November Crown, AS XXXXI

Greetings from the seventh to eleventh least-inspiring woman in Lochac!

Well, that was the Crown that was. For us it was a fairly rushed affair, but entertaining nonetheless. Our adventures started early in the morning where J had a brief moment of "Screw it, I'm too tired to catch the plane, let's just stay home." Given that I had had two hours sleep, I wasn't going to dispute his call if he made it, but no, it was up and at 'em and into the taxi. We made it to the airport in plently of time and then proceeded to wait. And wait. And wait a bit more. At last we were allowed onto the aeroplane, which taxied out a little, then got back to the waiting.

Baroness Helene was also on our flight, and she was able to get some much-needed sleep during all the waiting. She had described her state that morning as "Still drunk." and we understand it was bad people who made her drink all the alcohol. I was cheerfully calculating times and distances, and made a point to J that we would be a bit tight for time when we got to Launceston. He, of course, ignored this.

The flight was uneventful, Launceston airport is beautiful (amazing rhododendrons!) and Helene met up with Hunnydd and Rusty for her ride. Being a low-key airport, one collects baggage from the baggage trucks that drive it into the bay beside the gates. J had by this time done one of his famed disappearing tricks, stating that he would be off to get the car, then not reappearing. So I collected my suitcase, his armour bag and his shield bag. Then I had to try and make it through the crowd while wheeling two large bags and carrying a shield bag, handbag and hatbox. I was a little terse at the people who decided to stage their reunion in the doorway, but I did not knock anyone to the ground and roll over them, so it was all right.

Helene, Hunnydd and Rusty drove off. I waited for J. I rang his mobile – switched off. I waited some more. I said some rude words. About quarter of an hour later, he appeared having been to the loo, grabbed the car, got a drink, checked his hair and a few other missions in between. We now had exactly 90 minutes before the Coronation Court was due to begin, and needed to sign into the lists, get armoured and be presented to Their Majesties by then, as well as drive the journey that Arnfinr had estimated at 90 minutes.

Apparently that was at Tasmanian driving speeds, which involve going somewhere near the speed limit eventually. J drives at the exact speed limit constantly unless impeded by other cars or traffic lights. So we were already making up time when we came into Launceston and had an L-plater attempt to drive into the side of us. We, being from Sydney, made large WTF?! gestures at the poor young man, and we didn't mind him cringing and pretending he still couldn't see us so much as we minded his dad in the teacher's seat pretending that we were not there. Apologise for stupidity, you gimboid, or how will your son learn?

Anyway, we carried on and were soon on the 'highway'. Tasmanian roads are very small and narrow and have infrequent passing opportunities. J was going spare whenever he saw another car ahead, and a poor caravan received a great deal of abuse that he did not deserve, but since it was muttered quietly some distance behind him, no harm was done.

After a fun winding drive for J (trip of terror for me), we made it out to the event in 72 minutes and had just enough time to sign in and armour up. I threw on a frock and had one plait done when we needed to present to Their Majesties, so I left J armouring and went off to represent us. They had a good laugh, and that is what matters.

The list was quite good. There were 18 fighters and it was rather top-heavy. There were some old-school fighters there, Styvryn and Reynardine most notably, then a fair whack of Chiv: Jarl Alfar and Duke J, Sir Hugh, Sir Agro and Sir Asbjorn. Then there were the known unbelts, Blayney, Bran, Somerled, Miles, Steffan, Miles and the MacAndreis brothers, plus Wulfgar, Drake and several others who could swing a stick reasonably.

Art had spread her Roman Virus (as Snorri later opined, surely that should be pronounced wirus) and had Katje and Eadie with her, all three looking lovely.

It was just as well that Art was looking particularly lovely, because before the biff began, Their Majesties called up Baron Master Blayney and asked him to join the order of Chivalry. At last he said yes! YAY! So they sent him off to vigil and he will be buffetted at Festival.

Back to the biff. J and I were there to make a day of it, but only win if the rest of the field made a complete hash of it. Steffan Glaube, who I completely respect for determination, challenged J in the first round and was sadly defeated. J joked with him that it was one of the rare times that J had had his brain working in the first round, but he did feel for Steffan. On the upside, Steffan's fighting is noticeably improving, even if he didn't get the win (can't remember who he faced the next round, but they were similarly tough and he was out in two. A shame.)

Miles was also out in two, but as he had challenged Hugh and then drawn Alfar, there was no disgrace in those losses. He did his consort proud and was a very worthy recipient of the Shining Helm later that day.

Blayney, Asbjorn, Alfar and Hugh all started out well and were on their way. We had picked them as our top four and were pretty much on the money. However, there were some other standout fighters through the course of the day. At the begining, Styvryn was in lovely flowing form and clocked J in the sconce with the same blow that he used against him in a Coronet many, many years ago. J couldn't stop laughing that he had fallen for it, and gave full points to the Viscount for cunning and ability.

In the third round, J came up against Alfar, and a hush descended as the two lads played a lengthy game of My Pose is Mightier than Your Pose. After an enormous amount of blocking and feinting, Alfar got one through and J was out. I asked him later why he had not taken Alfar's arm, which was just hanging out to the side through much of the bout. (I've been paying attention in my lessons) J replied that at first he had thought it would not be Chivalric, and then he had thought, Well, I could, but I don't really want to win and he does, and then he thought, Maybe I should because it's not chivalric to not do your utmost against your opponent, and then he got so caught up in the internal debate that he was killed.

J is very good looking, but can tend to over-think things.

But the death was the least of his worries as earlier in the bout he'd copped an almighty thwack in the foot. This was just one of those cock-ups that happens now and then. Alfar was fairly sure that it must have been deflected off a shield, but we thought it went straight in and the video evidence agrees. So a full-pace Alfar blow to the foot – J was a squealy monkey and shouted "Ow!" a lot. Once we'd determined there was nothing broken, it was a bit funny. Beautiful bruise, though. No tapdancing for that J.

Around the fourth round, our favourites started coming up against each other. Hugh defeated Blayney and Styryn defeated Bran. In the next round, Alfar defeated Blayney, putting him out for the day, and Asbjorn put out Styvryn. Hugh put Reynardine out in this round, too. Reynardine had fought very well through the course of the day and it was a pleasure to watch his glee in the tournament. Watching him and Styvryn was a good reminder of fashions in fighting, too, as several of the younger lads had no idea how to address their styles of fighting.

We were all very sorry to see Blayney go, but these things will happen. And who else walked away from the event with a vigil to plan?

This led to the final rounds. We were down to three fighters, Asbjorn drew the bye and Hugh defeated Alfar. This was a very good bout, by the way, as Alfar is very hard to kill in a tournament and has a massive defence.

So at that point, Alfar and Hugh had both dropped one life (Hugh to Bran earlier in the day in what was another rocking fight) and Asbjorn had dropped none. But the List decided to send Alfar straight through to the final and make Hugh and Asbjorn fight it out for the second spot. I may well be missing something here, but that makes no sense to me. Either Asbjorn should have gone straight through as the only undefeated fighter and Hugh and Alfar fought it out for the second spot (which would have been odd as it would have been a reply of the bout before) or Hugh should have gone straight through as the victor of the first semi and then Alfar and Asbjorn fought it out for the second spot.

If anyone can give me a logical explanation for what happened, please do because I am quite confused. I freely admit knowing next-to-nothing about the arcane art of listkeeping and there is probably a sensible reason, I just can't see it.

Whatever the reason, the Asbjorn v Hugh bout was a great fight. While I admit to being biased in favour of a Kiwi King, Hugh was fighting brilliantly on the day and it could have gone either way. I did ask Therasa afterwards if they were both a little mad or if they just have the best behaved baby ever, she assured me that Angelina is a dream baby and that while perhaps a little mad, they weren't bonkers. (I met Angelina later, she really is adorable.) As things turned out, a splendid blow to the Hugh's body saw Asbjorn victorious and Hugh graciously applauded his defeat.

When Asbjorn won, it was a very good victory over a worthy opponent. The crowd were thrilled that our favourite Swedish/Kiwi knight was going into the finals and a frisson of excitement went through the crowd.

Except in our corner of the field where it was a frisson of "Who has a mobile with international covereage that has reception here?"

In my stylish way I had said to Asbjorn "It probably hasn't escaped your notice that you're in the final..."

He replied stoically, "I'm treating every fight like the one before it."

"Good," I encouraged. "You will need an entourage, would you like me to organise it for you?"

"Yes please!" he replied. Then his brain caught up with reality. "I need to ring my lady and make her worried, too!"

Blessed Blayney provided a phone with signal (it was a bit of a black spot) and the lovely Baroness katherine kerr, who had already agreed to Herald for Sir Asbjorn (and who had already spent most of the day helping the over-worked local Lists), broke the news to Marienna. Whose reply was extremely typical. Once convinced that it was not a joke, she proceeded to be rather stressed in Wellington while Asbjorn stressed graciously in Tasmania.

In the absence of his lady, Sir Asbjorn did me the great honour of asking me to stand for her on the field, so only two blog posts after wishing I could be Marienna's stunt double, my dream was realised! I now wish for $130 million so that I can make pharmaceuticals at reasonable prices.

Duke J carried the good knight's shield, Master Blayney carried his helm, and Art provided some
extra beauty. Baron Bartholomew was originally meant to be there, too, but I lost track of him in all the to-ing and fro-ing. We got the band together and then trekked out onto the list field for the small court that precedes every Crown Tourney final. Because I was only Mistress Marienna's stunt double, I stayed a step behind Sir Asbjorn and was also useful in the sun shading department, there being no ozone layer in Tasmania. But I think that I may have been more nervous for her than I usually am for myself.

The pre-final court was very much as it always is. The consort and stunt double were given over to the Queen for safe keeping, the King enjoined the fighters to do their best and not make him have to slap anybody. One of the things that I like about Draco is that I feel confident he would slap if called for, bless. Then Lochac's most and least experienced Crown finalists got ready for the two or three bouts that would see the next Crown declared.


Sir Asbjorn was aided in his readiness by a Duke, two Pelicans and Lochac's cutest apprentice. He missed having Marienna there in person very much, but was determined not to let his nerves get the better of him. He got ready crisply and cleanly and took the field assertively. Alfar was, as always, focussed on the fight and moved with economy and purpose. Asbjorn added a moment of comedy to the salutes by mentioning that he owed Alfar for a nose; you may spot the plaster on Asbjorn's in the photos from where Jarl Alfar had thwacked him earlier in the day.

And then it was on. Now I have been watching fighting for a long time, though doing it for only a little, but I have a bag of theories about how some people fight. And I admit that the language I have for them is idiosyncratic. A lot of what Alfar does is victory bullshit. I don't mean that in any derogatory sense, it's the same as the way that a lot of my writing is bullshit designed to make you think that we're hanging around and chatting. What it means is that a great deal of his movements and actions are not connected to an immediate aim or even shot; they're all about imposing his will on the fight and convincing his opponent that Alfar is so utterly in control that the opponent hasn't got a chance. Then they either start making dumb mistakes or they overthink things.

J had already made the mistake of overthinking in the third round, and it came up again in the final. In the first bout, Asbjorn had a number of shots that he just could not power through to Alfar enough, before Alfar brought a good one in. Because I am such an elegant stunt double, I was standing next to the Queen muttering "Take his arm! Don't fall for the bullshit. Move! Argh!" In the second final bout there was a sequence of blows that clearly left Asbjorn somewhat confused. He dropped his sword and shield a little, but did not step back out of range. Clang! It was all over, and Alfar and Gudrun were heirs to the throne.

While I was very disappointed for Asbjorn and Marienna, I like Alfar and Gudrun, too, so at least we know that there will be another reign of goodness in the offing. And Gudrun will be wearing one of her pleaty floaty smocks at Coronation, so we fashion police have reason to celebrate.

Court followed, with Sir Hugh receiving another well-deserved wreath of chivalry and Viscount Reynardine the wreath of valour. I'd have taken photos, except I am a terrible photographer (all the good ones here were taken by Athol with my camera) and I also forgot. Eh. Asbjorn made a lovely speech thanking Marienna for being his inspiration and exhorted all the fighters there to take the field whenever they could to give honour to their opponents and to their consorts. It was a lovely moment, and we all felt the absence of Marienna nearly as much as Asbjorn did.

And while Their Royal Highnesses were celebrating, everyone else kicked back and relaxed somewhat. Here's J relaxing with a big bag of ice on his foot (Thanks to Baroness Isobel of Polit!)

Hunnydd kept him company because she is lovely. She also mocked him a bit, but that's normal. And it was nowhere near as silly as later in the night when there was far too much silly talk for me to keep track of, but it seemed that J and Rusty were meant to be running off with each other at one point. Or perhaps me and Hunnydd? I lost track and I was sober. Sleep deprived, though.

It was at about this point that I decided to take photos to prove that certain people were at the event. Sadly, because I am a rubbish photographer, I can only prove that for a certain fraction of people who actually were there..

Baron Allesandro was there. Like the redoubtable Baron Bartholomew, he spent most of the day marshalling to make sure that the defeated fighters could get in as much pick-up fighting as possible, bless him. He and Isobel are so very lovely, and also funny. He decided that he needed to take a photo of me to prove that I was at the event and hadn't just sent my camera off with someone else in a bid to seem like a good correspondent. So here's his shot of me:

With two of the locals, whose names I actually do know, but can't remember. Arnfinr will hopefully fill us in any day now and I can come back and edit this bit to look less vague. I feel particularly stupid forgetting the woman's name as I spent hours with her the last time we were in Tassie. Eh, I've forgotten whole years, so it's not like one more name is going to worry anyone.

Hunnydd and Maeve were there, of course. Hunnydd and Rusty stopped by the tournament as part of their World tour of Tasmania, in which they were having a great deal of fun. I am very jealous that they went to the chocolate factory, because in all my visits I have never once made it there. Rusty seemed to be enjoying himself, even with J crapping on at him at length and Hunny and I somehow ending up at girl-on-girl action. Actually, it may not be that weird that he was amused by that part ...


Castle Saburac were there! In big numbers, too. Hi Is! Hugh and Therasa brought Angelina with them (naturally) and she was a very pretty little squirmer. She is reasonably tall but slight, which I think has a causal connection with Therasa's quite low-stress birth (as described: "Not the easiest thing I've ever done, but on the whole, pretty good.") She's a very aware baby, too, I give her three years before she's wielding a boffer.


Art the beautiful apprentice was there. She was feeling very chuffed that the girls wore Roman to support her and Blayney, and Bleddynn and Athol were there to help, too, which was very sweet. They are lovely chaps.

Art's wig had been redone into fiendish corkscrew curls, hours with the curling rags, I'm told. While it seems like a lot of effort, it does make much more sense to do it once and then stick it on your head when you need it rather than trying to dress your own hair for each event. Blayney described this as the cleavage frock and was very supportive in Art's wearing of it.

Young Eadie made her own jewellery for the event, after making garb and shoes under Art's instruction. Art was very proud of her stunt double, and I was very proud of Art for being so inspirational. That wirus is catching!

Their Excellencies were also there, natch, but fairly buggered by this stage. It was a big event and had a lot of elements to it. On the whole, Elyas did a good job, although there were some elements that needed tweaking. The B&B had done a fair bit of that tweaking and needed nothing more than a good lie-in by this stage. They very kindly let us stay at their place, which I must say is fabulous! Great garden and a fabbo view, luckily there are no neighbours downhill because J decided he had to flash the valley, declaring that he was certain Arnfinr did that sort of thing all the time. I was very glad to find that the cats we fed did belong to them, as did the many chickens and ducks, the peacock and the goat. They clearly need a pony, though.

The stars of the day were, of course, our glorious King and Queen, who ran a very good tournament and kept things moving sensibly all day. They also made sure we had a cracking Laurel meeting the next morning that was very sensible and unemotive, bless them. They kindly posed for my Draco and Asa Unplugged shot, but then HeMaj pointed out that it only proved they were there, not that I was allowed into their august presence.

So I held the camera up over my shoulder and took this shot, and while milions of people have dark hair and pale skin, there are very few who have braids that messy. At least there were two braids fully plaited by this stage. I was horrified to learn that Duchesses are supposed to be dignified, courtly and groomed. Luckily for the kingdom, Morwynna has that lot sorted and Asa will join her in the looking good stakes. I ride a horse very well, that's a Duchessly trait, too!

We buggered off to shower at the B&B's and time slipped away (probably because we stopped at the Latrobe RSL for drinks and snacks, surprisingly good, BTW.) So by the time we made it back it was 9pm and dinner was half over. The girls had saved us some tasty lamb, though, and some very good butter beans. The hall looked great with its huge candle chandeliers. A band had been hired to provide music and they were spectacular. It really added to the atmosphere and led to all sorts of pleasantness, including Colette de Harcourt dancing, which is always good. Hunnydd looked great in her bee frock and I say that with completely innocent intentions!

I tried a few low-light shots, but was thwarted by the fact that I am a rubbish photographer and have spent the last two-and-three-quarter years not reading the instructions for my camera. Here's Eadie and Athol, at any rate. They were having a good time, especially once Blayney broke out the good Tequila.

Sadly I have no shots of Katje as she was off making an Imperial Conquest of the kitchen. Fear not, Taswegians, she is Canadian, so at least she understands the Queen and Enid Blyton. I understand there were some Issues with vegetables, but since I saw a handful of broadbeans and had already scoffed a good steak sandwich at the RSL, I could never work out exactly what the issues were. (Deense, I love you, but you are not a good explainer when pissed, as the whole story came out as "ARGH! Vegetables! I can't believe it! How hard? Vegetables!" And it was a few minutes before I could sort out that you were talking about a kitchen disaster and not people performing lewd acts with carrots and courgettes.)

Sir Asbjorn had drunk more than anyone else, because he is Swedish, and yet was far less plastered than most of the others, because he is Swedish. The sweet thing about Sir Asbjorn is that he is exactly himself when plastered, only more so. He swanned up to Art, Eadie and me and said "It's not fair, I moved to the other end of the table to find beautiful ladies, and now you're all up here."

Art replied, "I was up here before, and you moved!" To which Asbjorn cheekily said, "Well, I was in search of more women!" And, having flirted outrageously, proceeded to tell us at great length all about his wife and how much he loves her. Aw ...

As you can see from the shot, Art and Eadie were very beautiful and I scrub up OK for an old girl. I had my good hat on! We managed to hold out till around midnight, offered Blayney a lift back to his B&B, only to be rebuffed in favour of more alcohol, and then managed to get slightly lost on the way back to Arnfinr's. Luckily he was going past us when we took the wrong turn-off and some quick mobile phoning saw the situation fixed. Which is why you should always leave your phone on, J!

We then spent hours gasbagging about the day, the barony and the universe, but without cocoa. So we'll have to return one day and do the D&M thing properly. On the whole we had a grand old time, and discovered the next morning that you can actually do the run from the event to the airport in 63 minutes if you try. Which was a bit of a relief, as things turned out, since that plane left on time.

Oh, and as for the title of this missive, yes, I know that 41 is now usually represented as LXI, but Miss D is from the 16th century, where XXXXI is fine. And being a good Australian, I find four Xes very funny.