Ilchester, Squire! Quite staggeringly popular...

A tense moment at the Chelsea Flower Show, when John Terry (just out of picture) brings down Monty Don on the edge of the area with a late sliding tackle, a kick on the butt and three savage rabbit punches.  When questioned by Police he grunted "I slipped."  No charges were brought but a petunia was squashed.

And so it was, with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart (a drugs test will be implemented shortly) Good King Hal sallied forth from his man cave in Crewkerne for the short jaunt to Ilchester and a return visit to Ilchester Primary School.  I had last visited a couple of years back and remember it being a very cold dark morning driving over there.  Today was completely different - bright, sunny and full of early spring promise.  I plumbed in the post code for the school into my sat nav and began the journey.  I was at first suspicious of the sat nav when it tried to make me turn off the A303 ages before the Ilchester exit.  It seemed to be hell bent on getting me to visit a small field on the outskirts of Ilchester where there was no buildings at all.  Now I know Michael Gove's management of schools in the UK has been about as effective as a condom machine in the Vatican, but surely even that incompetent rubber brained arse faced twat couldn't make a complete school disappear... could he?  No, he couldn't.  Michael Gove couldn't even walk upstairs and fart at the same time to be honest.  I remembered on my previous visit driving down through an estate and past a small Nisa store that looked like something out of an abandoned Soviet town from 1973 - and, ah yes!  There it was.  I drove past some very familiar looking houses and then found.... The INFANT school.  Not the Junior school like I wanted.  I went in and asked a breakfast club assistant where the Junior school was.  She informed me to go back to the next roundabout and go straight over.  I did this and now found myself in another completely anonymous faceless housing estate, with not a sign of any school.  My sat nav was by now doing the technology version of rocking backwards and forwards and stroking it's own arms repeating the words "go to a happy place" over and over.  I eventually surrendered and phoned the school.  Where are you? I cried, wiping away snot, tears and mascara.  It turned out I was about 20 yards away, but across the road away from the housing estate - and there it was.

Well, it was a fantastic day.  Terrific fun, a big group of about 80 children from years 3 and 4.  I was recommended to watch out for one little lad in particular who they said could be a handful.  Well, he certainly made himself known to me, but he was fine.  He had ADHD and to the extent that he just could NOT sit still.  It was honestly as if someone had just set fire to his trousers, he was up down, going to sit with the teachers, back with his mates, twisting here, there and everywhere.  And all the while looking like the dead spit of the Milky Bar Kid.  He was great fun.  The morning was great fun and seemed to be over very quickly.  During the lunch break I sat and chatted to a lovely red headed lady who I said would make an excellent Queen Elizabeth I if she was interested in history.  Was she interested in history?  Do ursine creatures defecate in sylvan glades?  Hell, yeah.  She had just finished an archaeology degree at Cardiff Uni and was utterly fascinated by the whole Tudor era and the fact I was making a living out of being Henry VIII. I urged her to get a Queen Elizabeth frock made and begin prancing round stately homes.  I will put her in touch with Judy Picton and Zarrina Bull, the two finest costume makers I know.

The afternoon went by at a terrific rate and we finished on yet another fine jousting tournament with yet another fine win for the ladies.  Is there any point keeping score any more?  The lads are being trounced this year.

GENTLEMEN 13.5 - 22.5 LADIES

Almost ten clear tournaments in front.  I had no trouble in getting home, though my poor old Mazda is sounding decidedly creaky these days.  Time for a change I think.  A bottle of wine put a big smile back on my face that evening.

I am back being Henry tomorrow at West Pennard School near Glastonbury, and then off to Essex for a few days before popping down to Leeds Castle with the Knights of Royal England for another jousting tournament down there.  It will be nice to see some familiar faces at the Castle.

Sent to Coventry and then a quick Bath...

Good King Hal and Natalie Dormer.  Good King Hal is the one on the right, just in case you were having problems telling them apart...

Ah, the jet set lifestyle of the rich and famous mock Tudor monarch.  One minute you're at a book launch, rubbing shoulders (and sadly no other anatomical parts) with Natalie Dormer, then you're prancing around at Blenheim Palace with a fine jousting team, next thing you know you're in Coventry.  Huh?  Coventry?  Yes, Coventry, that jewel of the West Midlands.  While the rest of the Knights of Royal England were going off to silly boring old Sweden, here I was in the ex-industrial heart land of Britain.  I drove up on the Tuesday, and it was horrendous.  There was something of a bank holiday weekend hangover, with lots of ****ing caravans plodding along in various lanes they shouldn't be in on the M5, then just north of Bristol, towards Cribbs Causeway, there had been a God-awful smash up and the traffic decelerated down to walking pace and then non-movement.

When finally through this impasse the rest of the journey passed without much incident.  It was still blisteringly hot as the weekend had been.  I was looking forward to getting to my hotel and unwinding.  I was actually at a Travelodge (yeah, I know, I know) in Nuneaton (yeah, I know, I know) and soon my sat nav was telling me I was nearly there.  I followed it's instructions and soon found myself driving into a very deserted looking industrial estate.  Could this be right?  I turned from bigger roads onto smaller roads and smaller roads, then my sat nav bonged happily and announced I had arrived at my destination.  I was in a dusty side road by a deserted former tyre fitting unit.  I got out of the car for a nose round, and sure enough, behind the deserted former tyre fitting unit and, more importantly, behind an impassable solid looking brick wall, was my Travelodge.  So I drove back to the main roads, which with it now being 5pm were absolutely chocka block and attempted to get to my hotel.  I eventually found it, more by luck than design.  It was just off the A444, hiding behind a grotty looking petrol station.  I shouldn't complain really as the petrol station was going to be my version of Claridge's restaurant for the evening.  So I bought some grub from the petrol station,  went back to my stiflingly hot room and tried to pretend that I had actually enjoyed freezing my b******s off back at Knebworth House.

The next morning dawned cooler, and a lot damper.  Rain had fallen heavily in the night and was continuing to do that for an encore in the morning.  I soon found the school - Whitmore Junior, and as I was there ahead of the teacher who had booked me, I brought all my stuff in and set it up in the main hall.  Anita, the lovely lady who booked me then arrived and told me I was in the wrong hall, as they had two halls for this school.  But with some help from two other teachers and use of a big trolley we moved all my props down to the correct hall.  The teachers at this school were really lovely all day and could not do enough for me.  It was very kind of them.  We had a fantastic day with a group of children just setting out on the subject of the Tudors, but they already had some pretty good knowledge.  We had a fantastic morning and an even more fun and silly afternoon.  The afternoon joust was a really good one and ended with that rarest of things - a win for the gents!  So thanks to Whitmore Junior our score goes to:

GENTLEMEN 16 - 23 LADIES

The journey home was back through some horrendous weather - driving rain and increasingly strong winds.  And there was me complaining about the heat less than two paragraphs ago.  I got home, had a Chinese takeaway and contemplated an early night, but this plan was scuppered by me, as I managed to fall asleep on the sofa and wake up at just after midnight.  And then when I got into bed properly, I couldn't get off to sleep.  Typical.

Thursday found me back at Bathampton School in the delightful canal-side village of Bathampton, near Bath, naturally enough.  It was a morning only with a combined year 2 & 3 group.  It was lovely to be back.  Last time I had visited was in 2011 and I had helped open a new set of classrooms for them, by cutting the ribbon in front of the assembled press.  It is a lovely school, and I am particularly fond of it as they have one of the most stunningly attractive finance officers I have ever seen.  He's called Bernard... No, he isn't.  He is a she and I shall keep it to that to spare her blushes, but she is just "goyjus".  (GKH blushes enormously).  Anyway, the morning was fun.  I did my opening Henry talk for the kiddywinkies, then they did a Tudor dance for me.  We then did my Tudor quiz, then they sang me a song or two, and finally after I had played my instruments back to them, we had a jousting tournament, just before lunch.  It was loud and fun, and once again, much to everyone's complete amazement, we had another win for the gents.  This must be the first back to back win for a long time.  Anyway, our score goes on to:

GENTLEMEN 17 - 23 LADIES

This could get very interesting.  I loaded all the stuff back into my car, then stopped briefly for petrol on the way home.  As I was driving out of the forecourt of the petrol station I happened to glance up and noticed the most revolting huge hairy moth parked not two inches from my eyes, just looking at me.  I leaped on the brakes and screeched to a halt.  Now some people have phobias about spiders - for me, nothing. Some people have phobias about snakes - ha!  I laugh in the face of a King Cobra!  But show me a big hairy arsed moth, with those horrible grippy clawed feet they have and I tend to turn into a loose bowelled screaming shivering wuss.  As I did here.  I clambered out of the car, trying desperately to look more like Chuck Connors than Charles Hawtrey, and on leaving the door open shoo-ed at the moth with a large piece of paper.  It dutifully flew off with wings making a similar sound to a Chinook helicopter power lifting a tank across Salisbury Plain and I managed to stifle an further girly screams.

And when I got home my voice started giving out, so at this moment I can confirm my manly testosterone fuelled roughtie-tuffty-ness as I currently sound like Barry White when I speak.  However show me a moth and Charles Hawtrey will come leaping back onto centre stage.  Good King Hal is back on parade at Barrington Court this weekend for another summer wander round the gardens.  I hope to see you all there.

Confessions of a Sexey Model. (You'll understand...)

Breakfast TV on Tudor Vision.  Joining Henry and Liz on the sofa this morning will be lovable brain box from Holland - Erasmus; chum of the King - Robert Aske; and Perkin Warbeck - crazy name, crazy guy!  Stay tuned.

The middle of last week found me down in Folkestone in Kent to begin with, having dinner and meeting with my new brilliant agent, the legendary Michelle Coda.  I stayed the night with her and her other half Matt, and Michelle's little daughter, Victoria.  In the evening her parents Frank and Debbie came over and much wine was drunk and food eaten, which always seems to happen when Frank and Debbie Coda are on the scene.  I began the long drive back to Somerset on the Thursday lunchtime, but this time with one passenger missing - my poor old sat nav, the one dubbed originally Doris II by me, but later and more poetically Kanuna by my son James, she is no more.  Her power supply has broken and really I was just looking for a good excuse to get rid of her!  She had never been that good to be honest.  She can find easy addresses brilliantly - if you want 57 Hannover Street in Oldham or something, she can take you straight there.  But ask her to find some house in the middle of nowhere - hopeless.  You'd key in the post code for Little Rustic Farm, near Wurzel Village in Devon and she'd say "Well, I can't find that address, but I can find Rustic Road slap bang in the middle of Exeter, would you like to go there instead?" which is about as helpful as finding a man who is drowning and asking him to hold your anvil.  So Friday's appearance back at the wonderful Hugh Sexey Middle School in Blackford near Wedmore would have to begin with me finding the school manually.  I printed out directions from Google Maps and felt confident I could find the place the following morning.

Twit.  Total and utter twit.  Of course I wouldn't be able to find it with printed out directions from Google Maps.  I couldn't even find it with Kanuna in previous years.  Somehow, through luck more than judgement, I found myself in the village of Blackford and asked a very nice lady taking her dog for a walk where I could find Hugh Sexey School - a question which, asked in any other village in the UK would have probably resulted in a slapped face for me.  So here I was back at this lovely school, surrounded as ever but a veritable bevy of beautiful teachers.  It seems a pre-requisite to work at this school is you have to be female and attractive.  And I am not complaining!  Always makes my visits more fun for me!

Well, we had a great morning - it was a big group of about 100 children I suppose, and all of them in fantastic costumes.  Loads of laughs in the morning, and some really sound and impressive Tudor knowledge displayed by the children.  We started a little late because of a morning assembly in the hall, but we soon caught up.    For lunch the children had all brought in packed lunches, and as in previous years I was asked to judge which I thought were the most authentically Tudor of the foods.  One little girl had a yogurt frube drink and a chocolate bar and was surprised when I told her they weren't terribly authentic.  I was treated to a lovely lunch of pasta bolognese, followed by a chocolate cake in custard.  Terribly healthy!  I also shared a bottle of red grape Schloer with the teachers, with us all pretending it was red wine - but it was obvious it wasn't as we all went back to work after lunch!

The afternoon was loud and fun, culminating in yet another brilliant Jousting tournament, but this one ended in that rarest of occurrences - a win for the Gents!  This makes the updated score:

GENTLEMEN 15 - 26 LADIES

Still a big lead for the ladies, but the gents are at least hanging in there. We finally finished with some photos with the group, and a parade of the children's costumes with me picking the best.  I was absolutely cream crackered by the time it was for me to pick my way home.  But any ideas I had of a quiet lazy evening snoozing on the sofa, well, I could forget all that.

You may remember I modelled for the Shepton Beauchamp art group recently, in my full Henry gear, and I was heading back there for a return visit by popular demand!  I wore a different outfit from my previous posings and we had the usual banter and laughs with the ladies there present.  A very pleasant evening, and proof, if you ever wanted it, that not only Lily Cole is a "model" in this family.  So now you understand the title of the blog - Sexey Model?  Geddit?  Oh never mind...

I have purchased a new sat nav today - not sure of her name yet.  Any suggestions from readers of this blog?  She will first be used "in anger" on Bank Holiday Monday when I am back at Sudeley Castle in Winchcombe in Gloucestershire for another Tudor "fun" day. Looking forward to seeing my Queen's again as the Tudor Roses will be out in force again.  Smashing!

Thundersley!

We are all so in need of our modern contraptions, aren't we?  Now, you'd have thought that a big old, roughty-toughty Tudor King like me would have no need of such namby pamby things like Sat Navs, wouldn't you?  How wrong.

Last week, whilst at Leeds Castle (hence the excuse for this photo here!) I had the pleasure of attending John Summer's farewell bash which took place at a very nice Indian restaurant in the middle of nowhere in Kent.  I hadn't paid much attention on how we'd got to this particular restaurant (I had driven in convoy with others) as I knew I had my faithful old Sat Nav in the car to help find my way back to my sister's place at Stockbury.  WRONG!  I came out of the restaurant after the meal and climbed in my car.  Not a sign of the Sat Nav.  Rummage, rummage, rummage.  Still nothing.  I know, I still have dear old Doris in the car, my emergency back up Sat Nav who runs on batteries only.  There she is...oh dear.  No batteries.  I took them out the previous week as my Mother needed them for her camera.  You suddenly feel the cold chill of reality running down your spine.  Yes, you are going to have to use those old fashioned things called "road signs" to find your way back to your bed tonight.  And, ye Gods, it worked!  However, this didn't solve the fact that this week I had three big Henry shows to do in Essex and Suffolk and not a sat nav that would last more than an hour to help me.  Until of course I got to Thundersley Junior this morning and while pulling all the props out of the car... there was the SAT NAV!  Cue choirs of angels, cannon fire, Hallelujah Chorus, flashing lights and laser show.  Well, to be honest it was more of "for *£%$'s sake!" and a heavy sigh.

It was my third year at Thundersley Junior and as ever it was a pleasure to come and see everyone there.  Fabulous costumes, great kids and lovely teachers.  What more could you ask for?  Also, the temperature had dropped considerably from the previous few days and that made things a lot more tolerable for me.  The afternoon joust was a belter, loads of noise and a close but deserved victory for the ladies.  Great stuff!  Tomorrow I am back at Roman Hill Junior in Lowestoft in Suffolk, so it's an early start tomorrow.