meet.  He has since moved up a year and now looks after the year six group, so for the previous few years the year five group I entertain are looked after by Tony Wheat - another absolutely lovely chap. 

The morning drive over to West Pennard was very nice - the situation of the school has to be one of the most idyllic you can imagine.  It is tucked away in a back lane of this lovely little village nestling in next to the beautifully Gothic tower of the village church and it's Westminster Chimes clock.  Once inside the school, the staff room has to have the finest view of any school I visit throughout the country.  It has sliding doors leading out onto a sun trap of a patio area, with views across the fields to the striking silhouette of Glastonbury Tor and the tower of St Michael's at it's peak on the not too distant horizon.  Just magical!

It was a fun group on this day - about 30 children and all very enthusiastic.  A whole barrel of laughs all round and lots of good Tudor knowledge.  We began in the brand new library that they have had built (which had been opened by Michael Eavis of Glastonbury Festival fame!) which was particularly nice as, with it being such a hot day we were in the only large room in the school with air conditioning.  Superb.  Another fine lunch of yet more sausages - you can't escape them this week!  We were then back to the main hall for stocks and jousting.  The tournament was very good - virtually everyone who took part was talented and showed a good natural affinity for it, but as it was it was the Gentlemen who streaked away in the final for a relatively comfortable win.  Our score after West Pennard moves on to:

GENTLEMEN 19 - 27 LADIES

Is the comeback growing in momentum??  Watch this space, or simply scroll down to the bottom of this report for the next result!

Thursday morning was a different weathered beast all together.  Heavy over night rain had subsided and instead I awoke to a murky, misty, almost foggy morning.  I was driving up to almost all the way to Bristol for another return visit to another lovely school - Paulton Junior in.... er.... Paulton.  I was warmly welcomed by the two teachers for the day - new people who hadn't been in with the show before, so it would be nice for them (I hope).  It was a big turn out of over 60 children, all of them in fabulous Tudor costumes.  Well, we had a truly wonderful day, the children began the day a little on the quiet side, but by the time they warmed up it was like trying to stop an express train.  Lunch was a pasta and meatball explosion of taste (and not sausages!) and then we were in the main hall for the stocks and jousting.  What a final we had in the jousting. It was so close - all the teams that took part were good.  But it was almost inevitable that it would be the ladies who claimed the win to keep the distance between them and the boys back to how it was again.  Our score ticks over to:

GENTLEMEN 19 - 28 LADIES

The evening was spent with Matthew Applegate from Barrington Court, where we met up at the Rose and Crown at East Lambrook for a spot of beer, or several.  It was nice to see the pub full and with some atmosphere for a change, rather than the somewhat sombre, morgue like place it can be when certain people are behind the bar....

Right, driving up to Essex now for an overnight stay with my lovely son James, then off to the Guildhall in London tomorrow to hopefully keep the Lord Mayor entertained.