May Crown part 2
So, we resume our tale at Draco's victory and wreaths all round. By now it was late afternoon and the sun was getting lower and lower. Marie and Manfred had buggered off back to the motel to have showers and get dressed in something warmer. I had to drag Hrothgar off the pick-up field and hurry J up so that we would have enough time to be back by the scheduled start of the feast at 6.30.
While I was in the process of bossing people about effectively, Count Stephen asked for a moment of my time. He took two strapping lads with him to his vehicle and they returned fighting for control of a black horse. A black hobby horse. He had heard about my thwarted wishes to go riding at some point through the reign (we just don't have enough equestrian activities in Lochac!) and had decided to rectify things.
What could I do except mount up and put Dobbin through a few paces, figures and jumps? I proclaimed him a nice tidy ride and everyone applauded Stephen's terrible sense of humour, which is right and proper as it is a form of genius in its own twisted way. Later that weekend Dobbin was sent for agistment with Eleanor's daughter, which I think is also right and proper as she was having a darn good time making him neigh from the voicebox hidden cunningly in his ear.
The lads were finally sorted and we drove swiftly down the road to Holbrook, once again, all very scenic. I threw myself through the first shower so that I could slap on a face mask while the lads had their showers, and thus look a little as though I sleep occasionally. Luckily the bathroom was big enough to get dressed in, even with Big Frocks. Hrothgar laughed himself silly at the sight of me wearing said face mask, J was no help in the defending stakes. From a strictly accurate sense of things, fair enough. SKII masks are like paper burns masks covered in hydrating goop. But for $25, you get the benefit of a $100 facial and are able to give the impression that you may not be a total stranger to the phrase eight-hours' sleep. And, apparently, cause the shrieking giggles in your good mates.
As usual, the boys took longer to get ready than I did, which given that I have two-and-a-half feet more hair to dress than either of them seems hardly fair or reasonable, but I suppose that it takes a lot of effort to be so very manly. Finally we were all ready to depart at 6.03. The phone rang just as we were driving out of the hotel. Where were we? Would we be long? (I think it was out beloved Joan, or perhaps our equally beloved Mathilde.) Apparently the cooks were going great guns and most other people were hanging out in the feasting hall ready to get going. I said that we were on our way and would be 20 minutes (or less, I believe J may have been driving) and they replied that it was all no problem.
Of COURSE everyone else was ready early. They were all staying on site where there was nothing else to do except get ready for dinner and go and hang out in the feasting hall. I kicked myself for not thinking of the possibility, nor checking with the cooks about timing. I did suggest to the caller that they start putting food out without us, but they said there was enough snackage. I hoped this was the case, as the one thing that all right-thinking royalty hate most is being the cause of food delays. People will forgive you practically everything else.
We arrived at 6.25 (which is why I think J was driving, because he is a hoon) and found that people had decided on some entertainments to fill the gap. Terrifyingly, the entertainment that was happening when we arrived was Duke Cornelius singing the Goblin Song – indeed, teaching it to the populace as a round. Several peers ran out to greet us with cries of 'thank God you're here!'
We sauntered into the hall. His little Ducal face fell. He could not sing the Goblin Song in front of Their Majesties. We took pity, and decreed that we would not be there for a few minutes. His smile returned. Several other people gave us looks that were silent glare for "We'll get you for this, you bastards."
So we skipped outside and played with the Shetland collie puppies that were tied up in the cold. Joan waited with us, out of sympathy to our goblin aversion. Some locals scurried out and rushed us in after the first sing-though: "Quickly, Your Majesties, before he makes us do it again!" And we were in for the feast.
High Table was easily enough sorted, Draco and Serena were trapped with us and we dragged up Art and Blaeney and filled out the vacant Hugh and Therasa seats with lovely people, if only I could remember who. Hugh and Therasa had come up to us just before we left looking as though they were about to ask a big favour. "Hey ..." said Therasa, "Given that we didn't win and tomorrow is Mother's Day and my mother will kill me if we aren't there on time for lunch and we'll have to leave at 6 to drive home in time if we stay at the motel, would you hate us forever if we buggered off now?"
I had to laugh, because I have met those mothers and they are very real. Say what you like about growing up with mad hippies, but they do have their upsides. We wished them a safe journey and promised to make their excuses.
Hugh and Therasa heading off lowered some of the Crazy Southern Tensions that had been swimming around through the course of the day, which was a relief. I've met lovely Hugh and I've met crazy Hugh, and I do get that they both exist and both have a long history in the SCA. However, crazy Hugh at his cranky-pants craziest is as nothing compared to the zealotry of those who follow him and those who hate him.
Some of his followers will happily tar and feather anyone who points out that there are other ways of doing things, or anyone who talks to those on The Other Side. Some of his enemies would be quite happy to see him ridden out of town backwards on an ass.
And to all those people I say, "Seriously, give it up. You are wasting a huge amount of energy that could be spent on something you actually enjoy." Because when all is said and done, it matters very very little. You can guess from this little rant break that I had to deal with some of the zealotry and some of the repercussions of said zealotry over the course of the weekend.
I liked Thanatos very much when he said "I had no idea that I was meant to choose a side, and when I wanted to just talk to X [pro-Hugh zealot] and get some things sorted, he went off at me for talking to Y [anti-Hugh zealot] and I just sat there thinking, guys, he's not the Messiah!"
Between Thanatos and the wonderful Mistress Cairistiona's mantra of "Screw the politics, let's have a good event", I was quite convinced that Borderscross had a huge amount of potential and would survive any bullshit.
Did Cairistiona succeed in making it a good event? Bloody oath. It was an absolute cracker of a feast with loads of delicious food coming out at well-timed intervals all nice and hot and early. And there were vegetables! Yummy plates of vegetables! It was all very well presented, too; not so fussy that it was likely to put off the lads, but taste-filled and exciting. I know that this will sound patronising, and I don't mean it to, but I was surprised at how good the kitchen was given that it had no Maries, Spyders, Eslas or the like. What it did have was organised people who had sat down and done good plans and come up with a menu that really worked, and everyone seemed as well fed as the High Table, so that was a big plus.
We skipped out on the event briefly to hold a Knights' Council. It was very positive and very fast and I wish that all Knights' Councils were as sensible as that one was. Clearly you need to be keeping everyone from going back to eating and drinking in order to stop the waffle. We had a brief pause to play with the Crown Princess's wig, since Asa had shaved her hair off a few weeks earlier to raise money for cancer reseach. She rocks. She also managed to be the only member of the royalty to be sitting down to watch the dance performance, so gets all the gold stars for the weekend and we other three are very bad. I'm told that it was a quite good performance, so she doesn't get that many gold stars. It's not like when you take one for the team that you know will involve wailing sharp sopranos (no, J, I never will forgive you for leaving me there.)
The evening featured a series of good awards including a GoA for Lowry and well-deserved Golden Tears for Rauf le Brewere and William FitzSymon, plus some AoAs that were very hard -won for several of the younger and newer people. Everyone looked speccy and practically no-one was smashed. Cornelius did not sing again in the hall all through the course of the evening, and there was much happiness in the land.
We invested the Crown P&P properly with the shiny hats, and we were very happy that it was them, because they're really good to hand over to. Aside from them being better looking and nicer people than us, they're practically perfect. And they can't help not being old and decrepit. Although that bloody niceness is a bit much.
Throughout the course of the evening we were aware of a mutter of kicky commentary behind the High Table. It was Adele, Marie and Manfred. They formed an unholy cabal of Manfred in his butler mode and two women with sharp minds and witty tongues. Butler Manfred is a demon with a sharp blade, but it is almost impossible to keep a straight face while he is commenting on the day's events. Which is a bloody pain because while his back is to the populace, yours is not. Add to that the Canadian killer comments from a certain Southron Gaarder and the arch eyebrow acting provided by Marie and it was very very hard to keep our faces straight all night. I suspect we did not succeed.
The next morning we trotted out to site again for a catch-up with the Crown P&P. Marie and Manfred abandoned us in their pursuit of tasty comestibles, but the rest of the gang were there to greet us over hot chocolates and snackage. We pottered about at the stalls, annoyed the children, realised that there was bugger all that would be left as a worry for the Crown P&P, so just chatted, thanked Cairistiona and her gang for such a kicking event, sent Dobbin of for agistment and then sodded off.
It was such a relaxed event that it was hard to imagine that it had been the Crown Tournament, especially when you compare it to the angst-filled drama of our previous reign. Which J entirely missed and I had to point out all the various 'political' posturings to him about six months later when I realised that he had no idea what I was talking about in my stories of that event. This made me laugh rather a lot.
The road back to Sydney was filled with nice little side trips such as the sweetie shop in Holbrook, seeing the dog on the tuckerbox at Gundagai and finding very clean roadhouse loos. Unexpectedly we spoke with Katje and co who informed us that Miles had just driven into a parked car. Having once ridden into a parked van on my bike, it could happen to anyone. Admittedly I was doing about 3kph and looking at my chain to see where it was sticking, but Miles assures me he was going very slowly and the car was very low compared to his high 4WD. As long as it's not a cyclist or pedestrian ...
I was going to write about Flametree, but I am too knackered and have too much on over the next few days, so I'll post this now and worry about that later. And for those who are saddened at the lack of Top Gear posts recently, here's a genius segment where Jeremy (in a Ferrari) races James and Richard (in a plane plus public transport) from Guildford, UK to Verbier, Switzerland. You will not believe the ending, but it's worth the huge download. Part one is here, part two is here, and part three is here.
Off to Adelaide for Claire and Eric's wedding on the weekend, yippee! We'll post photos and a round-up on Tuesday with a bit of luck.
While I was in the process of bossing people about effectively, Count Stephen asked for a moment of my time. He took two strapping lads with him to his vehicle and they returned fighting for control of a black horse. A black hobby horse. He had heard about my thwarted wishes to go riding at some point through the reign (we just don't have enough equestrian activities in Lochac!) and had decided to rectify things.
What could I do except mount up and put Dobbin through a few paces, figures and jumps? I proclaimed him a nice tidy ride and everyone applauded Stephen's terrible sense of humour, which is right and proper as it is a form of genius in its own twisted way. Later that weekend Dobbin was sent for agistment with Eleanor's daughter, which I think is also right and proper as she was having a darn good time making him neigh from the voicebox hidden cunningly in his ear.
The lads were finally sorted and we drove swiftly down the road to Holbrook, once again, all very scenic. I threw myself through the first shower so that I could slap on a face mask while the lads had their showers, and thus look a little as though I sleep occasionally. Luckily the bathroom was big enough to get dressed in, even with Big Frocks. Hrothgar laughed himself silly at the sight of me wearing said face mask, J was no help in the defending stakes. From a strictly accurate sense of things, fair enough. SKII masks are like paper burns masks covered in hydrating goop. But for $25, you get the benefit of a $100 facial and are able to give the impression that you may not be a total stranger to the phrase eight-hours' sleep. And, apparently, cause the shrieking giggles in your good mates.
As usual, the boys took longer to get ready than I did, which given that I have two-and-a-half feet more hair to dress than either of them seems hardly fair or reasonable, but I suppose that it takes a lot of effort to be so very manly. Finally we were all ready to depart at 6.03. The phone rang just as we were driving out of the hotel. Where were we? Would we be long? (I think it was out beloved Joan, or perhaps our equally beloved Mathilde.) Apparently the cooks were going great guns and most other people were hanging out in the feasting hall ready to get going. I said that we were on our way and would be 20 minutes (or less, I believe J may have been driving) and they replied that it was all no problem.
Of COURSE everyone else was ready early. They were all staying on site where there was nothing else to do except get ready for dinner and go and hang out in the feasting hall. I kicked myself for not thinking of the possibility, nor checking with the cooks about timing. I did suggest to the caller that they start putting food out without us, but they said there was enough snackage. I hoped this was the case, as the one thing that all right-thinking royalty hate most is being the cause of food delays. People will forgive you practically everything else.
We arrived at 6.25 (which is why I think J was driving, because he is a hoon) and found that people had decided on some entertainments to fill the gap. Terrifyingly, the entertainment that was happening when we arrived was Duke Cornelius singing the Goblin Song – indeed, teaching it to the populace as a round. Several peers ran out to greet us with cries of 'thank God you're here!'
We sauntered into the hall. His little Ducal face fell. He could not sing the Goblin Song in front of Their Majesties. We took pity, and decreed that we would not be there for a few minutes. His smile returned. Several other people gave us looks that were silent glare for "We'll get you for this, you bastards."
So we skipped outside and played with the Shetland collie puppies that were tied up in the cold. Joan waited with us, out of sympathy to our goblin aversion. Some locals scurried out and rushed us in after the first sing-though: "Quickly, Your Majesties, before he makes us do it again!" And we were in for the feast.
High Table was easily enough sorted, Draco and Serena were trapped with us and we dragged up Art and Blaeney and filled out the vacant Hugh and Therasa seats with lovely people, if only I could remember who. Hugh and Therasa had come up to us just before we left looking as though they were about to ask a big favour. "Hey ..." said Therasa, "Given that we didn't win and tomorrow is Mother's Day and my mother will kill me if we aren't there on time for lunch and we'll have to leave at 6 to drive home in time if we stay at the motel, would you hate us forever if we buggered off now?"
I had to laugh, because I have met those mothers and they are very real. Say what you like about growing up with mad hippies, but they do have their upsides. We wished them a safe journey and promised to make their excuses.
Hugh and Therasa heading off lowered some of the Crazy Southern Tensions that had been swimming around through the course of the day, which was a relief. I've met lovely Hugh and I've met crazy Hugh, and I do get that they both exist and both have a long history in the SCA. However, crazy Hugh at his cranky-pants craziest is as nothing compared to the zealotry of those who follow him and those who hate him.
Some of his followers will happily tar and feather anyone who points out that there are other ways of doing things, or anyone who talks to those on The Other Side. Some of his enemies would be quite happy to see him ridden out of town backwards on an ass.
And to all those people I say, "Seriously, give it up. You are wasting a huge amount of energy that could be spent on something you actually enjoy." Because when all is said and done, it matters very very little. You can guess from this little rant break that I had to deal with some of the zealotry and some of the repercussions of said zealotry over the course of the weekend.
I liked Thanatos very much when he said "I had no idea that I was meant to choose a side, and when I wanted to just talk to X [pro-Hugh zealot] and get some things sorted, he went off at me for talking to Y [anti-Hugh zealot] and I just sat there thinking, guys, he's not the Messiah!"
Between Thanatos and the wonderful Mistress Cairistiona's mantra of "Screw the politics, let's have a good event", I was quite convinced that Borderscross had a huge amount of potential and would survive any bullshit.
Did Cairistiona succeed in making it a good event? Bloody oath. It was an absolute cracker of a feast with loads of delicious food coming out at well-timed intervals all nice and hot and early. And there were vegetables! Yummy plates of vegetables! It was all very well presented, too; not so fussy that it was likely to put off the lads, but taste-filled and exciting. I know that this will sound patronising, and I don't mean it to, but I was surprised at how good the kitchen was given that it had no Maries, Spyders, Eslas or the like. What it did have was organised people who had sat down and done good plans and come up with a menu that really worked, and everyone seemed as well fed as the High Table, so that was a big plus.
We skipped out on the event briefly to hold a Knights' Council. It was very positive and very fast and I wish that all Knights' Councils were as sensible as that one was. Clearly you need to be keeping everyone from going back to eating and drinking in order to stop the waffle. We had a brief pause to play with the Crown Princess's wig, since Asa had shaved her hair off a few weeks earlier to raise money for cancer reseach. She rocks. She also managed to be the only member of the royalty to be sitting down to watch the dance performance, so gets all the gold stars for the weekend and we other three are very bad. I'm told that it was a quite good performance, so she doesn't get that many gold stars. It's not like when you take one for the team that you know will involve wailing sharp sopranos (no, J, I never will forgive you for leaving me there.)
The evening featured a series of good awards including a GoA for Lowry and well-deserved Golden Tears for Rauf le Brewere and William FitzSymon, plus some AoAs that were very hard -won for several of the younger and newer people. Everyone looked speccy and practically no-one was smashed. Cornelius did not sing again in the hall all through the course of the evening, and there was much happiness in the land.
We invested the Crown P&P properly with the shiny hats, and we were very happy that it was them, because they're really good to hand over to. Aside from them being better looking and nicer people than us, they're practically perfect. And they can't help not being old and decrepit. Although that bloody niceness is a bit much.
Throughout the course of the evening we were aware of a mutter of kicky commentary behind the High Table. It was Adele, Marie and Manfred. They formed an unholy cabal of Manfred in his butler mode and two women with sharp minds and witty tongues. Butler Manfred is a demon with a sharp blade, but it is almost impossible to keep a straight face while he is commenting on the day's events. Which is a bloody pain because while his back is to the populace, yours is not. Add to that the Canadian killer comments from a certain Southron Gaarder and the arch eyebrow acting provided by Marie and it was very very hard to keep our faces straight all night. I suspect we did not succeed.
The next morning we trotted out to site again for a catch-up with the Crown P&P. Marie and Manfred abandoned us in their pursuit of tasty comestibles, but the rest of the gang were there to greet us over hot chocolates and snackage. We pottered about at the stalls, annoyed the children, realised that there was bugger all that would be left as a worry for the Crown P&P, so just chatted, thanked Cairistiona and her gang for such a kicking event, sent Dobbin of for agistment and then sodded off.
It was such a relaxed event that it was hard to imagine that it had been the Crown Tournament, especially when you compare it to the angst-filled drama of our previous reign. Which J entirely missed and I had to point out all the various 'political' posturings to him about six months later when I realised that he had no idea what I was talking about in my stories of that event. This made me laugh rather a lot.
The road back to Sydney was filled with nice little side trips such as the sweetie shop in Holbrook, seeing the dog on the tuckerbox at Gundagai and finding very clean roadhouse loos. Unexpectedly we spoke with Katje and co who informed us that Miles had just driven into a parked car. Having once ridden into a parked van on my bike, it could happen to anyone. Admittedly I was doing about 3kph and looking at my chain to see where it was sticking, but Miles assures me he was going very slowly and the car was very low compared to his high 4WD. As long as it's not a cyclist or pedestrian ...
I was going to write about Flametree, but I am too knackered and have too much on over the next few days, so I'll post this now and worry about that later. And for those who are saddened at the lack of Top Gear posts recently, here's a genius segment where Jeremy (in a Ferrari) races James and Richard (in a plane plus public transport) from Guildford, UK to Verbier, Switzerland. You will not believe the ending, but it's worth the huge download. Part one is here, part two is here, and part three is here.
Off to Adelaide for Claire and Eric's wedding on the weekend, yippee! We'll post photos and a round-up on Tuesday with a bit of luck.
posted by Miss D at 3:08 pm
3 Comments:
I just wanted to tell you how much I've been enjoying your blog! I stumbled across it while I was looking for bits of inter-kingdom anthropology to write up for a newcomer's class and got hooked. LOL! You write very well, have a great humorous outlook, and have said so many of the things I wish I could have said back when I was on the Trimarian throne (like "taking one for the team", disappearing kings, and such).
Anyway, I just wanted to say "Howdy ya'll!" from Trimaris!
Dulcia
Howdy, Dulcia! Good to meet you! I'm very glad that I've been able to raise a laugh. I started off writing this for the members of our royal household who weren't able to travel everywhere with us (because Lochac is huge) and it just seems to have developed a life of its own.
Although I do hope that somewhere out there is a future King, reading through and taking notes on how not to make his Queen go quietly crazy ... folorn hope, I know.
I love your icon and name! I'll have to go and read your blog, now! Actually, I'll do that on Sunday, off to a wedding in six hours and I need to sleep ...
Ahem. When you start the high table paragraph, you say Serena, not Asa. BAD YOU!
:)
Just teasing. Lovely reading your round ups, as always. It was a really lovely event, crown
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