Even thought it was Saturday, I was up with the lark, brekkied, and at the costume hire shop early. More about the costumes later. And then round to Gore Hill to help with the moving house. I arrived, rang the door bell, and waiter. And waited. I rang the doorbell again, and shouted through the letterbox. And waited. So I gave the phone a ring. No answer, so I tried Matt’s mobile number. He was on the other side of the town, having forgotten that I’d said I was going to help him move house. So I went shopping for birthday pressies for half an hour or so. Once shopped, it was back with helping with the moving house. In retrospect I can’t help but feel we didn’t actually achieve much. In six hours we moved a bed, a sofa, an arm chair, a freezer and a few sundry bits from one house to another, and got some bits out of the loft. We then sat down for pizza, and listened to the nice man from Sky TV explaining why he couldn’t install a satellite dish because there was a great big building between the new house and the Sky satellite. He pointed out that if you looked up and down the road you could see all the houses hed satellite dishes except for a row of thirty houses all in the shadow of Charter House. Over to cable TV…
And then home, showered and into costume for a birthday party. Drew’s special birthday, and a Tudor banquet at Bewl Water was the order of the day. Due to a miscalculation on my part as to how far away Bewl Water was, we arrived a little too early, but that wasn’t a bad thing; we got to spend a while admiring the lake, and making plans to re-visit to walk or cycle round the pond (it’s huge!). Before long, other people were arriving, and we found the bar. A bottle of Spitfire slipped down nicely, but there was a minor hiccup – where should I keep my wallet and my change? Being back in the sixteenth century for the evening we were suitably attired, and the invention of the pocket was still a few hundred years into the future. In the event I shoved my wallet and my camera up my jerkin (oo-er!) and all was well.
We got news that that the birthday boy’s carriage was on the way, so everyone made their way outside where we staged quite a major photo shoot. Pretty much everyone had dressed for the occasion, and in retrospect I did feel a tad out of place in my traditional (for the period) velvet trousers. Quite a few of the other chaps there were wearing stockings and tights and were remarking how comfortable they felt. (Never confused!!). The costumes were wonderful, and the kiddies especially were hamming it up. There were Kings and
After a few minutes the Royal carriage arrived, and the embodiment of a rather svelte Henry VIII and his retinue emerged. I’m reliably informed that in his youth, the original “our enery” wasn’t the size that traditionally we remember him as. We all made our way to the lake where we boarded “Swallow” – a pleasure cruiser which took us around the lake. For someone who’s generally “into” ponds (like I am) this cruise was a wonderful way to spend an hour in the evening. And having a foxy Tudor lady dishing out free wine was a very much appreciated added bonus.
Back to shore, and as we made our way back to the Bewl centre for dinner we admired the fire eaters on the pavilion. Earlier in the week I was speculating on the possibility of a hog roast. Tonight we had one. It was smashing; really good food, washed down with a glass of champers. We joked with the birthday boy about a Mc Hog Roast and a Mc Tudor, and we struggled to eat all of what we’d been given. In the meantime, our Tudor entertainer told jokes, and wandered around the tables making balloon animals, and generally being really good at what he did. A shame he couldn’t make a balloon penguin, but I suppose (to be fair to him), penguins were only discovered in 1492, so it’s possible that our chap hadn’t yet heard of them.
After an excellent bit of dessert the floor was cleared, and we stepped up to trip the light fantastic. Normally I don’t do dancing, mainly because I’m crap at it. But I do enjoy country dancing where a caller shouts out what you have to do. Tudor dancing is in that style, and we promenaded a Pavane. Rather well, I thought. Even if I do say so myself.
All too soon it was home time, and having slept most of the way to Bewl, despite having downed copious quantities of ale, wine and champagne during the evening, I was wide awake all the way home where I staggered into bed shortly after 1am. If any of my loyal readers are looking to stage a special event, I really can’t recommend a hog roast at Bewl highly enough…