Diary of a Pointy Hat

Shush, I've been busy. Plus, Inspirational Equality.

2011-12-03T00:23:00.004+11:00

So. About that return to blogging …

Look, I did make it to a few events this year. Well, Great Northern War and a cool thing in Mordenvale that Viscountess C dragged me to (it was ACE!), plus a day or two of Festival. And they reminded me of a lot of the things I really enjoy about the SCA, almost to the point of me making new frocks and leaping back in.

But I'm still at that point where some of the attitudes from a minority of the people send me into such a frothing rage that it's probably for the best that I stay away a little while longer. Until I can bring myself to talk to about a dozen people without shouting 'You Raging Hypocrite!' I should stick to the gym and cycling and deep breathing exercises to build control.

Having said that, there have been some BRILLIANT developments in the SCA this year that I want to applaud. YAY for the SCA Inc for realising there is no reason to say not to homosexual couples as Barons and Baronesses! For too long we have left some of the finest couples in the game on the sidelines in these essential roles because of absolutely non-essential details like their gender. It's a great step that there is now a clear-cut and positive decision on this issue.

And I was so impressed by the An Tir Crown last September who worked so beautifully with their Kingdom's Inspirational Equality movement in support of same-sex couples wishing to contend Crown tournaments. It was done with grace, yet without sacrificing the political point.

The subsequent discussion on the Lochac List was mostly really thoughtful, too. For many people, this issue was a clear-cut one of rights (I agree with this position), while others expressed an objection to same-sex Crowns based on the fact they like there to be Queens in each reign.

It surprised me that there was an automatic assumption that same-sex reigns would see fewer Queens in Lochac. Certainly, men have won all the Lochac Crown tournaments so far, but thinking of the gay and lesbian couples I have known in the SCA, the girls have all been more likely to be authorised heavies, so it's quite possible that they will have a statistical advantage should same-sex Crowns come about. We could end up with more Queens.

Predictably, a number of hypothetical scenarios were pitched to 'prove' it would be a bad idea for women, the most loudly voiced being that two mythical superdukes would fight for each other and dominate the Kingdom. When I first heard this, I was torn between childish giggles that I had long suspected something between Jade and Uther (sorry, Uther!) and then mad cackling at the thought of Alfar and Cornelius hooking up (There Would Be Blood).

It is an absurd idea however you look at it, from the simple fact that it would reduce their dominance to one reign every two as opposed to the current repeat-sequential-with-pliant-consorts possibility, to the more human fact that the small handful of dukes who have enough personal issues to even consider this also have enough personal issues about their sexuality to make it an impossibility.

But the idea that people like there to be a King and a Queen is a less absurd one, and one that bears some thinking about. I've liked all our Queens, even the ones who caused a spot of head-desking. We've all worked damned hard at the job (for new readers, I've done it twice, and was Princess once when we were a Principality), and brought a degree of grace to the role that has generally played well with the populace.

But when I thought about this at length, none of the things we've done as Queen have been essentially female things. We dressed well, we mediated, we made nice speeches, we enforced a basic level of cleanliness and sobriety in the Court – a man could do any one of these things.

Similarly, a woman could do anything a King has done, and in other Kingdoms, the roles of tournament victor and consort have been played by a woman and man respectively without those Kingdoms coming to an end, or even having the wobblies.

One of the most common compliments that we received as Crown was that we presented a strong unit and were a good example of the fighter-consort relationship. Now some of this was because at events, no-one sees me growl at Ædward for not doing the dishes, nor him nag me to pack away my books. But most of it comes from the fact that we both love and like each other a great deal. This is not contingent on us being heterosexual. It's not even contingent on a sexual relationship. Edmund and Leonore were a lovely Crown, where each had the utmost respect and affection for each other, but were mother and son. Berenger and Bethan were just wonderful on the throne, but platonic friends.

Is it possible to be just as inspired by a same-sex couple? I would argue that it very much is. Some of the strongest relationships in my peer group, people who I think of when not throttling Ædward for non-dishes doing, are gays and lesbians. If they can rub along for decades with far more mundane challenges to their relationships than mine, then I can get over myself.

As to the theatrical aspects of reigning, at the risk of buying into a cliche, I would hazard that very few gay Kings will find it harder than a straight King to carry off the role.

Still, if you really like the idea of looking at a King and a Queen in court, I can see that it would not be perfect for you. But I think that what you would lose is not as much as what other people would gain. Having had Ædward fight for me in Crown, I can say that it was a genuine privilege and a beautiful note in our relationship. I would love for every couple who wanted it to have that experience. And for those who liked things better the other way, well, it's hardly going to be every reign, so you just wait six months. God knows that in my years of playing there have been more than a few reigns that I have sat through mentally crossing dates off calendars. I know that won't be perfect, but nothing ever is, really.

The one thing that did upset me and make me stop reading the thread on the Lochac list was the suggestion that some people's prejudices need to be taken into account on this issue.

Sorry, but that's bullshit.

I know that there are sexist people in the Society because you don't get to be Queen without meeting some of the loudest ones (and the fact that they think you're too dim to notice you're being patronised is the most galling part of all. BUT I HAVE A LIST!!!). There may well be racist people in Lochac, none of them are stupid enough to suggest such attitudes around me. But you know what I can say for the sexists and racists? Not one of them has ever suggested that their prejudices should form the basis for how the game is played. And I respect that.

The fantasy that being anti-gay is somehow different is just that, a fantasy. Anti-gay prejudices lock citizens of this country out of rights and privileges that are open to every other citizen. They get gay people beaten and killed. Still. Anti-gay bullying is one of the leading causes of youth suicide. The simple fact that every argument trotted out against gay marriage was previously used against inter-racial marriage ought to be something of a heads-up.

And as for 'it's unnatural', homosexual behaviour and relationships are found in most social mammals and birds. From our closest genetic relatives the bonobo chimps (very gay), to dolphins, giraffes, elephants, penguins, black swans, wallabies and koalas, it's all well documented out there in the natural world with over 1500 species so far recorded as exhibiting homosexual and bisexual behaviour. But we are the only species with homophobes.

You may have detected a bit of taking it personally in this post. I do. Growing up the daughter of a lesbian I have experienced and witnessed first-hand astonishing acts of anti-gay prejudice that the perpetrators attempted to pass off as 'normal'. One of the best things about my lifetime is that most of the world has called bullshit on that alleged 'normal'. I hope that by the time I am a crochetty old lady with a stick, little kiddies will be as startled at the idea of discrimination as we are that there was ever a White Australia Policy.

In only slightly related news, Ædward went shopping today and came home with some practise swords. Apparently part of the current fitness programme will finally see me authorised. Huzzah! And perhaps even him re-authorised. (Probably not for a while at the rate I sew gambesons, but still.) This is a good thing, as it's probably about time that a few of the Chivalry stalwarts like Sir Gui had the chance to thwack me back after all those years of me sending kids in their direction.

Is it safe to come out?

2011-01-27T16:44:00.002+11:00

My poor wee blog that started out as a place to have a good old winge or grump, with the occasional bit of insider tippage, found itself as a site for SCA reviews -- the social pages, if you will -- which led to less of me being able to get a few thoughts out and more of an expectation that I would be writing up the latest news asap.

This was not fun, so I fled. At the same time, the SCA became not fun, so I walked away.

But I have not burned my bridges, I still have interests, many friends and great students in the SCA. Indeed, I'm even researching a frock. I think I have a few posts I would like to put up here, and it's possible that one or two of the people I used to enjoy conversing with still have a flag on this blog, which would be lovely. This is really just a test to check that the waters are fairly quiet!

Having said that, I can now imagine any reader carefully not replying, but instead whispering 'Tremendously quiet! Now spill some goss!'

We're not dead ...

2007-08-09T00:28:00.000+10:00

... it just feels as though we are.

Recently a few people have rung to ask if we have fallen off the face of the Earth. No, and yes. We're still physically anchored to the planet, but have been so disgustingly debilitated by the horrible flu this year that for the last four or so weeks we have done exactly nothing.

Actually, that's not quite true. This is what I have done for the last four weeks:
* Get off plane from New Zealand, all enthused about great event with lovely people.
* Start feeling a bit under the weather.
* Struggle through the next week toughing it out.
* Attend grandmother's funeral in blisteringly cold weather.
* Sleep for the weekend, which was unfortunately the same weekend as Harry Potter VII came out and Bunch of Classes was on – an event at which I was meant to be teaching a class and running a pot-luck feast. Luckily J took over the latter, bless him.
* Was dragged out TV shopping on Sunday morning with J, because TV is more important than me not dying. As a result of my weak and febrile state, he now has a big shiny TV that I paid more than twice as much as I wanted to for. I'm taking the blessings back.
* Struggled into work on Monday for deadline.
* Slept Tuesday and Wednesday. Wednesday afternoon, J announces that he is now sick with the flu, too. I pointed out that if he'd stayed in the spare room as I asked him to, he would still be healthy and we'd both have had more sleep. He grunts at me and asks me to cook up soup. I am thankful that expensive deli soup exists, since it's no effort but tastes good.
* Saturday, after three days of coughing, J asks me to look at his ears. "They're bleeding," I say. "That's not a good sign. You should go to the doctor, or maybe the hospital."
* Sunday, much as Saturday.
* Monday morning at 12.30am, J decides to go to the hospital. This is seven hours before I start work. I walk him up to Newtown, make sure he's settled, taxi back.
* On arriving home I pick up the cat to move her out of the way. Notice she has a lump on the side of her face. Leave instructions for J to take cat to vet next day.
* 4.45am J gets home, he has managed to cough holes in both eardrums. Some boys just don't know when to stop in the "I have this worse than you" game.
* Monday evening after long deadline day I take cat to vet with her now larger lump. Abscess, requires surgery.
* Tuesday, pick up groggy cat with drain through face. Hand over almost exactly the same amount I paid for the TV. Goodbye dreams of new laptop and printer, goodbye! Bring cat home to a novel life of being indoors and wearing a bucket. Luckily, she is both toilet trained and fastidious, plus a genuinely sweet cat, especially given she used to be feral.
* Last week and a half is spent with three sick people being asleep a lot and awake at odd hours and living on toast and deli soup. Missed at least three other things I really really wanted to go to and was so sick I hallucinated Harry Potter passages.

So, in short, I'm not avoiding anyone or anything except inasmuch as I like most of you and do not want to infect you. Also, have exactly enough energy to walk up hill to ATM and back. This is actually a big improvement on Monday when running for the train required 10 minutes panting until lungs worked again.

If someone near you sneezes, RUN, FLEE, THROW ON A FACEMASK! This is a horrible, horrible flu and is knocking people over like some crazed skittles metaphor that I'd construct elegantly if only my brain was not still full of snot.

And there are three posts lined up ready to go as soon as I can write again: Midwinter, Peerage Secrets You May As Well Know, and, my personal favourite, What My Cat Looks Like in a Bucket. You lot stay well. And to Phil, Deense and other plague victims, get better!

An aside ...

2007-07-20T20:58:00.000+10:00

I could have sworn I'd posted here more recently, but no. Er, been v busy sewing, writing, travelling and at the moment coughing up a lung (again?! It must be the lack of sleep that gets me because in all other ways I'm as healthy as a horse (a happy horse, not a pit pony.))

Having a strange day dealing with death in the family and the serendipitous finding of old friends at the same time, plus a package that I had thought sacrificed to the mail gods finally arrived from England today, much postal happiness! But enough of this blather, what do I think this is: LJ? On to today's rant, the subject of which is Harry Potter.

And a few of you are looking at me askance. There's the "Sweetie, this is a mad SCA rant Blog, you're confused" brigade, they should hold off for a few days and I will finish up the glowing wrap-up of MidWinter; there's the "Dude, you have degrees in Eng Lit and have a suspiciously thick pile of notebooks beside your bed that would suggest a touch of authorialism, what's going on?" set, they should read on for an explanation; and there's the "ARGH! ARGH! She mentioned He Who Must Not Be Named!!" gang and to them I say, seriously, and you thought Animal Liberationists were zealots? Take a deep breath and get over it.

So, Harry Potter. I like JK Rowling's magnum opus. I was late coming to it, just after book 3 hit the shelves, and so came in at the time when it was taking its more adult turn. I liked the first two books well enough, but they were light and sweet for the most part, and if they'd stayed like that, I wouldn't have kept reading, or at least not in hardback. But they didn't. Things grew darker.

And I realised why I was enjoying reading: because these were, as all good kids should be, focussed on death. Death is the cornerstone of great children's literature, whether narrowly escaping it, being touched by it, needing to administer it for a greater good, or embracing it as a final peace. From the Brothers Grimm to Joan Aiken, from Beowulf to the Bible, everything that I was passionate about reading as a child keyed into the sense of mortality that I had so strongly as a young child (then lost for a little while as a teenager, then met differently after my most serious near-death experience (because I'd had enough life by then to reach some sort of calm about the whole thing)).

So books three and four are my favourites, where the structures of the kids' world slowly reveal themselves as unsafe, unprotecting, and able to be beaten. But the traditional virtues of loyalty, perserverence and ingenuity are valued, too. No one is valued solely for their looks, the heroes are all stupid on occasion (more so in books five and six) and the bad guys are presented with enough ambivalence that their badness is usually not wholly certain (Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy aside).

Books five and six have been fascinating for their treatment of a post September 11, 2001 world. Terrorism and its media responses litter the page. Civil liberties are eroded as governments panic. Watching JKR's responses to the turn of the millennium has been fascinating, even if her editors clearly threw up their hands and stepped down from parts of their posts after book 4 (because 5 and 6 could have stood a little sharpening).

More than just seeing the children grow up in 'real' fictive time (which is interesting in itself), the series has presented a world that fractures under the weight of an unexpected attack. I can't think of any other children's literature set in any roughly 'real' world that deals this explicitly with the current climate.

Yes Potter has plot problems (usually inconsistencies that would have been caught by keener editors), yes she's not a perfect writer, yes the whole blockbuster juggernaut thing is annoying. But I will be getting up early tomorrow to go and pick up my copy, and I will enjoy reading it, just as I enjoyed watching the film last weekend (and somehow I ended up enjoying that twice. Brilliant Umbridge, but I missed the Prophet vs the Quibbler subplot.)

As to what I think will happen, look away now if it's Friday night and you don't even want speculative spoilers, feel free to read through and laugh if it's after that and I'm horribly wrong:
* I think Voldemort will die and Harry will live, powers intact and perhaps no longer needing glasses or possibly without his scar since JKR has made such a point of physicallising issues in her texts.
* I think the characters we care about who die will include Hagrid, because he's pretty much fulfilled all of his narrative functions and she was desperately looking for somewhere to stash him in the last book. I suspect a Weasley may cop it, probably not mum because JKR has some well-grounded dead mother issues, and that means Dad can't die either, or either of the two younger kids. Percy could well be in for it -- sacrificing himself to save one or more family members in a way that is both apologetic and redemptive at the same time, otherwise my money would be on Charlie, since all he does is ride dragons and act like Lord Flashheart.
* If we really do lose one of the Big Three, my money would be on Hermione, since this has all been one giant first novel and first-time novellists often kill off "themselves".
* If she kills Neville, I will swear a whole lot. I'm keen for him to end up with Luna Lovegood, and for the two of them to break new ground in cryptoherbology.
* Snape good or bad? I'm going for good based on nothing more than Dumbledore's trust and my undying passion for Alan Rickman. Suspect he will play crucial role in denoument, quite likely to end up dead hero. After all, what else is there for him to do? (Stepping right away from his endless terrifying adventures in slashland.)
* I'm willing to wager a tiny amount on Draco turning out good, too, and ending up as head of Slytherin House while teaching potions. Alternatively, he ends up as Voldemort's butt monkey and dies in a scene of cliffhanging anticipation. But I suspect that if there are any cliffhangers involving Draco, he'll turn the balance in Harry's favour at a crucial moment. Because JKR finds it really hard to make smart people plain old bad.
* Depending on how much influence JKR had on the last film, Ron could turn out to be more central. Rupert Grint was cheerfully stealing all the scenes in the film (mostly because he's a slightly better actor than the others) but he seemed to be awfully foregrounded, as he was in book six, although that was mostly to give the subplots somewhere to hang.
* Harry will end up very happy, perhaps an auror or teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Because JKR is the most motherly mother in the world, and there is no way on Earth she's killing her baby.

In just over 12 hours, I can find out for myself!

Canterbury Faire III: The return of the midgets!

2007-06-19T02:20:00.000+10:00

Can I just point out that as I begin to write this there is a genuine gale bordering on cyclone blowing outside. So if it suddenly starts sounding a bit odd, part of the roof will have blown off and I'll be holding a brolly over the computer.

For all the lovely people who have sent nice notes regarding la or le rumourmongering eedjit, it really is just the horror of the possibility that someone thinks my tastes in men run to anything other than the Sean Bean-esque (which J actually is (and 10 points Blayney for being the only one to notice the comment he picked up on)).

I still plan to slap the rumour monger should I find him or her, because anyone that much of an eeeedjit just deserves a good slap.

But since I have unwittingly provided a good belly laugh to so many people on this, it's worth the eyerolling at my end. And, as Marie pointed out, our eeedjit at least had the good sense to slander two people whose partners wouldn't be the least bit upset by such eeeedjitcy. And yes, no-one says idiot like the Irish, so that's a guest voice making an appearance in this blog entry. And unlike all my other impressions (save an uncanny Uther on helium), I can actually do a passable Irish. My funny Scots voice is, alas, more Polish.

But none of this is telling you more about the wonders of Canterbury Faire! And that is what I have sat down to do. Mind you, before we get any further along, I must point one vital thing out. It will not be that good next year. In fact, it's likely to be rubbish. Utter bollocks. Under no circumstances should you contemplate coming. Seriously, stay home.

Because the hordes are starting to make it seem like Festival, and that's not right!

Much of the event covered off in parts one and two, so if you've not read them, go down a few posts and you'll find them. This one's more of the round-up stuff. It's also extremely fragmentary because it's been written over a fortnight and my memory is a shambles: like my photography it's either clear and sharp, or blurred beyond any use ...

While CF is my personal happy event each year, it wasn't all wine and roses this year as a short time before, the Barony lost a little boy who was very dear and sweet and far too young. His sister Alexandria is a little girl who I've spoken to quite a bit over the last three years, she's also very sweet and such a girly girl, her mum dresses her in smocked frocks and makes her the most astonishing garb (for which mum was awarded a Lillies last year and very well deserved). Alex is one of those kids who will ask questions when she has them, so when she needed some tucking in one night and I was one of the only adults around, we did her toothbrushing and then had a bit of a chat. She understood about death, and was more saddened by the loss side than bound up in any sort of existential crisis, but she was having a very hard time coming to grips with why some people were blaming others over the sequence of events (bacterial infection at the same time all the other kids had been down with the flu, too late by the time difference spotted).

I looked around for someone smarter than me to answer that, but the only other people about were the kids in the next room. So I was blunt but tactful. "It's because adults hate admitting that sometimes there's nothing you can do. Even if Harry had gone to the hospital sooner, it might not have been soon enough. And if it had turned out to just be flu too when he was just a little bit sick, there would have been criticism that going to the hospital was a waste of resources."

"And sometimes people die even when they're in the hospital," she told me. "But wouldn't it be more sensible to see that everyone is upset and for everyone to try and be kind rather than blame each other?"

(I told you that she was a very sweet girl.)

I agreed that this would be much more sensible. "But grown-ups try to control things. And sometimes that's good because we're controlling things like having enough food or being in bed at a sensible time, but there are other things you can't control, and that's everything from big things like trucks and earthquakes, to little things like bacteria. And so you just have to try your best with them."

"So what should we do?" she asked.

I wished really hard to be replaced with someone suitably spiritual or philosophical, but alas, no luck. "We try to do as many positive things as we can. So if it's a choice between going outside on a beautiful day or sitting inside watching dumb TV, go outside. And if you want to try something new like singing but you're embarrassed, don't be, because you might be good at it and even if you're not then you'll have had a new experience. And if people say you should do something you don't want to do, tell them you don't want to. And, unless its something that has to be done like going to school or somewhere mum and dad need to go, don't go. And above all, tell people that you love them when you do."

She looked at me appraisingly. "That's good advice," she said.

"I'm old," I said on the outside. "You learn stuff." (You're young, I thought on the inside, this is just the stuff people haven't told you about yet because they were hoping you wouldn't need it. And I've left you room for any gods you may have, so I won't have your mum looking for my intestines later.)

"Bed time?" I asked.

"I'm not supposed to go to bed without anyone here," she replied in the universal kid code of I reckon I can get another hour out of this one ...

"Dickon's right next door, and I'm next to him. Give a yell and we'll come running."

Dickon, bless him, opened his door to ask what he was being dobbed in for.

This revealed that every single other child in the dormitory was in the Baskin-kerr kids' room 'getting ready for bedtime', read: gossiping and playing games depending on age bracket. Dickon, Pippin and Grace proclaimed as one that it wasn't their fault.

I decided that since I was a mad aunty rather than a parental type, it wasn't up to me to send them all scurrying off, but I would try and waylay their parents as they came into the hall at the other end of the dorm and give them enough warning to get back to the appropriate rooms if they would look out for Alex and make sure she got some good sleep. A deal was struck, and we all kept up our ends. And this is why I remain the amusing aunty figure, I'd make a terrible parent.

As it turns out, I did have a good photo of Court, here is Vitale being granted a Court Barony. This was the only photo I could find with both Royals looking good. One of the bad side-effects of court is that someone is usually saying a word that starts with w or v or p and none of these produce good faces. Either that or the person kneeling in front is caught mid-kneel and it looks like a bizarre fetish shot that you would find on a site called Wool-Covered Butts. Again, not quite the look we were going for.

As you can see, the kids took Court with all the seriousness and attention that they bring to other endeavours in their busy lives. Here Pippin and Roisin compete for Flattest Child in Camp.

Tragically, I kept laughing so hard at the regular bon mots from these two that I didn't write any of them down, which was a shame because they are two very original kids, in every sense of the phrase. Roisin was the kid who last year, on being told that Fair is nicer than Festival because there are snakes at Festival that can kill you, replied in all seriousness: " I don't think mummy's signed a permission for me to be dead."

Her mum is Fen and her sister is Orla, and how they ever get anything done while laughing at brilliant Roisinisms is beyond me. When she's older I plan to buy her some George Orwell and other good books of journalism and encourage her to make it a career, because the child has a genius.

For some reason I ended up with lots of in-focus shots of Tycho. Possibly because he is one of the only people to stand still for more than a second ...

Tycho was publicly asked to join the order of the Laurel at Canty Fair for his work in knifesmithing. At the time he said yes, and you should SEE the work he does, just lovely. Since then, though, he has thought on the topic and decided it would not be fair because he doesn't have enough time to devote to another order and wouldn't want to be a freeloading peer (my term, he was far nicer). I have immense respect for both him and his decision on this, but at the same time, it's a bit of a loss for us. He is a good voice of sense and reason and we Laurels sometimes need a little calming.

I had a very funny conversation with Rowan after Festival where I expressed surprise that the King had given me a Rowan (award, not Mistress, she's Jeremy's). She replied, "I think you're quite courteous, well, except on Laurel council ..." which is, alas, true. It would be nice to have more assertive but calm voices that could cut through or de-heighten emotive arguments in council without the crankiness I come with. It's the trouble with having an order full of artists, there's a lot of highly strung nostril flaring; it's like being back around thoroughbreds, though so far I've managed to resist twisting anyone's ear until they behave, but it's not easy! All my natural instincts say go for the ear and say loudly but calmly: "Whoa down there."

Other things at Fair included the fighter auction. I've mentioned this earlier, but without shots. Here's J, being v butch. He could tell me who that is falling over, but he's asleep. It was a fun tournament to watch, and apparently made much more money than they were planning on. Which means more fireworks at Coronation, Yay! I mentioned the format earlier, too, but as a reminder, each fighter had seven ribbons and you could take away various numbers per bout depending on where you hit them. After you lost all seven, you were out of the tournament. It added a great deal of fun to the day and quite a bit of evil if your name was Baron Inigo, for he is tricksy! (And took six ribbons from one fighter in one bout.)

The fighting stopped for the wedding of Claire and Christopher, Madeleine and Maria were bridesmaids and Marienna and Asbjorn were attendants. Sadly, most of my shots were rubbish due to a combination of dirty lens and no skill whatsoever. But it was a lovely ceremony and a very happy occasion for everyone. It was especially nice in that we were all able to join the celebration as a part of life in a normal township. The celebrant wore traditional ecclesiastical robes and the mundane guests all dressed to fit in. So it was like a genuine moment in the life of the real town of Southron Gaard. I liked this a lot, because the community there always feels very real to me, not just a bunch of friends and acquaintances sharing a giant LRP dress-up fest.

Asbjorn had fun being one of the wedding party, when it was asked if any had just cause why these two should not be wed, he drew his sword a few inches and glared about. But of course, everyone had tonnes of just cause as to why they SHOULD be wed, so there were no issues there.

It was still odd seeing Master Christopher in Elizabethan as I am so used to Master Yoshitoshi in Japanese. But he looked very fine indeed, and it certainly gives Lady Claire much more scope for frockage!

I had a mad time trying to find them a card to go with the pressie we found (which was all Japanese, DOH!) and found really beautiful envelopes, one of which I was going to fill with a nicely calligraphed note on a scrap of paper katherine found for me. I still have the envelopes. Sometimes I am the least organised person on Earth.

Afterwards the auction went back to the last few rounds. Alfar was very amusing and allowed little Ethan a bout. Ethan took the opportunity to gut His Majesty mercilessly. He's cunning, that one.

It was interesting watching the little kids who haven't been immersed in the SCA since birth or toddlerdom. And when I say immersed, I mean at camping events in particular, as Persi is wonderful at normal events but found it all a little much to be away from home every night and surrounded by strange noisy people. I think that parts of Fair were a little bit much for Ethan, too, while Maddie, Nikki and Willie took them more in their stride. But Ethan was surrounded by so many new and exciting things and was having a grand time being admired by everyone. Also, doesn't have as many connections with the other kids as Maddie, Willie and Nikki have. Well, he didn't. Next year he will, because he was such a firm favourite with all the others. So whenever he started to get a bit worked up this year, the other kids understood it was just acclimatising. That peer support in the junior set is what first amazed me about the NZ groups, and I'm happy to see it catching on at Festival and other Terra Rossa events, too.

At May Crown there were a bunch of kids I knew at the feast and some were in sulky teenage mode. But they all found the dark sofa-filled corner of the hall and sat around chatting with each other and included the younger ones, too. The older ones made the younger ones feel more grown up, the younger ones kept the older ones nicer and better-tempered. There are some hippie things that are good and worthwhile, and this sort of natural commune is one of them.

It appears I also had a shot of the Amberherthe toga party, including the puffin pinata. Let me just say that it was far scarier being there. J and I went dressed in our normal clothes and told everyone that we were barbarians and were visiting their city wishing to learn Latin. It appears that all the Latin some people know is really quite rude. And we're back to Sir Vitale ...

You would not believe how many hits it took to take out that puffin, BTW.

The A&S was, as usual, very good. But not so good on the labelling. I couldn't for the life of me work out who had made these items, and the njalbinding was particularly well done, so I wanted to enthuse at someone. I think that a name was thrown at me a little later, but I didn't write it down, and so it is, alas, gone forever. Except that I know Bartholomew will leave a comment enlightening me, because that's another thing I like about Southron Gaard!

The band weaving was pretty good, too, although I wanted to have a word with the weaver about tension and how they planned to do the finishing. Still, I'll probably see this being worn somewhere next year and can see how it all came together then. The callig and illum in the background was also biffo.

For some reason Myne incorporated an evil chicken impersonation into her A&S display ...

One of the good things about Canty Faire being so small is that the A&S displays are able to go on at the level of "Here's what I did, here's why I did it." "Oh, that's interesting, I like these bits, have you read X or thought about incorporating Y? Good job, you, well done!"

Now theoretically that's what Laurel Prize Tourney at Festival is like. And sometimes it works the right way. But more often it's too crowded and filled with non-laurels who've forgotten about Laurel-only hour and then no matter how often you ask people if they want a form, they say no until they decide 10 minutes later they really do ... and it's just too much, even if you do pay very close attention to just being a good listening Laurel, the sheer number of entrants and laurels means you only have a couple of minutes per person if you want to see everyone. So instead we tend to make choices and sometimes overlook things we think we know or think we wouldn't be that interested in. Which means that we miss out on good stuff. In the overall scheme of things it evens out, because we all make different choices and so can compare notes afterwards, but it's still annoying.

One of the people I had most fun talking to at Fair was William de Wyke about shoes and leather. In fact, he did a running repair for me when I blew out one of my turn shoes, and then sent me home with smuggled goop (not as dodgy as it sounds, and that reminds me, MUST get recipe this time ...) so that I could do the same myself. In addition to his research on cordwaining and cobbling, he has been working on various accessories including this very nice scabbard. He is talking about starting up a guild, his laurel Alys suggested that he start two, one for cobblers and one for cordwainers and then have inter-guild rivalry and see them issue a series of complaints against each other. Sometimes I think that local government is missing out greatly and that Alys really needs to reconsider depriving them of her evil genius. Because while she would doubtless set opposing sides of the council at each other's throats, she would also use the cover provided by the fracas to push through fully funded educational and social services that would improve the world. I'm just not convinced she wouldn't be having more fun watching the debates ...

William also made the chape for the scabbard. Damned talented people, we hates them! Except that he's a good teaching talented person, so there's every chance that he can show me how its all done enough for me to work it out some day. I was very impressed, and enjoyed his chat on how it had all come together, including the disaster parts, very much. I heartily encourage people to include the disaster parts in their A&S chats as they are a great relief for all the listeners. Not to mention a good way of conveying what not to do.

In addition to 'things' A&S, Canterbury Faire has a good tradition of performance A&S. The highlights are trotted out at the half-circle theatre, so called because the audience sits in a predictable geometric shape. Here's (from left) Baron Master Sigurd, Baroness Mistress Eleanora, Baron Sir Inigo, Baroness Cecilia, and, up in the back, Amanda on the far left, Lea in the middle and Dickon on the far right. I think I've mentioned before Lea's infatuation with Dickon, which is very cute (if you ever wish to tease Dickon, just say: "But it'll be OK, because when she's 18, you'll be 28 ..." he wails and says: "I don't want to be that guy!" Dickon rocks.) In the shot two before this, Lea is sitting next to Amanda, then she's half way over, by two after, she's beside him, where she stayed throughout the performance. It's his own fault for being such a piggyback provider, he's like the teenaged version of J.

The performances were up and down; there was a professional play troupe that I found rather over-mannered and not really to my taste. To be fair, they were wearing costumes that were jarring with the event, so I wasn;t in the right headspace, and they were also still in rehearsal and trying to do a condensed scene in a strange environment. Also, I'm astonishingly picky and annoying. Vitale and Finr did some highly amusing schtick which was made all the funnier by the contrast of the gregarious knight with the taciturn skald. The music was uniformly good; singing in particular has come a very long way from my first fair three years ago. The organisation has met up with the talent and there is a level of sophistication that reflects the amount of time and passion people have brought to the task. There was also a play that had a girl playing the Empress or Queen who looked very much like my darling Hillary (who has just landed a dream job at the Museum of London), I saw a girl who looked very much like her at Festival and kept wanting to run up and say "Are you from Southron Gaard?" but I try to maintain at least a veneer of cool. A very very thin one ...

As always, the kids were a joy to interact with, even if we seem to have been put into the role of dependable transport (if only we had the wheelbarrow!) Sir Inigo and co built another hay fort and there was a sleepout which included a moderate amount of giggling, but led to pleas for age differentiated sleepouts next year so that the big kids could keep on with their gasbagging till much later without disturbing the little kids. Why is it that I can foresee wails of protest from the kids just below the age cut off?

Amusingly, it's really J that most of the kids love the most. I'm just the one who comes with the package. So apparently grumpy works for the young set. I think that we do, however, meet the criteria for the adults that I considered to be my friends when I was that age: we listen to the kids as though they are people, we try to explain things when they ask us questions, we see their points of view even when we have to say that their parents are still right, and we know that they aren't always interested in the same things adults are. In the same way, the Canty Faire kids are very good at knowing that adults need time too and are also people. I really like the way they see their parents as real people for the most part. Even the little ones have some understanding of it. In a world where communication in families seems increasingly to fall by the wayside, this is a very good thing to have as a norm. All the B-k kids, Rosetta and Alexandria in particular have made me go a wee bit misty eyed in their descriptions of how good their parents are.

They also have very high opinions of the populace, which made me laugh when one little girl was telling me how she wants to grow up to be just like Christia, and another wondered if it might not be easier to pursue C&I and be like Belle. The boys were more even-handed and were cherry-picking qualities from several knights, barons and other notables for their aspirational figures. I hope that happens on this side of the ditch, too, though I suspect you need to be the welcome outsider figure to actually hear it.

I'm sure that I'm missing some terribly important things I wanted to talk about. I did go over with all sorts of plans to talk with adults and be very Laurelly. In fact I ended up babysitting and chasing hedgehogs a lot.

It was an excellent event, stewarded by the one-working-collarboned Master Llewellyn and with great food (as always) and a convivial atmosphere overall. There was some weirdness; the locals tramping and driving through site over the long weekend was a tad confronting, and katherine's revenge belling was very funny but no one should ever tell her she is less than lovely.

It being the first time Iarnulfr was back led to some tentativeness on both sides of the old divide, which people handled with dignity and maturity. Because they're all good at being grown-ups. But I was very happy to see him because I like having a forge at an event and I like his inspiring of "stuff" around a campsite. And although he has been thoroughly Terra Rossaned in the last five-odd years, it was interesting to see how quickly he and Jenny Kiwied ...

To touch on politics briefly, I did wish that the old seneschallate had followed through on the original theory of a truth and reconciliation style report over the college difficulties all those years ago, because the way the report was handled meant the significant systems problems that were a major cause (not least those from the university) were never aired, and there are a some residual feelings of confusion and crossness in older players. That was my mistake, I think. I should have insisted it be a Crown-run matter rather than handing it off. That way any anger would have attached only to us, and we could have listened our way through it.

On the up side, there's an entire generation of younger players who have no idea what the fuck I am talking about in that last paragraph. Suffice to say that when it comes to issues that aren't black and white and don't need mundane resolutions, I now almost wholly recommend that they are dealt with by the in-game side; the K&Q, or the B&B, not the more mundane seneschallate. My reasons for this are simple. Seneschals look for the bases of problems and blame apportionment when they are solving them. This is a necessary part of their job.

Royalty, on the other hand, should be all about wanting the group to thrive and every individual within it succeed. That's what creates a healthy kingdom. Now and then they have to inadverantly crush people's dreams, usually in baronial selection processes, but on the whole it's all about the rewarding and encouraging. So the urge is to say "Oh look, that's what the problem was! Let's never do that again!"

I screwed up in believing that same end could come about through other agents.

On the other hand, Seneschals are indispensible when it comes to significant problems that do have or still have a mundane component (some problems have a small window when there may be a need for mundane involvement, which later closes.) One of the people who I have enjoyed meeting most and grown to respect the most in the last few years was Collum, the Seneschal of River Haven. He had a giant problem fall into his lap which was very mundane-law-necessary. He did everything exactly right, and interacted perfectly with his local landed royalty (Somerled and Caelia, who were great) and then with us so that we just had to give the final sign-off to his process. Subsequently he has gone through another similar issue, if not so severe, and been a wonder to another set of B&B and K&Qs.

Alfar actually asked me to start writing up some of these monarchopolitical insights for others, which I should really do this month ...

This is not the greatest photo, but that bare belly is indeed Baron Callum who was portraying Buddha in the gods and monsters tournament. A more terrifying sight I cannot imagine across the field. His great good humour in the role was matched by his great stoicism when the belly bruises began to appear later in the day. I am told, too, that there were more tales in the Mong, which I sincerely miss hearing. There are few storytellers quite so captivating. Fingers crossed he writes it all up for next years Tales.

And this was Baron Sigurd's Ghost of Fighters Past. A simple, yet inspired concept. The scent of unwashed gambeson and linament adding a subtle touch of realism to the ensemble ...

Sigurd also had good news at Fair, which I think he's let out, but in case it's not universally known, just some quiet yaying at this end. I'm a bit sad J mangled his elbow, since I think it would have been very fun to be stepping up at Midwinter. I imagine that sadness will have waned by about September ...

Finally, a lovely shot of Roisin and one of my favourite Ynys Fawrians whose name I can never get straight. Lovely chap, good artisan in a variety of fields, straight talking gentle humourist who owns a great hat. And, like us, perennial piggybacker. Truly is it said that the next generation stands on the shoulders of this one. Or, more accurately, sits comfortably somewhere in the back region after repeated cries of "Up, up!" and "Carry me!"

[Edited to correct the spelling of Alexandria's name, who is also Amethyst. Yeah, yeah, you lot have met my memory ...]

Interim post ...

2007-06-08T01:39:00.000+10:00

So, I started on this other post, and it's newsy and has photos and is about Canty Faire, but it's looking like it will be a novella so in the interim, thanks for the cheery messages, keep on giggling at the derangity of some, and rest assured that I have lost exactly no sleep though still feel put out that some people aren't aware of my generally excellent taste in men.

We won't be up in Qld this weekend because I have to work on Monday and the impending storm means that J isn't keen on driving anymore. He was meant to let Blayney and Gabriel know this, but may not have as yet. But he has a headache so we should cut him a little slack.

In the meantime, this is for Deense and anyone else who has fallen prey to the compelling horror that is Robin Hood 2006. I'm not suggesting the show is good in any way other than the same way candy floss is. But it does lead to a very easy Hood Bingo. Click on the image for readable text. Feel free to use as a drinking game, with a responsible limit young uns. There will probably be updates of this ...

More philosophy, and some grammar!

2007-06-03T00:52:00.000+10:00

In today's rant, we will be discussing logic and irony.

All of this stems out of last night, when J and I went to a party. It was Spyder and Gordy's farewell party, which was both sad and good. Sad because Spyd won't be just down the road, good because she is going to live in a great house in a great part of Victoria and have the life she and Gordy and AJ want to be living, while still being within an eight-hour drive at J speeds.

And it's not as though we see her and Gordy all the time anyway, what with them having a toddler and us having too much work, it's just that we could ...

So it was good luck in the end that I'd procrastinated for so long about buying my flights to Tassie, because I wouldn't have been able to go. (Although I felt very bad, NotElf! Hope that it was all great!)

However, no sooner had I started chatting to folk than two old pals told me of an astonishing rumour (which other people had heard, but no bugger could tell me where it had come from, you're all crap!) Apparently I'm meant to be having an affair with someone who shall remain nameless because he's a pretty decent person and I'm more interested in talking about the abstracts here.

While I was very happy to see that my friends are in fact my friends and all treated it as the least likely thing they had ever heard (which, if I was naming names, you, gentle reader would be doing, too), I was still annoyed that there is someone out there who thought this plausible.

And they've been putting it about because there were at least two entry vectors for last night's rumour (rumours and epidemiology are a good fit).

So while people who know me (and the other person) will bark with laughter (the standard reaction so far, never better exemplified than in Jen), people who don't will be left with this idea that fails all the tests of logic.

Indeed, it's the sheer stupidity that really galls me. Especially because I have no idea where my textbooks are and so had to go to Wikipedia to get the following definition of a formal proof, and I generally hate Wiki (though this was a good page, by normal, not just Wiki standards).

SO:
A typical proof consists of axioms, rules of inference, and theorems. An axiom is a sentence that may be asserted in a proof at any time. A theorem is any sentence that can be proved in the system. A rule of inference allows a theorem to be proved from one or more previously established theorems and/or axioms. Most formal systems have either a rich set of rules of inference but few or no axioms; or a rich set of axioms but few rules of inference.

Consistency, soundness, and completeness

Among the valuable properties that formal systems can have are:

Consistency, which means that none of the theorems of the system contradict one another.
Soundness, which means that the system's rules of proof will never allow a false inference from a true premise. If a system is sound and its axioms are true then its theorems are also guaranteed to be true.
Completeness, which means that there are no true sentences in the system that cannot, at least in principle, be proved in the system.

Now, this rumour fails on all of these properties. Let's be brutal here. Although I still have great eyes and nice hair and skin and a pleasant speaking voice, I am a broad-arsed middle-aged woman who is seriously stumpy. What makes me attractive is my blazing sense of being mostly right, most of the time. That surety, that sense of moral and logical focus is compelling (as evidenced by the minor wibbles of my friends whenever I express insecurity on anything). It's a family trait that I have in spades and on its good side it can be a very appealing thing. The downside of course is that I piss people off, but I choose to live with that.

However, you cannot possess a sense of moral certainty while doing something selfishly cruel and hurtful. It's hard enough to maintain a position when you are doing something that you know to be right and for the good of the many when you know that it will hurt the feelings of a few. So by being the sort of person who would have an affair, I would stop being attractive enough to be the sort of person anyone would want to have an affair with.

Then you hit soundness of the system. In a sound system you might have:
All humans require oxygen to survive.
Pete is a human.
Pete requires oxygen to survive.

Each of these statements is true in itself, and they flow logically within the system, without any false inferences. For an example of false inferences, try this simple change:
All humans require oxygen to survive.
Fido requires oxygen to survive.
Fido is a human.

This is a common flaw in argument where two true axioms are used to create a false inference through a false understanding of the system's rules. It's also where people tend to screw up in those Mensa tests you read in the paper ... not to mention some of the journalism, but that's another rant.

The argument presented seems to be Miss D is female, person X is male, therefore they must be getting it on. But if fails fundamental tests such as are we ever in the same place at the same time without hordes of other people? Is either of us an improvement on the partners we currently have? Are either of us in the least the other's type? In every case, no.

In terms of the completeness, it's a complete failure, too, because after the most basic axioms such as I am a human and female, every axiom required to build this argument would fail the test of reality.

So, obviously I do want to slap the person who is spreading this (and if I find you, rest assured that I will), but the bigger problem for me is the crushing dramatic irony.

Note that dramatic irony is not the same as irony. If I say that I am so very tall, I am being ironic (and also sarcastic in all likelihood).

Dramatic irony comes about when you spend a sizable portion of the week writing to another friend about how they may be, through no malice or anything other than a slight tendency to emotive responses, exaggerating the evidence behind their feelings of persecution in the SCA and how there is a general tendency to pleasantness and thoughtfulness in the group -- while any alien observing the system as a whole would be waiting for me to hit Saturday night and suddenly realise that though my earlier statements were mostly true for most people, they were no longer able to be believed for each member of the group as a whole. Because clearly some people are on crack.

And this is frustrating as hell, because I want to be able to help this friend who is in a very unhappy place, and I do believe her when she says she has felt persecuted, and I know that she copped a lot of crap from a handful of people in particular. And I also believe the people around her when they say that a lot of the things she has incorporated into that sense of attack were nothing to do with her at all.

But last night, once recovered from the initial sense of WTF??!, I wondered, who the hell would spread that? And another good friend asked "Who have you pissed off that much?" And I realised that without once touching the world of rationality in which I live, this person had still managed to affect me and annoy me and aggravate me into an emotive response.

So I was left with more sympathy for my persecuted friend, which is what I am trying to focus on far more than my urge to hunt and slap some nameless fuckwit.

As to other reactions: J rolled his eyes and smiled exasperatedly.

Mr X replied: "It would never work, you're a night person and I'm a morning person."

Philosophical mutterings

2007-05-23T15:14:00.000+10:00

When I was a young girl I had a teacher who urged me to study economics. Despite having a high regard for this teacher, I couldn't, because, as I told him "I can't get past the fact that it's all made up. It's a gang of people persuading each other what things are worth and the world falling into line with their valuations."

I still believe that, which is why I sometimes find myself wondering what the hell I am doing playing SCA.

I should preface the following with the facts that I genuinely enjoy much of the SCA. I find the skills fascinating, I love and like many people that I would never have met outside the game, I find value in the ethos of supporting the weak and demanding justice from the strong, I am grateful for everything I have learned and understood, from handstitching to John Dowland, from Elizabethan politics to English war techniques of the 14th century.

But I keep hitting a philosophical wall.

Are we a society (and I mean a group of people bound by common purpose) or are we a club?

Either we are a society bound by common values based on chivalry and courtly grace and common directions based on historic research, or we're a club of nutters playing who has the best frock or fastest stick.

And I find that, to me, the difference is crucial.

The former gives you all the things I love in the SCA. It gives you Rowan and Mouse sitting down with a newbie and explaining how frocks go together. It gives you Elfinn and Muirghein passing snacks to the broken girl napping behind the table. It gives you Gabrielle and Marguerite miming how different pleats fall and then providing lists of where to use each. It gives you AEdward giving all his fighter auction opponents best of three bouts. It gives you Batholomew and Katherine housing strangers and friends with equal warmth. It gives you Cornelius standing with a hose on his friend's roof against an oncoming fire. It gives you Bethan turning a ragtag crew of singers into a crack team of harmonists. It gives you Sara standing feeding her perfectly dressed baby while behind her Rodrigo sits on a hand-wrought stool stirring pottage in one of Alex's cooking pots. It gives you Tycho who points out fighting tips to young men while chopping carrots with a knife he wrought himself. It gives you Anton and Katherine debating transliterations and translations of Plato in the wee small hours.

These things capture the imagination; they give impetus to working well at one's own crafts, from garb to politics. They give meaning to status; if a Duchess's interest or thanks is given weight by people like this, then being a Duchess has worth in itself. At the same time these people and their acts (and many others, too) provide goals: if I work hard, I wil be like them; if I act in a lesser way, I will disappoint them, so I should not.

In a society without gods or mystic wonders, this secular grace stands as a way of directing purpose and the encouragement of the gracious becomes a sign of favour. It is our most authentically medieval artefact; the support of the ranking and powerful having real import.

On the other hand, the club model leads to all the things I truly hate. This is is the model that rewards the sport and boy scout badge approach, whose proponents claim that it is supporting meritocracy, but who really construct a group that values our least democratic elements.

Here winning is the mark of the great tournament fighter. Noblesse comes with entitlement, not oblige. Rank commands respect, and does not see fit to earn it. Skills and resources are used as a mark of superiority, not seen as a resource to teach and share. Power becomes a way of ensuring personal success, rather than a duty to work for the whole.

I was reminded of all these things sharply over the last two months. At Festival I had a number of discussions with some fairly fabulous new young people. Regular questions included why some peers were good and others obnoxious; I could only prevaricate when it came to named culprits and suggest that there may be other issues in their lives. But as a general rule, it was determined by the SCA model they worked to, with those who saw their peerage as a well-deserved 'win' being generally ghastly, while those who saw it as a duty (while still being able to be happy about it, of course) being generally good.

Then at Crown I met up with two fighters who were there because they disagreed with everything about the current system. One of them still believed in the worth of his consort and was fighting for her. The other was fighting for himself. Both lost, but they reminded me of other SCA kings in other times who had looked to the throne as some kind of personal vindication. And I did not like the thought of that style Crown at the head of a Kingdom I helped build.

Because there is enough of that in the mundane world, where we have substituted a warped idea of merit for things of actual worth.

And the reason for all of this weighing on me? I am not at all sure that my way of thinking is the majority way.

And if it's not, then I should let people have their style of fun and go back to theatre, where I can now add costume to my list of credentials.

Oh the nagging ...

2007-05-20T22:53:00.000+10:00

Memo to self: New Blogger mad, hates comments, requires manual turning on thereof. Almost as bad as line of dialogue on TV just now: You were built to seduce and run, Chad, you just can't help it! Secomd memo to self: If real life ever occasions moment when such a line would be apposite, turn on heel and run like the limpy wind!!!!

Yes, yes, I have been very lackadaisical with the blogging of late. This is because I have been working on a new frock, plus trying to tidy the house, plus having an apprentice shuffle, plus having lovely houseguests. Add to that May Crown, loads of work and a great need to catch up on sleep, and the blog had no chance.

So, a quick update before more serious updates later in the week (and yes, they're partially written so they will actually happen). The following are in no particular order.

* The Pirates in an Adventure with Scientists/Whaling/Communists had me in stitches for a week. I blame Maeve/Jen (who is now 30! How can she be so old? How can she be so young?) for me wasting several very enjoyable evenings on these three. Mr Gideon Defoe deserves your cash, go out and purchase his tiny tomes of giggledom at your first opportunity. They are very silly, but like all good silliness, it builds cheerfully, so persevere if you find the first dozen pages ridiculous. Each is as the name suggests, and if you think the mix of The Pirate Captain and Charles Darwin is inspired, wait till you see the PC and Karl Marx ...

* Laurel minutes should not be nearly 8000 words long. And that was after I left out the bad jokes. Honestly ...

* Apprentice 1 remains in place, albeit too busy to sew till November. A2 is off to be a Baroness and so is free unless she wants to come back, in which case her A will have been kept toasty warm for her. A3 was offered a squiredom before he was an official A. This was OK, because he had dreamed of being a squire, and it was to a knight good enough that I was prepared to let him go (he wouldn't have been given a general dispensation!), but now I'm not sure if I should take his A number as reserved or not, which matters because I am about to take on an official A4 or A3, depending on how we look at things, who is keen and lovely and has promised to be soft around we aged folk. And since her name doesn't start with A, I have to find her an A nickname ...

* J has torn the ligaments in his right elbow fighting in May Crown. They are not torn all the way through nor off the bone, but badly enough for six weeks out of fighting and no heavy lifting. Hilariously we discovered last night that there was talk he'd thrown the bout. Such talk was clearly from people who noticed neither the immense look of pain on his face at the tournament, nor the immense grumble of frustration after the tournament. And if that rumour started because he and I had a little private chat before the semis, it was him checking with me that I'd keep to our minimalist plans if he won the tournament, which was statistically likely.

I also had to laugh at some of the people offering to teach him some technique so that he would stop injuring himself. Yes he has tweaked this elbow before, but it's all for the one reason in that his muscles are far more developed in one direction than in the other. It is tangentially to do with SCA fighting, in that he has big strong whip the sword back muscles, and lithe, fast move it forward ones, but he just needs to lift some weights when his ligaments are less sore to even his muscles up so that his body stops working against itself. I would mock him, but I have pulled my own shoulder out of its socket reaching for an umbrella in the past, which would make me mockable, except my friend Sue broke her own humerus in two arm wrestling, so she wins in the stupid things with overdeveloped muscles game.

* We did Bridgewalk back in March, it was FANTASTIC. We went at night when the smoking ceremony was on; it's an aboriginal tradition to cleanse a place. It was beautiful, and enormous fun. I'm glad I badgered J into coming, and he was glad, too. Here's a photo of the bridge:

Taken from the middle lane where one would normally be flattened within minutes. I love the sculptural nature of this bridge, and I love the courage of the people who built it; both political courage for funding such a big project in the middle of a Depression and actual courage for doing such a difficult job with such rudimentary safety equipment. There is a cycle path on the western side of the bridge that is one of the world's most fun rides on a nice day; you can see all the way down the river and hear the penguins mipping as they play near Luna Park.

Of course, we were not the only people walking. In this shot you can see the smoke, but also the lights from the thousands of caps with LEDs that were given out to all the walkers. It was a nice touch by the sponsor, and it meant that all around The Rocks afterwards you could spot who had been there at that time. I'm quite looking forward to the centenary, now. Which I suspect may come about before John Howard apologises for the stolen generation, but after he leaves office, fingers crossed! (Probably not as tightly as Peter Costello's ...)

* I was a foul and grumpy haggis for most of Festival, the small reasons for which will be covered off in a subsequent post, but the big reason for which was that my foot was agonisingly painful the whole time. Aside from dust, that site is so evil in its rockiness. It was my fault for wearing period shoes, but seriously; OW!

* Anyway, we went up to see the ponies at Glenworth, site of next year's Festival and took a few photos of the property (NB, we're at the other end, but it all looks like this):

You will immediately note two major differences to Crossroads; it has grass and it is green. It is soft underfoot and when you trip, you do not damage yourself unduly. There is water, in little trickles that are quite safe for young folk of more than toddlerdom.

There are trees, and it's a valley, so there is shade and no gale-force dust-laden wind. I think that we might start camping again ...
More soon, sleep time now.

Oops!

2007-04-19T21:48:00.000+10:00

Deense and Baroness H have both pointed out that I somehow turned off comments on that last post I am not censoring, nor am I technologically ept enough to do that by choice. sorry! Eh, these things happen ...

Ahem ... well, that was a longer pause than anticipated ...

2007-04-18T00:16:00.000+10:00

Right. OK then. Back.

Well, sort of back. God I’m tired. This is not the Festival post. Nor is it the Canterbury Faire part III post. This is the grumpy post. But I'll update before another five weeks pass, so don't fret.

I seem to have spent most of the last year having things go boom around me because people do not listen to other people. Recently this has seriously upset a bunch of people that I really care about, and even led to me being yelled at (in itself a fair cop) because a third party couldn’t be arsed actually paying attention to what was said in a conversation (not fair!). This has all made me think that we have a problem.

I understand that we live in a time of deep self-involvement. I understand that we are all busy and all Very Important. But I think that the only two ethical options for people in this time of Busy and Important Lives is to either pay serious attention to the words and opinions of everyone around you, or opt out of other people entirely.

What seems to be happening a lot, though, is one of two things: either the conversations are “I am listening to you talking about me and now I’ve stopped listening, I’ve decided that this is the point I plan to be outraged about” or else “I have had this conversation entirely in my head and now I plan to tell you the results without involving you in any way.”

Now, if this just meant that I got a wake-up call to break out the kid gloves with more people than I thought possible, I would not be having this grump, because god knows that it’s a universal truth that I could be nicer. But this sort of crap is seriously hurting people who are already nice.

At Festival I lost count of the number of times that people were being told off for not meeting someone else’s standards. Now I’m all for having standards, but there’s a right way and a wrong way for raising them in others. On the upside, I saw two good examples of the right way.

Baron Hrothgar leaned across to us during Fighter Auction and asked for a bag or a goblet to hide Berengar’s Coke in. He borrowed one of my bags and B drank it from the concealed can (Hey ... I never got that bag back ... hang on ...;-) This was done with gentle ease and Berengar took it with the grace it was offered. Nice.

In a bigger case in point, Duke Cornelius had made several comments on the Lochac List about wanting to raise the standard for merchants at Festival. He and Count Stephen were merchanting and they had constructed a period stall which was accoutred very properly, alas I failed to take photos. They didn’t nag, bitch or moan, they just set an example of what to do. Very nice.

Contrast this with the several people who went out of their way to go up to filk-singing folks and tell them they were Very Wrong to sing filks. OK, if you have a perfectly period campsite and someone wanders into your camp and sings songs about goblins, you would have a right to say: “Shut up you lupin!” And yet Rowan never did in all those years because she has class. But these people were being accosted in private camps surrounded by nylon tents or up in areas away from most of the site. What possesses someone to trek over to someone else and say: “You’re doing it all wrong!” (unless what they are doing is actually something vital such as CPR or hitching a trailer to a car, in which case, fair enough but that’s different!)

And what possesses people to pursue filk singers, the gentlest and most easily wounded of all our non-period elements, yet walk straight past Coke cans, nylon tents, trainers, bad T-tunics, Laurels suggesting braid for said bad T-tunics (oh the humanity!), eyeglasses, sunglasses, discussions on Vista, whiteboards of doom, sixteenth century jewellery with fifteenth century frocks and plastic containers to pack it all back into?

Not that I’m saying all those things point to Satan’s minions. In fact, they all point to the SCA, because we do allow for lowest common denominator. And that’s not a bad thing, because the lowest common denominator in year one is often a costume laurel in year 10 (seriously, I have photos of many of us, it wasn’t pretty.) If you give help, or set a good example, you raise the bar properly.

But what these people were doing was instead walking up, venting, and then feeling better that they’d had their say regardless of how it left the people they said it to feeling.

Here’s a tip, we English like to call it Repressing. I know that the Americans are against the very concept and do whatever they can to root it out, however they also voted for Bush and Cheney twice, so I am invalidating their status as grown-ups until they have a new government and some gun control laws.

Repression is an essential part of being a grown-up, it’s what stops J saying “Why yes, darling, you are a fat bastard these days.” It’s what stops me smothering him in his sleep when he doesn’t do the dishes. And it’s not causing us mental anguish, it’s distinguishing us from our five-year-old selves.

There ARE times for you to have hard words with your friends, that’s not what I’m talking about. Those times are the occasions that make you see the depth of your friends’ characters and their love for you and they are ultimately good things.

But there AREN’T times when it’s a good idea to go up to people to whom you are not close and essentially tell them off for not doing what you want. Because the answer to that will always involve short phrases starting with F and ending with uck you.

It’s not just in the SCA that this is happening, either, but since this is an SCA blog, we’ll stick to SCAdian examples.

The only thing worse that this is the type of conversation where once person doesn’t even involve the other in the conversation, just makes their announcements and that’s it. Two year olds do this. Then they grow out of it by the time they’re five.

I’d far rather people just BE sociopaths, because that way you don’t waste loads of time treating them as normal.

Feel free to gripe about things in game that annoy you. But do it with a skerrick of consideration for the people you plan to gripe to. If you are just going to have a yell so that you feel better at the end of it, then that’s not good enough. We’re not Americans here, we don’t need to “Get it all off our chests”. Suck it up and hold it in, you won’t explode and any therapist that tells you that you will is only after large hourly fees.

Crap, it’s midnight again, no wonder I’m tired. Tomorrow is buy gold fabric for embroidery, clean house, find hemp ‘string’ for Deense’s corset and finish Festival washing day. I may catch up on my blogging ...

More Canterbury Faire

2007-03-01T18:39:00.000+11:00

Yeah, yeah, I know I said I'd get around to this weeks ago. But the flu is very tiring and I seem to have spent the last three weeks either running around like a headless chicken or having a quick nap due to exhaustion. Alas, more of the former than the latter. Now Blogger has forced me to upgrade to their new flash version, which I may one day bother learning how to use, and the cat is being high maintenance. I just want another nap ...

But instead, let's reimmerse ourselves in the fir-scented hedgehog-spotted glory that was Canterbury Faire!

While there were more people there than last year, I think there were fewer Aussies, just loads of Kiwis, many of them spankingly new. The young metal weapons people were great fun, and bore up very well to a drunken loony hassling them at the waterhole. katherine and Bartholomew had some cunning plans to avoid repeat problems next year involving an embassy and peppercorns. At the same time there were many familiar faces, which was very good indeed.

Before we get into the long and convoluted anecdotes (yes, yes, I know my flaws), I wanted to share my realisation about the New Zealand SCA groups, especially Southron Gaard. It's this: they don't function like a village, as most SCA groups do. They function like a family.

It's taken me four years to really build my model on this, and I think that I can back it up pretty well. There are long-standing debates between people that go back 20 years. And when you try to get to the root of things, discussions break down and wonderful, rational people stop talking and give the equivalent responses to "She said something bad about our Kev."

Now the first time we went over and saw this, we made the mistake of thinking that it was all related to one issue. And then we learned about another issue, and another, and another ... and eventually I woke up one morning and said something like: "Too many people used to go out with each other!" and J replied "They've all known each other for 20 years!"

And once that we made allowance for X being odd around Y because they went out for two years and Y not liking Z because he subsequently married X (no graphs, because our geometry is not that good), we thought we were on the right track. And then we met more people, and we realised that we had only just begun and that instead of acting like a group of tightly-knit friends and enemies, they instead acted like an extended family with religious and class divides running in several directions, possibly with several adoptees.

Suddenly it all made sense! We stopped trying to unravel things and just accepted that their Sharon never did like our Kev. And there's the good side, too, the huge loyalty and endless patience that come with families. But it was a huge relief in one way, because J and I aren't related to this! We're the foreigners that get to drop in and drop out of the group, so no-one minds that we like pretty much everyone and that we will listen to X gripe about Y, then Y grip about X and still be very fond of both X and Y (admittedly, while we're listening to griping, we're really playing Tetris in our heads ...)

So, with that epiphany, we stopped trying to make all our friends like each other and just enjoyed the fact that they liked us. MUCH easier!

Now, a quick warning before you read on. I began to load all the other images I wanted to blog and realised there were LEGION. So I'll be popping some into the next post in a bid to keep this one within the realms of sanity (on the far, far borders). Also, I have completely forgotten everything I did a month ago. I blame age and flu and lack of sleep.

We flew in very late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning. Due to a string of silly events, we were horridly disorganised and left Maeve the best woman in the world with a less organised house than we'd intended. Luckily, she's the best woman in the world, so she coped with élan.

Wednesday was a day of pottering about. First we took the Baskin-Kerrs out to lunch (after the kids kindly let us sleep in till 10, despite Grace wanting to go into her room), then we swanned about with kk and Grace and did fun stuff such as buy J a new hat and meet Anne Fields the spinning/weaving goddess. Very civilised indeed. The next morning was far less organised as everyone bundled into various vehicles to get to Canty Faire.

Bartholomew insisted we take the sportscar and was adamant that we should have the top down until I had to say that my burn time is about 15 seconds in NZ (because I'm pasty, dammit!). J was happy with it up and we sauntered off after helping with trailer hitching and kid wrangling. After much faffing about, we arrived after the van and trailer, to the raised eyebrows of the B&B, we blame shopping.

The first day at Faire was, as first day generally is, a ream of catching up and hanging about. We had excellent plans about catching up with the adults this year, but were in fact beset by chilluns from pretty much start to finish.

Still, Myne, the two sets of B&Bs and Llewellyn and a few others were all available for M&D cake (we both have January birthdays), so that was fun. And the first of the late-night gossip sessions began, despite our other firm plan of early nights.

Friday saw Everybody else arrive. Art and Blayney showed up (Yay!). The King and Queen emerged from their bunker (having arrived v late at night), Finn and Kass appeared with Persi and Ulf and Alys came in late (or possibly that was Saturday, it's all a blur. Whichever, I'm always happy to see them!)

We had a most amazing lunch with Adele and Therese catering for Their Majesties. Gavin and Ginevra were there, too, with us invited to bump up the numbers and also to amuse the royalty if everyone ran out of things to say. So, you know, the comedy guests. But the food was good and the conversation even better. Not thanks to me, of course, I managed only to make everyone laugh at my inability to say anything without accidental smut, but then, that was part of why I was on the invite list, I'm sure ...

BTW, for those who are wondering, Gavin continues to be the Gold Standard of Therese boyfriends. Hurrah!

Opening court allowed everyone to come up to speed with the weekend's events. There was to be a wedding and a fighter auction tournament on Saturday, after an auction that night, with a feast to round Saturday off and a market, which was possibly on Sunday? No idea anymore; brain made of sago. Finr the skald declaimed a long, but very good and apt poem about the Kingdom, surprisingly apposite for baronies he'd never met ...

There were some very well deserved awards given out, including some buttock-prodding AoAs and a Lily to Ginevra, who does genuinely lovely costuming and who is adorable (see below). There was one very unexpected award when the King gave me a Rowan (the Lochac courtesy award). I was more surprised than anyone, and G can stop laughing now (actually, she probably can't), and later asked if I had managed to somehow achieve graciousness without noticing, or if the definition of courtesy had finally enlarged to take in relentless honesty. His Majesty, however, was quite genuinely gracious and gave one of the nicest and most amusing speeches I've ever heard about myself. And alarmingly accurate in some points.

I enjoyed the court apart from the startling bits, and felt that Alfar and Gudrun made a series of excellent choices with both the awards and the inclusions for guardsmen. Good stuff.

After Court I managed to meet some more people, including new ones!

This is Caid's Sir Philipe. (All the best Kingdoms have one.) We met him early on in the event and he was wearing this swishy white houppelande. At the end of the event, he was still wearing it, and it was unstained. I wish to know if he has sprayed it with Scotchgard or made a deal with the devil.

This Sir Philipe was a lovely chap and fun to look at. I quite enjoyed his company, but he made the fatal error of not paying off his ex-girlfriends before he came back (he was from SG originally). So every time I would have an amusing chat with him, someone would follow hot on his heels and say "Pretty, but not so bright." It's a cruel world. I liked him, he was very polite to a doddery old duchess.

He did, however, have an excellent sense of timing and humour, regardless of the true state of his intelligence (which people younger than me can make into a project if they need to know). Young Matilda was harassed by a gentle for making a comment about Sir Phil's undoubted prettiness. "He's not enjoying all this unwanted attention!" they roused at her. The story was relayed to me, along with Matilda's subsequent teary moment.

I was immediately suspicious. I used to be pretty, and I LOVED people looking at me. Sure I loved it more if they subsequently grew to fear me, but it was best when they found me irresistible and terrifying. So I took a moment of the good knight's time that evening when he sauntered past Ulf and me. "Philipe," I said, "a young lady was told that she shouldn't comment on your looks because you find that objectifying and oppressive. But I don't think you'd strike so many mighty poses if that was true."

"God no," he replied in good humour. "I love it. Nothing like having your prettiness appreciated."

Ulf chimed in: "Is it true there were 11 girls waiting for you to finish your shower?"

Philipe tossed his (shiny, bouncy) hair and laughed. "Eleven? No! There were 15!"

Matilda was later reassured, and she thanked us, saying something al0ng the lines of "I was just complimenting him, it's not like I wanted to do anything except look."

Yes. Quite so.

We also caught up with Sir Vitale, also a Master (from the last time we saw him). This is a photo taken straight after the above one. If a picture tells a thousand words, then several of this picture's include "You may want to marry him, ladies, but I'm the one you want to shag you senseless." To which I'm forced to reply: "Not with that facial hair, you're not."

Despite the fact that he attracts the mocking of old women in the same way that chocolate attracts costume laurels, Vitale is good value. He spent a lot of the Faire helping out with everything and rescuing small children from each other and from tedium. He had his nice new girlie there for a bit, but I missed her (I think. Or I've forgotten. Sago ...) Still, nobody does dodgy with as much flair as His Excellency, and when Their Majes made him a Court Barony, it seemed very appropriate.

Myna, as mentioned in an earlier post, took her clothes off. I suspect that's why the boys came and sat with us ...

It was surprisingly hot for the first few days of CF. There was a rainstorm, which cooled things somewhat, but no cold nights. Which was good for those who were camping.

We had a wonderful dinner that night with Marienna and Asbjorn and the girls. We are very fond of all four of them, so were extremely happy to have been invited, although J forgot to tell me it was M's birthday, so he was in the doghouse afterwards (not for long, he forgot, too. We're not real bright but we can lift heavy things.)

Maria, their eldest girl, charmed me completely earlier that day when she introduced me to someone by my mundane name and added "Yes, she's my friend, we've been friends for years, haven't we?" I agreed and Maria graciously said to the other child, "But you can be her friend, too." After dinner the girls had bedtime lunacy, so we told a series of increasingly ridiculous stories that ended with tragic death for the evil princesses who refused to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Then we had a little adult time before J and I had to duck out to Fighter Auction and then were able to come back and chat properly. Which was grand. M&A are very very cool, and the girls went to sleep very sweetly after a bit of mouse-like giggling.

The Fighter Auction itself was in aid of the entertainments at MidWinter. People were bidding furiously, even for J, so I just emptied out my wallet so that I could maintain my stranglehold on his patronage. In truth, it's for the best, since he is the most inconsistent fighter I know in auction tourneys. More often than not he'll bomb out in three.

The actual tournament was held on the Saturday, and was a good afternoon's fighting. I'll post some shots in the next entry, although most of them are rubbish, due to a technical problem with my camera that Blayney calls 'filthy lens'. Thanks for trouble-shooting and fixing that one, Mr B! Each fighter had seven ribbons and would lose one for a limb, two for a head or body shot. So a right bastard (Baron Inigo) could cut of his opponent's four limbs, then head and leave them down to one after a single bout. When you lost all your ribbons, you died.

J did not do badly at all, losing only to Alfar and Philipe (I think), although someone else (or two) wounded him grievously. He came fourth, behind those two and Somerled of Redcliffe, who was without doubt the best-value fighter on the field ($25) and in very fine form all weekend.

The tournament stopped briefly for a wedding (more in the next post), which was very lovely and very good to see! That night there was a feast. OH the feast ... I had to stop eating after the first remove because it would have been gruesome otherwise. So VERY yummy. This time we were sitting with the Wiltons; Ulf, Alys, Llewellyn, Peregrine, Emayne, and a lovely woman to the left of J that I am having a sudden mental blank over ... seriously, how is anyone ever going to be able to tell the difference if I do develop dementia? ... Er, someone else we like a lot.

It was a hoot of a meal with much intentional and unintentional comedy on the part of our table. The kids were mostly trapped outside, so I was not a cushion for once, and the long twilight lent everything a soft glow of pleasantness. Or perhaps that was the wine. Brilliant food, though.

The next day there were wars, so I had a nap, and then the boffer tourney! It was a corker! The Baskin-Kerr kids were the finalists (due to their ruthless training regime) and Pippin knocked Grace out in the semis (due to an unfortunate shield charge, this was nearly literal. With tears in her eyes, Grace was very anxious to let us know she was hurt, not having a sook.) This left the boys. They mounted up on their valiant steeds, Sir Vitale and Sir Philipe. NB the spanking riding harness here modelled by Sir V.

The kids had been enjoying the straight tourney (is it necessary to point out that Ethan was a fiend and wielded his weapon with unholy glee? Young Willy, too, though more restrained, showed a keen eye for tactics and a loose leg.) but this aspect was new and exciting. The actual final did not last long; Dickon rode in against Pippin.

Which you can see in these next two images ... then they exchanged a flurry of blows, Dickon got one good shot in, Pippin fell off and thwacked his knee on Philipe's fan giving himself SUCH a bruise ... Unfortunately my shots of that all make Pippin look like a goose, and he was actually extremely brave about the whole thing. And courteous, he applauded his brother and thanked the 'horses'.

And, theoretically, that was that. But the two knights are very good sports.

So when the crowd of kids watching all came close looking just a little bit as though they'd missed out by not making it through to the finals, both lads got back down on their hands and knees and made neighing sounds. I think they were intending to give the munchikins pony rides.

However ... kids being kids, what actually happened was that it was on for young and old. Every knight who could be dragooned was suddenly on his knees covered in munchikins ...

Luckily most had been fighting in the Gods and Monsters tournament (er, next paragraph) and were sensible enough to be wearing boxes. Soon every child was locked in mounted melee with every other child, and some of the bigger kids had been roped in to pony duty. Hilarious.

The Gods and Monsters tournament saw most of the Chiv and past barons up against the king, Ulf and the rest, with the former as gods and monsters and the latter as mortals.

Oh the humanity ... I may never recover from the bare-bellied sight of Callum as Buddha. hilarious, yet oh-so wrong. Tycho was Thor (of course), Vitale was Zeus, Sigurd an utterly inspired ghost of fighters past, and Inigo an ill-fated Mercury. They could all only be killed by blows to their weak points. Poor Inigo could only die to the lightest touch, and was thus a bruised piece of baron by the end of the day.

It was enjoyable to watch, but very very silly. Many thanks to Baron Master Sigurd and Vitale who insisted I join the consorts thought J was slacking off and just marshalling. There were treats! And I had a brief chance to hang with Eleanora, who is so calm and adorable.

I also got to see Christia being just an angel, and she knows why, but it was a really lovely act of grace that was beautifully given.

More things then happened, which if I'm very lucky J will tell me about tomorrow in time for the additional images post. I next recall things happening on Monday night, although I know that I enjoyed the market and Art's class some times before then, and also had fun hanging in the kitchen for an hour or two with Del and Stefano. Anyhoo, this is Arabella and Jeffrey's yurt. It's lovely! And extremely orange, which is a good thing. I discovered that the two of them are more deeply perverse than I had imagined (which I should have guessed at after the boobah doll revelations at MidWinter last). We should hang out more often ...

The ball saw mosty people in their best (er, I can't dance ... actually I couldn't be arsed. I did make some of my best jokes!). Here are the lovely newly weds Claire and Master not-Yoshitoshi. Is it Christopher now? I think so. Whoever, they were very happy and it is always good to see people who are meant to be married being so. I love the fact that while she is beaming at the camera, his attention has already diverted back to his bride in this shot. Awww ...

Adele had a spanking new gown and balzo and generally looked quite gorgeous. She has the most amazing colour sense and wears things that I would never dream of matching with her colouring, only to look divine and oh-so-period. Plus she can smuggle a few books in those sleeves for periods when the event gets a bit boring ...

The above shot is Matilda with her lovely new boy whose name starts with a vowel, probably E? He's great, and quite the handsome young fellow, which she very much deserves. to the left we can see a bit of Sancha and to the right a masked Ulf and possibly Sir Sebastien. Ulf and Alys were wearing VERY old garb, which was a hoot, and surprisingly pretty on Alys (who I am used to seeing wearing beautifuly made simple stuff, not shiny shiny blue, but on her it worked. maybe we need to hunt down cornflower wool next?)

Here we have my favourite bunny killers. The highlight of CF was the bunny slaughter, butchering and tanning by these two cuties. It was all done very swiftly and without pain to the bunnies, though a few of the onlookers were dazed. I stayed away because bunnies are below my happy to kill mammal size limit, but little Madeleine found the first half instuctive and intriguing. When you see these lovely young folk wearing wonderful fur garments, ask what the names were ...

In all seriousness, Peregrine and Emayne are very inspirational and adorable. If I could steal them back to Rowany, I would. As it happens, Llewellyn apprenticed them both at CF and they are now official parts of the Wilton hive mind of much researchy goodness. Plus oh-so-cute!

And while we're talking about cute, here's the worst photo I've ever taken of three of the prettiest girls in the barony. Sybilla on the left has wonderful skin and a voice like honey, Ginevra in the middle has the cutest face and lovely large chocolate eyes, and Matilda on the right has one of those classic china doll faces. Alas, I shot from below and made them all look ghastly. But in real life they were all like a chorus of cuteness at this moment. Actually, they're like that a lot.

On the topic of good looking, Myna made the most attractive Death I've seen in a while, combining Phantom, Peter S Beagle, Ingmar Bergman and a complete Bob. And yes, many giggles at the Latin. The ball was not a high point for me given the limpiness (TWO gammy legs is enough to get me out of dancing), but then they had a brief court, which we attended, and there WAS a high point when Iarnulfr was made a Court Baron. Riotous cheering all round. I thought it was a very good move and, in a lovely touch, Alfar bestowed a coronet made of fencing wire. So very apt for the man who can build Europe from dirt. For the rest of the event, Iarnulfr had an expression that was half "Wow." and half "If you say Your Excellency, I will poke you."

There are more tales of Iarnulfr, but they are for the next post which will need a bit of colour, so flames should do nicely.

By Tuesday we were all a bit tired. Here's Alfar, Gudrun and Art looking a bit tired, but very clean! I'm afraid that I did not do the best job of entertaining Gudrun. She kept disappearing, so I thought she'd found something fun to do! Maria, however, decided that she was her new favourite queen because they have the same hair colour. Eh, if I'm going to be dropped, it may as well be for Gudrun, she's pretty cool (and she was great with all the kids, which is quite the challenge when they assault en masse). You can see the latest SG map in the background, quite the work of art in itself, if only I'd thought to take shots ...

Final court rocked through quickly. I took photos but can't actually recall what was happening because I was being used as a trampoline by a four year old. But this is a nice shot of sundry B&Bs and Lea. Callum did a great job heralding the final court, standing in for the new herald whose name I am also blanking on, but who is now seeing Isobel and who is a bit of all right, in all senses of the term. Fine speaking voice, too. Again, more awards were handed out. Er ... they were good ...

Grace won the coif of chivalry for the page school. She gets very embarrassed when she wins things or is rewarded publicly. I think she may be a changeling, since it doesn't run in her brothers' gene pool at all.

Shortly after this she ran off barefoot followed by a horde of younger children, so I guess she really is a proper baskin-kerr wihtout any shadow of doubt.

And then it was time for pack-up, with some children being packed more than their luggage. Here Baxton sweeps Willy off away from his adoring fans (mostly Nicky). Note Willy's tiny little braies that he ran around in merrily all weekend (I suspect several pairs).

On the subject of Baxton, he had a kicking time at the biff and made his lady very proud of him. She is such a wonderful consort the way that she watches so intently and with so much support.

In the background of this shot are all the bags of bedding that the Baskin-Kerr family sorted for visitors. About 20. They are simply amazing. And their washing machine should get a gold star for effort above and beyond the call. the next day their many bannisters were draped with drying, and I suspect the day after, too ...

We traisped down to say goodbye to Amberherthe, and found the yurt naked, so took shots. Then we made Domus Canum eat what was left of the chocolate cake (Belle having evaded previous supper invites due to hanging out down the bottom commitments) and played Luggers, which we are both very good at. With many hands, it was all eventually light work, and Sir Philipe kept taking his shirt off to make it all seem less stressful. Thanks, Philipe!

The next day was a very good drive and lunch over the peninsula with Christia and Tycho, bad jokes abungo. Christia sent me home with her copy of In Service to the Crown, which I love beyond words and am thinking of doing a Broadway-style tribute to. She did NOT make me watch the Aveloc porn video, for which I am eternally grateful. We found this sign, which made me laugh an inordinate amount. As we have since established I was coming down with Angus's flu, I blame hysteria. And FINALLY we ate at Cooking With Gas. Lamb was great, hot chocolate not so much. But the desserts looked brilliant!

My last note for this post: if you are an old woman, and need to be at the airport at 5am, go to bed at 9, do not stay up all night. SO very un-pretty by the time we got home ... but so very glad we'd gone.

HELP!

2007-02-17T01:22:00.000+11:00

I know that this is meant to be Canty Faire part 2, soon, I promise. In the meantime, I got carried away in my peerly niceness now that I have a courtesy award (yes, the end days are nigh) and volunteered myself to write an introductory piece for the St Ursulans' mag. On sitting down to write it, the following came out. On the one hand, it made ME laugh, but on the other hand I am not sure if it's the least bit useful or else too full of in-jokes and not speaking to a crowd of 17 and 18 year olds.

After meeting many dear cyber-stalkers recently (hi chaps!) I need to pick your brains and ask for feedback. And don't think that I'm looking for "Oh so witty, Duchess dear .." don't need praise, need to know what I've missed and what's too obscure. OK, maybe a teeny compliment on my spelling ...

Many, many, many thanks, I wish the snot would leave my brain so I could think again ...

SCA FAQ for St Ursulans

1. What is the SCA?
The SCA is the Society for Creative Anachronism. It is a recreational group focussed on recreating aspects of life before 1600.

For the most part, members research and construct clothing, weaponry and other items from the Middle Ages and Renaissance, with Europe being the centre of our attentions. For most of the Middle Ages, the Middle East and North Africa were such important trade partners with Europe (and everyone invaded everyone else so frequently) that there is no border drawn between modern Europe and these territories. Some members also dabble in Roman reconstruction, whereas others prefer Eastern (Chinese, Japanese, Mongolian).

We have a broad range of activities ranging from fighting with practice swords, through costuming, brewing, cooking, dancing, singing and music to textile, equestrian and academic research. Our official events are conducted in period clothing (called garb) and are a cross between a giant dress-up party and a huge game of Pretend.

The SCA was started by a group of medieval history students in Berkeley in 1966 and now has over 30,000 paying members world-wide, with an estimated 60,000 more participants. While the College of St Ursula is for Sydney Uni students, SCA members come from all walks of life and across all age groups, with a lot of family participants.

2. Hang on, I thought you were a Sydney University club?
Well, we are. The College of St Ursula is a registered SU club that is affiliated to the Australian and International SCA. Our fees are much cheaper and our first responsibilities are to the university, but aside from that we interact pretty freely with the local SCA branches, especially the Barony of Rowany (Sydney region).

3. Sounds a bit hippy, doesn’t it?
Yeah, you’ve busted us. The founding crew were all a bunch of unreconstructed hippies who went on to do things like write best-selling fantasy novels and found IT companies. To this day there are an awful lot of caring Californianisms in the governing documents of the organisation.

But we’ve managed to survive over 40 years, so it’s hippy mixed with practicality. We try not to talk about modern politics, and there is a Society-wide injunction against official religious positions (you can believe whatever you like, we just don’t care). Best of all, tie-dye, patchouli and overt hugging by strangers are all frowned upon.

4. So what do you actually do?
Medieval stuff. We dress up in period garb for official events and spend our time there doing everything from singing and feasting on medieval food to hitting each other in the (armoured) head with sticks. It’s totally up to you.

At our (ungarbed) meetings, we sit around and plan cunning new things and projects and share research and tell tales of what we’ve been up to. Basically it’s a social-club meets craft-group meets martial art meets Lord of the Rings. And yeah, it will come as no surprise to learn that those Berkeley hippies were all Tolkien freaks, too. But you’re welcome to embrace whichever bits take your fancy and ignore the rest, just no elf ears or orc masks.

There are several camping events each year where people stay on site wearing garb the whole time. The biggest of these is Rowany Festival, which is held over the Easter holiday. Around 1000 people usually attend.

5. So would I be a serf?
No. The basic assumption is that everyone is of noble birth, and so the Society prides itself on treating everyone with courtesy. You’re free to dress up as a serf if you like, but you will be treated as a noble who is slumming it.

The nobility concept extends throughout the game. Local groups are usually headed up by Barons and Baronesses, and there are Kings and Queens for each Kingdom. In addition, there are many people who have contributed a great deal to the game over the years that we call peers, although it’s more common that members will hold a simple Award of Arms, known as armigers.

6. Royalty, peers, armigers – WTF?
Remember, Californian hippies. We didn’t make this shit up, we inherited it (long story, ask someone old over a glass of mead sometime). They wanted to have a system of titles and hierarchies that were appropriately medieval. Being American and it being the 60s, they skimped somewhat on their research and got a lot of things backwards in those early days. Despite the fact that most people in the SCA (including the original set) do things to a much higher standard these days, we keep the early kookiness since most of those guys are still alive and just a little bit scary when it comes to traditions.

On the whole, having the royalty and nobility structure adds to the fun of the game. Royalty can hand out awards to people who have added greatly to the Society, and the courts are often very good theatre. Plus it’s an easy way to identify people who have been around for a while and who know what they’re on about.

7. Does this all cost a lot?
Not necessarily. You can, of course, spend a small fortune, but there’s an emphasis on learning to make your own and being self-sufficient. Skills are freely taught and shared, with loaner gear available for newbies.

Hell, now we sound Amish ...

8. Does it take up a lot of time?
Like any hobby, you can spend as much or as little time on it as you feel you want to. We usually encourage students to keep their involvement reasonably low-key – uni costs too much to not pass everything first go – but the SCA provides an easy place to kick back and relax when it’s all getting a bit stressful.

9. What’s with the kooky names?
Er, yes. One of the things that we like to do is invent medieval personae who have real-sounding names, and then we use those names at events. Seriously, how many times do we have to mention the hippies? They were all a bunch of mad-keen role-players, too, but they were and are very sweet.

On the positive side, this is a really good way to launch into some serious medieval study as you look for a name and description that suits you and is authentic. Plus it makes it very easy to remember that you’re at an event and not accidentally launch into a discussion on the recent current affairs.

10. Are you sure you’re not just a bunch of rejects from Nerds FC?
Absolutely. In fact one of the recent presidents of the club is IN the current season. In all seriousness, we do have more than our fair share of trainspotters and geeks, but that’s because we provide a warm, interesting and supportive environment for everyone.

We also have actors, writers, lawyers, architects, accountants, illustrators and teachers abungo. Some of our members wonder what the hell they’re doing here (the writer has never ONCE played D&D, yet has a comprehensive library of medieval textiles), but we all find areas that capture our interest and expand our knowledge of the world and our own abilities.

11. Do I have to be a wench?
No. Women have access to all parts of SCA participation and all levels of power. So if you want to be an axe-wielding maniac who runs the treasury of the group, go wild. And if you want to wear a cleavage-enhancing frock, feel free, but be aware that you will drop crumbs down there until you get the hang of things.

The SCA has policies on equality across all groups, so really, you’re the only person who can limit your participation. That said, there are a lot more men than women who fight at the moment, but things are slowly changing there.

12. Will I meet girls/boys?
That we can promise you. Of all descriptions and persuasions if you head to one of the bigger events such as Rowany Festival. Whether you like any of them is another question entirely, but you will make friends. The biggest upside of this is that, as an international group, there is often a free sofa available when you travel overseas, just use the SCA connect-a-traveller network before you set off.

13. Is it all just a cover for ‘adult activities’?
Every now and then you will meet someone who tries to convince you the SCA is all about getting your kit off. Take a close look at these people and ask yourself: does it seem likely that they regularly get any?

While we’re perfectly happy for you to get your kit off with whomever you may choose, that’s your business. We’re a family-oriented club, there are kids about, and horses!

14. Do I really have to talk like a Shakespearean actor?
No. But we do ask that you not discuss modern (we call them mundane) topics at events. Most people spoke a fairly standard English in the Middle Ages, and it’s the same in the SCA. If you speak perfect Middle or Elizabethan English, feel free to show it off, but be prepared for some blank glances. Oh, and the people who speak with accents in the group? They’re actually foreign imports, we’ve got quite a few.

15. Are you all a little mad?
Yes, but if you can’t be mad at Uni, when can you be? As for the older members, it’s less mad than spending every Sunday at golf.

Canty Faire 1

2007-02-11T15:55:00.000+11:00

I have the cold of doom, and I think that I would provide an interesting subject for a study on whether or not snot slows synapses (I vote yes.) So, to tide folks over until I can construct complex sentences again, some photos!

This was Harry the Hedgehog. The kids found him on the first night at Faire and took him around to show the Aussies what hedgehogs were like up close and personal. Usually they curl up into a ball and act all horrified when caught, not Harry. Clearly he has been living at the camp for long enough to learn that humans=food, so he was friendly, energetic and appealling. Pippin managed to spike himself several times trying to keep Harry on the cushion until they found a bin to carry him about in instead. No hedgehogs were harmed in the making of this photo, and Harry was returned to his place of capture with some salad.

There were a lot of students taken at the Faire, which always makes me recall Sir Brand loudly proclaiming that he likes to take his students in public. Here Sir Tycho is squiring John (sorry! got that wrong originally!) of Southron Gaard, a very promising 17 year old who is also a very sweet young man. Sundry members of Amberherthe (seriously, how do you spell that?) look on. NB Elizabetta's cute black frock on the far left. Also, behind Tycho, yet another Lochac Laurel falls prey to the Viking virus. I think that probably makes it endemic ...

This is Sir Tycho's other half, the indominatable Mistress Christian. She is saying "Evil Laurel" and would like those who have not met her to accept this as their take-home message.

If you're from around Rowany and you're thinking "looks a bit Celi-like to me", you're doing quite well, aside from the fact that M and G would crash-tackle any of their own who publicly appeared in anything that early. But she does have the best ever six-foot-something accessory to pull the whole look together.

This is Peregrine and Emayne. They are so appallingly cute that I had to keep taking photos of them. They are also known locally as the Bunny Butchers, for reasons that I will get to in the next post but are pretty much obvious.

I remember Peregrine at my first CF when he was a shy little metal weapons lad who had dipped his toe into the SCA waters just as something to do in his downtime. He's now Seneschal of Southron Gaard and I suspect him of future Kingliness so long as young Emayne thinks it would be fun. They rock. They were also recognised as students at the fair, apprentii to Master Llewellyn.

This is Angel's bee. She was sitting down on the hay near the Mong (Mangy Mongol's emporium of fine comestibles) when a bee crawled onto her shoulder. She tried to ease it off, but it wanted to stay, and since she's not allergic, she let it.

The bee came for a stroll around the camp and even popped into the A&S display (seen here, note Mine and her feathers in the background). After a while she popped back down to the Mong and sat about for while. The bee, happy with its journey, buzzed off back to where it came from.

This young man is Ethan, Svente and Merewynn's son. He was without doubt the fiercest kid at Faire, cheerfully slaying everyone he could. I am not sure if he is going to grow up to be a knight, a barrister or an opera singer (oh the lungs!), but whatever he wants to do, he will do it to the limits.

I'm not sure if you can see thanks to the bad shot (er, thank you Blayney for cleaning my lens and vastly improving later shots), but he has the coollest knitted arming cap on. He killed Alfar mightily, too.

"If I concentrate very hard, I might remember where I put my frock ..." Yes, Mine is in her undies, because Sybilla did the standard trick of asking her how an outfit went together, to which Mine's response is usually to show exactly how in detail. NB this will probably not work so well if you are a boy. In that case you should try the traditional wooing, dinner, chocolates and flowers. She's a vegetarian. Not that those comments are directed at anyone at all, oh no. (And if you ever sing Hello Yolly, I will recall my gelding skills.)

A knight! In a minidress! Yes they do things differently in the Crescent Isles. Nevertheless, you can tell that this is Sir Inigo by three obvious signs.

One: impeccable grooming. Note the regularity of pleats on that tunica.

Two: astonishing dapperness. Even in a red mini he conveys Paris Louvre more than Paris Hilton.

Three: bloody great big bruise on the back of his leg. He was cursed by the gods tournament to be beaten up hill and down dale for an afternoon, and spent much of Faire in interesting states of blueness.

He did seem awfully cheery about this outfit, I suspect it was the chance to not be at all subtle about showing off his well-formed thighs.

Inigo was not the only knight who posed for shots. Here is Sir Tycho being a good knight and making dinner for his camp. He also made all the fire irons you can see around him and many of the knives in the campsite. And that's why Alfar and Gudrun asked him to be a Laurel and he'll be joining the truly attractive order at MidWinter (yet more Norse laurels, I'm afraid, G.)

Note Lord Richard supervising on the left. Very important job, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Sir Vitale wants to be the bad knight. You can tell this from his cheery leer and his porn-star facial hair. Yes, ladies, those are his actual pants and he is posing outside what can only be described as a seraglio (did it have etchings printed on the roof canvas? Alas, I was too afraid to look.)

Sadly, he has too much of a nice side to qualify for evil and thus he remains merely dodgy.

But well dodgy. Those mustaches would not look out of place on Ron Jeremy, and let us not investigate the reasons given for cutting his crotch so low (I was told sock storage, which seems cruel but practical.)

I hear you asking: "Are his feet really that big?" Sorry, ladies, that's just foreshortening. Although I hear that's an excuse that men use a lot ...

This is a classic Grace photo. She loves having her photo taken as much as I do. She does love being carried around more than practically anyone, though, and again J was the most frequent means of Grace transportation.

Poor Grace was doing her utmost to be as good and helpful as possible for all of Faire and yet kept getting into trouble. Even when, on one occasion, she had been genuinely nowhere near the events that she was blamed for (she was somewhat at fault for at least two other incidents, so sucked that blame up girlfully.) It's the curse of being the younger sister, the other kids only listen to her big brothers but the adults all see her as being an authority figure with their kids. I think I've spotted one of the reasons she wanted to hang around with us more ...

M, L and N were all cheerfully nutty by the last day of fair. As you can tell, L is the serious one. The Crescent Islanders do good kid, and these three were all smart, charming and discerning. If their parents trust you, then you're OK, if you don't have the seal of approval, you're avoided. And if you're on the OK list, you're climbed over whenever the mood strikes. Young Dickon and I put L and N to bed on the last night and had to deal with loads of little girl shenanigans as they did their best to stay awake. Dickon bravely bore up to all, and, when we finally shut the door behind us (having been suckered into leaving the light on, my fault, not his), he exhaled a sigh of "Good grief! They are such high maintenance!" For his trials, Dickon was allowed to join us in the adult ice creams the next day, and I suspect he will stay in that category.

The day after Faire we went for a drive with Christia and Tycho, and I had the one and only experience of car sickness in my life. At the time I thought it was having milk for breakfast and then the smell of chemical cleaners in the car (I am a delicate petal nose-wise), but since then I have realised it was having my inner ears filling up with snot. Fingers crossed I infected no-onw, many apologies if I did. It was a very good day, up the hills and over the peninsula. The countryside ALL looked like this. Which made things very kooky as I kept forgetting which hemisphere we were in. Especially when Christia and I sat in a ditch surrounded by mullein, yarrow, red clover, dandelions and valerian with hay and ash and oak trees in front of us. I do love NZ a great deal, but it continues to play kooky games with my mind. More and saner bits later. Back to bed for now with more Disprin and a book. Oh my exciting life ...

And in other news ...

2007-01-29T23:45:00.000+11:00

I like to see what's in the papers on my birthday as a bit of a scene setter for the coming year. This year was a combination of the very good with Richard Hammond happily back on Top Gear, which you can see here, and the very daft, with Americans believing that a shield to block out the sun is a better way of dealing with Global Warming than, oh, I don't know, a functional EPA or not driving a fucking truck everywhere.

So, basically the War on Drugs is lost, and they are now offically ALL on crack. It's the only plausible explanation.

Older!

2007-01-29T23:11:00.000+11:00

And occasionally I feel wiser, but then I do something utterly daft. Oh well, at least it usually involves physical comedy and everyone gets a good laugh.

In news, this was a lovely birthday and that was a lovely party! Except I cocked up on one important item, which was not checking my inbox on the other email account I own, wherein were sitting two bounces for invites that had gone out and come straight back out. J has configured everything tricksily, and apparently my home account goes through my GMail account, which would have been good to realise last week.

So I am so sorry to Wenchi and Mr K, who were definitely both invited, if only it had reached you! And of course there were several other people who I meant to invite but just never got my act together. But that's just general D crapness.

As to the people I did invite, it was wonderful to see everyone! And there was charm and good humour and delightfulness all round. Thanks so much to Art, Blayney, Bleddynn and Deense for the last-minute organisation help. Although Deense should have sat down and relaxed!! I feel that the onions brought your headache back and that is not a happy thought.

Eadie led the rush to the children's play corner, then some actual toddlers arrived and the taller kids had to vacate. After spending time choosing pillows with different textures and putting out toys, it was the old favourite game of Rocks in Pots that kept the midget set happy (give toddler pot, set loose on pebble pathway, watch as pebbles are redistributed, return later. It's a winner!) Is and AJ were alternately adorable and grumping for England, but every time the tears started, there were more rocks!

M&M's barbecue was a godsend and chugged along merrily through many, many bits of food. We were going to have some sausages tonight, but we accidentally had cake first and that was the end of us.

It was very good to see people I don't get to catch up with often, including Peter, Taryn and Sarah. I know that Sarah was having a fairly crappy day for other reasons and it was really good to see her being able to relax for a few hours (and resist J's evil pavlova blandishments!)

J was completely right about the amount of pavlova required to feed our peer group. I was very over-compensating with the food. Keria supplied all the pre-prepped catering and it was delicious! And packaged in very thoughtful little ways. The kiddie dips were very fun. Oliver decided that he was not for blue kiddy tzatziki, but not before sliming his whole face with it. Sorry, DV! Our neighbour Jim and Meags and her J have now had the beer fairy visit after we realised that an undrunk slab of Coopers would take up the whole fridge.

As to pressies, made out like the proverbial bandit! Thanks, chaps! The best thing was that every gift was very thoughtful and just right. It's not that I have issues about parental forgettings of birthdays ... oh, hang on, yes I do. J was a winner, too, with a perfect pair of earrings and a light and magnifying glass combination for sewing.

And a very big thank you to everyone who commented on the cleanliness of the living room and garden. While my knees may never forgive me, at least we're now set up for more entertaining. Although the cat thinks we've done it all for her and was very cross when the cushions came back inside.

Thanks, too, to Drakey, Myna, Blod, Margie and Aphie for their notes. I feel very loved and happily birthdayed. Now I have to go off and sew lots while planning more great novel and serving all my meals in the new Countess bits (so we drink soup for a while, it's good!) Must sew, or J will be naked at Canty Faire and that would be very, very bad.

The Seven-Point Plan for Conflict Calming

2007-01-24T01:34:00.000+11:00

I have been very quiet. Because it's summer and hot weather makes my brain dribble out my ears. Due to heat-induced stupidity, I have been saving all my smarts for work. [Including the ones that stop me making glaring typos by blogging in the wee hours. Fixed now. Just the unglaring ones left.]

But a startling number of people have been emailing me for advice. Which is very funny, because I have over the years written several fake advice columns where I had to make up the questions. No less than eight people have asked me for conflict advice in the last month, and I didn't have to make up a single one of them.

Why? You may well ask. Because Miss D and Nelson Mandela aren't names that are immediately paired in most minds, even after all those years of ANC dues and that tricky diplomatic incident.

On the one hand, I am getting increasingly old and have not yet killed any of my contemporaries despite an appalling temper and violent streak. And on the other hand, I have had to learn how to deal with my appalling temper and violent streak well enough to pass for someone remotely gracious.

So, given that the basic material was so dodgy, I have in fact thought about how to resolve conflicts without tears an awful lot. In fact, I have a strategy, which I have been cheerfully sharing with people on an ad hoc basis. Tonight, I actually wrote it down. Here, in seven simple steps, is my strategy for dealing with practically every conflict.

1. How much of this situation is my fault?

It goes without saying that we find it really easy to see what other people have done to screw things up. What it took me years to learn was that I have always contributed in some way, too. Sometimes it was active, such as calling someone a twat. Sometimes it was passive, such as not talking to someone when I sensed they had a problem with me. Sometimes it was in good faith, such as treating an utter idiot like a normal person, sometimes it was in bad faith, such as not helping someone because it was all too hard.

No matter how small or large, you will always find that there is some part of the blame that rests with you. It is important to start here, because this will give you insights into why the other person or people involved act the way they do.

2. People are NOT psychic

You do not have a lot of the information about what's going on in the head of your opposition. Neither do they know about yours. Unless you have sat down and spoken calmly, honestly and at length on the issue, it's highly likely that both sides are ascribing to the other values and beliefs they simply do not hold. You may well have the right idea about what's motivating the other side, but you may also have the wrong idea. Talking is the only way to find out.

3. People are NOT bad American movies

As a writer, I find most American film pretty hard to watch as I can usually tell what will happen after about 10 minutes. Some people say there are only seven plots, and Hollywood seems to believe this. It is very easy to start ascribing motivations to people and then reacting to them based on what you believe their motivation to be. Once again, while you may well be right a lot of the time, sometimes you will be horribly wrong and it will make the situation infinitely worse.

There are two options here, you can either ask people what is motivating them, which you should do for people you care about, or you can address the specific issue and intentionally ignore whatever is behind it, which is faster for dealing with people you don't care about, but with whom you have an operational relationship.

4. Write out the argument

Take some paper and sit down and write out all of your points on the debate, then write out all of your opponent's points. NOT THE ONES YOU THINK THEY HAVE MADE, just the ones they have actually made and that you know came from them, not from hangers-on. Now sit down and see if you can make a valid case out of your opponent's argument. What parts of their beliefs are true and what parts are not? Are there areas where you agree on deeper issues?

For example, I believe the death penalty is indefensible. But I would agree with a pro-death penalty activist that serious crimes deserve serious punishments and that victims are going to feel a desire for revenge. This doesn't change my core beliefs, but it does change how I argue the case.

5. What can I give up to make this better?

In almost every conflict, there is some actual thing being debated. Power, money, time, possessions, oil ... the list is a long one. If you can clearly see the thing that is at the centre of the debate, then ask yourself if you can give up some of it to make the situation better.

So, can you share power? Split an inheritance? Play with a different group for a while? Concede one argument to win a bigger point? If there are concessions that you can make that will bring the conflict to a satisfactory resolution without you feeling that you have given up too much for your integrity, then make them.

6. Don't try to 'win'

When both sides in a debate are going for a win, it means that each is trying to make the other lose and that each will hold on like crazy to their positions, even when they start to suspect they're just a teeny bit bonkers.

I like to come to a debate in a bid to convince others that my position is strongest, but also willing to take input and modify that position when convinced by the other debators.

On the one hand, this actually does work and I often end up with something that is very close to my original position because other people feel happy that they have had wins on small issues that I was prepared to sacrifice. (Er, yes. That is Machiavellian. But like most Renaissance thinkers, he was onto something.)

Even if I can't come to a satisfactory conclusion, calmly sitting through the debate and saying "Whoa, you're personalising this issue here, can we just relax a little and come back to my central problem. You clearly have a different view of what should be happening, stop shouting and just tell me what that is." will make you look sane and rational and either convince the opposition that you are there in good faith, or else really, really piss them off. At which point you should stand up and say "I'm not prepared to stay here so that you can shout a lot. Give me a call when you calm down."

7. You can't work with crazy people

This one takes years to work out. But when you have rationally, calmly put your views, made concessions, tried to see things their way and tried to rid yourself of all the baggage you brought to the issue while communicating freely and openly ... and it's STILL all bonkers, sometimes you have to realise that the person opposing you is just mad.

This is an end-point position. Don't start with this assumption, no matter how tempting, but when it's the only logical answer, then it's probably true. Mad or on drugs. You cannot deal with this person, step away, close it down, stop contact.

In addition to the seven general points, there are two specific memos. Firstly, you are not responsible for the stupidity of others, and trying to be is a recipe for pain. Secondly, if you think someone is stupid or lacks integrity, don't vote for them.

And I freely admit that I learned number six from The West Wing. And number four from Miss William's debate classes.

In other news, birthday approaching, garden labourer coming tomorrow for clean-up and planting (yay!). Catering under control (bigger yay!) Forgot to invite about a dozen people that I really like and it's just embarrassing to do it now (boo!), so I'll have them over for dinner at some point instead (yay!).

And James, if you're still wondering about last-minute presents, try:

Neil Gaiman's Mirrormask (movie, or any of the books)
About 100 lace bobbins in the Bruges or Danish style
A floor stand magnifying glass for embroidery
The Complete New Yorker
A year in the life of Shakespeare (it's a book)
The Lord of the Rings complete soundtrack
Fridge magnet poetry
Pilates classes

Really, I should have just abandoned the party and spent all the cash buying myself things I now realise I'd quite like to have ...

Four Good Things and One Not So

2006-12-30T16:20:00.000+11:00

Sorry for the appalling lack of postage lately. The holiday time of year is actually a very busy one for both J and I. He's at work at the moment and I'm trying to finish cleaning the house, creating a puppet show, weeding the garden and making Marie's hat all at the same time. So, naturally, I'm blogging.

Argh.

Anyway, I thought I would end the year talking about some of the good things that I have been up to lately, and then one thing that I think we could all do better.

The first good thing was the Hobby Horse Crusade which we attended a few weekends ago in Polit. Karl Faustus ran the event – he has an LJ, but I'm not sure how public it is, so I won't link him here. His household has a very clever concept whereby they match experienced event runners with not-so experienced ones and so pass on skills and ensure that the event will be fine no matter what.

At this event, KF's Beloved, Dame Joan Sutton and Countess Mathilde Adycote worked their kitchen magic, while BJ, better known as the youthful Lord Robert Stoner, ran the heavy tournament, the lovely Gabrielle of the Marshes ran the fencing and a young man named Erik ran the boffer. In addition, there was a quintain, hobby horse racing and general boffering to use up all the energy in the young people.

While he gave full credit to Count Stephen for his organisational help, Robert did a brilliant job with both the heavy biff and in encouraging cross-discipline support. The heavy tourney was won by Duke Cornelius in a nail-biting finish against Count Veniamen; they were enormous fun to watch and very similar in a lot of their Cunning Moves. Also very amusing, which was needed on such a hot and tiring day.

Cornelius accredited Veniamen with the victory, who denied it and claimed it was all Corney. Given that His Grace was hung-over and His Excellency was perspiring like a melting thing, I think they can both claim to be manly men of much mightiness and leave it at that. Well fought, at any rate.

J did not fight as he had begun the day with a pounding headache and then we spent the first hour of our journey travelling about eight miles in awful Sydney traffic; so his decision to leave his armour at home was the best one since taking it would have brought on heatstroke or a fully blown migraine (and I can't drive to get us home from these things.) A shame, though, as he would have enjoyed himself greatly.

The rapier tournament was, I think, won by Owen against Gabrielle, but I could be hideously wrong. Around the time of the finals I was chatting to the very courtly and charming Owen who had just called me Your Grace when a fly flew down my throat, leading to a solid two minutes of coughing, hacking and spitting. While the fly was ejected in all the fuss, I feel that it did my gracious image no good and once again thank the stars that there is Duchess Morwynna for people to look to in terms of dignity.

The boffer was the key part of the the day and it was won by a new young girl named Lauren who belongs to the same homeschooling network as Karl Faustus's elder daughter, Bethany. Now I have a terrible confession to make. I can never remember Bethany's mum's name. Because I am an idiot. Admittedly an idiot who was hit in the head with two tonnes of taxi, but I have a bad feeling I was this useless before that, too. Karl always refers to her as Beloved, which doesn't help. So my exchanges with her go like this: "It's really good to see you! Your daughters are really cool! Gotta go! (Before it becomes obvious I have no idea what your name is and you think I'm rude and/or stupid. Now you just think I'm rude.)"

Anyway, back to the boffer. Lauren is one of those cool young women who are strong and smart, which allowed her to quickly pick up that the way to win in the boffer was to evade your opponent's reach, then lunge in for the tap when they were planning something else. Several of the boys were so focussed on thwacking her in the rounds that they failed to spot her strategy and she was able to kill them all. She's wearing the olive green frock in these photos. Her young friend, Caitlin (wearing the light blue), was also a quick study at the technique and she won the chivalry prize as she was extremely gracious in her boffering. At the end of the day she gave her prize, a pretty unicorn hobbyhorse, away to Catherine, Joan and Crispin's oldest girl. This was very much appreciated by Catherine, who spent the entire evening and the next morning riding and grooming her steed (prizes courtesy of Their Excellencies Stephen and Mathilde). Caitlin dimissed her generosity saying that she was a bit old and would only have enjoyed the hobby horse a little bit as opposed to Catherine's a lot. All the adults immediately thought she was adorable.

I think that Bethany may have come second in the tournament – my brain had utterly melted in the heat, but since her little sister ended up playing on a hobby horse a great deal, I suspect that this was the case and that her prize, too, was given to a smaller small. She did, however, make it very clear that she will be Lochac Earl Marshall one day, and quite possibly a knight, too. I have never seen anyone who is such a stickler for technique and rules when it comes to boffer; not in the bossy way, but in the instructive and teaching way. It was fabbo! She was very keen that all the kids have fun and no-one get hurt. More generosity in the young!

The Court at which all the prizes were handed out was just lovely. I've mentioned before that there was no bad choice for the new B&B in Polit, but Allesandro and Isobel are doing a wonderful job and have a really good presence, plus good schtick; not too formal, not too jokey, but just right. They also fought on the day, alas, they were smoten.

Robert and nice young red-gold-haired boy whose name I think might be James or John (argh! no brain!) did some technical instruction with me in the boffer at the end of the day. We showed the midgets the need to bring the boffer in close to power a disarming blow, then just use a gentle rebound to actually hit the opponent, and we reminded them that when it came to knights at festival, they were to rebound with a thwack. Robert revealed the mounted position for boffer cavalry and we were instantly surrounded by kids who wanted to be seen as tall enough to be the horses. Alas, only a handful were, and some of those were too slight. I had one young man pointing out that he was a good two inches taller than me, and I had to confess that I weighed at least three stone more than he did. But he plans to eat a lot between now and Easter.

Robert again mentioned that he thinks we will need helmets if we are to do the mounted thing. I think he is right, this will require thought. There is already a fair bit of expenditure to be made, so I don't want to add to it. We may need to rethink this.

After all the biff there was a lovely relaxed feast which had been billed as 'unchallenging'. While the kidlets were all unafraid, it was all tasty and delicious, nothing bland or boring. Robert Stoner was given a Griffin's Egg at Court, which is the Polit award for people under 16 who have contributed a great deal to Polit or to served as examples to the youth of the barony. It was very well deserved! Then, in a very unexpected moment, I was given a Griffin's Egg, too, despite meeting only one of the categories and then barely. I felt very guilty, since I only inspire the children to violence and silliness, while Robert is a good example all round. But I was touched nonetheless and have been carrying the token around with me ever since.

It was very good to have an opportunity to talk a bit with the kids that night, although the heat was showing badly and I was much less coherent or energetic than I had intended. Still, when young Sophie came bouncing up and 'sang' a song at me that went "Giggle giggle you going giggle giggle fair giggle giggle time!" I was at least enough on the ball to join in with "Remember me to the one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine." Which amazed Crispin and amused Sophie no end. I must get down for another small Polit event so that I can chat properly with people like Bethany and Robert, Caitlin, Lauren and her nice brother; they are all the sorts of kids I liked when I was a kid – a little kooky, but in the interesting and individual way. And ridiculously good looking. Are there no ugly children in the SCA?

The best thing about this event was that all the kids felt quite welcomed, while there were things for the adults that made them feel right at home, too. No one was stuck in the corner, and the newbies felt just as much at ease as the oldtimers. I do hope that the new folk will come again. I even had time to briefly meet an adult I liked, Meredith, who, like all Merediths I have ever known, was smart and funny.

Later that night we stopped by Jeff and Barry's for supper, which was just delightful. I really miss seeing them more regularly, and Jeff and I were reminded of the fact that J and Ewa (Jeff's wife) are identical in many mannerisms. The old joke is that Jeff and I could never run off with each other (because we'd kill each other aside from anything else), but Jeff and J could. Ewa and I once planned that we would have rocking chairs on the verandah if we needed a contingency plan, and she would get to eat the soft ice cream from around the outside of the tub and I would tackle the hard bit in the centre.

The next morning we visited Joan and Crispin at their home and J was able to have a bit of training time with C. Good fun for them. We girls relaxed, with Joan's little girls showing me the fairy garden. Catherine and Sophie have a very good garden with several cubbies and spots to climb as well as a sandpit and some flowers. Catherine turned into the hydrangea fairy and scattered us with flowers and leaves. Excellent! Of course, the funniest moment of all was completely unintentional. Sophie is only three, and she spent the most time with us at Festival where her mum was running our Royal Household and we occasionally gave her a ride in the Royal Wheelbarrow. So she could barely contain her excitement when she leaned across the table and confided in a loud, high whisper, "The King is in my Bathroom!!"

The second good thing was another event, which I actually started to write about a few weeks ago and then was distracted. It was the Feast of the Four Winds in Colles Adorum. My briliant Apprentice Number One invented this event to go with an A&S competition she runs where people are encouraged to submit full outfits.

This year the event was run by Adam and his team, and they did a really good job with the hall and the food. Apparently the tournament was great, too, but we missed it, I think we were both at work through the day. John Dye was there with his very cool lady, and there was a stack of younger folk who all seemed to be having a good time. Zanobia won the A&S comp, with a very good outfit that was intelligently designed and made. Eadie came second, with a beautiful Hollandish, and Bleddynn third with a Roman that would have scored higher marks had he oly thought to provide doco. The most exciting thing was that all the entries incorporated handmade shoes! That young Artemisia is a very good influence!

It was another of those small SCA events that is just seamless. There was a lot of food and cold drink and room to dance or run around like a loon. We stole young Sarah, Adeline's daughter, and J, Maeve, Miles and I took it upon ourselves to wear her out. Which we succeeded in! The clever adult game of Run in a Circle still works on her. I give it a year, max, before she works that one out.

Anyway, for a good event and a great idea, Four Winds (which J will call Beanfest, but let's not encourage him) won two thumbs up from me.

The third good thing was the In Dulci concert we attended. In Dulci are a group of mostly Rowanite singers (a spot of Stowe, too!) who are very talented. They have taken their in-game a capellaness and made it work out of game, too. Although they are still pretty medieval/Baroque in their song choices. So far we've caught two of their gigs and we've got the album. When they release a T-shirt, we'll have the full merch set. Needless to say, they were very good and we enjoyed ourselves a great deal. Bethan did a champion job of conducting, for which she is being rewarded in this shot by flowers. Katherine and Annabel both sing like angels, not that I'm biased towards tuneful sopranos ...

The fourth good thing was Christmas. I decided to go all-out and make things. So I have a mostly made hat for Marie and a mostly made calendar for several others, but I briefly had a wholly made gingerbread house!

It was inspired by Malin's magnificent gingerbread house of two years ago, but I failed to learn one important lesson. Humdity is the natural enemy of the gingerbread. You would think that a Jasper Fforde fan like me would remember that.

The house itself was sweet. It had a flower garden made of jubes on two sides, and a path and rear deck made of blue and green M&Ms. On the side it had a musk stick entertaining area, where a gingerbread angel had fallen to its doom. Above it there was a shooting star of Bethlehem, or Halley's Comet, depending on your theism.

The path was lined with raspberry licorice, and there were pfeffernusse trees at the front and marshmallow snowmen out the back. On one side there was a large clinker-lined pool. In the pool, jelly penguins swam. It took me hours!!!! And a great deal of royal icing!!!! And I had to stop J from eating the Freckles that were meant to be the roof tiles.

After starting at about 10am, it was mostly ready to go by about 5.30. Dinner was at 7.30. Alas.

For one brief half-hour, things looked pretty good. Tyg and Krin got to see it in its happy phase, and I did think to snap a few shots off so that we could make Malin laugh. The green triffid is a gingerbread tree, BTW. And then, Sydney's cruel and unusual summer weather kicked in. While it may not have been the usual 40°C (100°F), the humidity was still soup like.

And so the roof line began to sag.

And sag some more.

And then crumble under its own weight. In desperation I popped a plastic container inside to try and hold up what remained of the structure. That worked, a little bit. By the time we got to Marie and Manfred's house of Hospitality for dinner, alack, things were looking grim.

As Blayney or Bleddyn would say, there was something of a structural failure taking place. We decided that it was a house in Tamworth, where freak hailstorms two days before Christmas had seem roofs collapse in major buildings. A delicious dinner was eaten, then we turned back to the house.

Which by now resembled nothing so much as Mawson's Hut. Collapsed. Destroyed. Defunct. Still tasty, though.

Everything was not lost. We had a splendiferous dinner with good company, including Manfred's parents, who cheerfully wore silly hats for the occasion, and Marie and Manfred themselves. Very good presents were exchanged, and much duck was guzzled. As with all good festive meals, we sat around for hours afterwards making the urrrr noise.

And to prove that it wasn't just me who was having a bad dessert day, Marie's mousse turned on us and became so chumpy, you could carve it. Tasted bloody good, though.

Christmas Day itself we spent quietly at home, then Spyd and Mendoza came to visit us on Boxing Day with AJ. Who ate dirt, because he is a proper kid. Then he demanded a nice drink to get rid of the dirt taste, because he is also a smart kid.

We still have Gordy's present to get to Spyd and Lily's to get to Mendoza; we weren't really as organised as we meant to be this year. Of course, since I still haven't finished the sodding calendar, it's all a schemozzle.

In terms of our personal loot, J and I gave each other lovely things that we like a lot. But he gave me a jigsaw puzzle! Which is why I haven't finished anything. These things are like crack! I got this far on the first day and then spent the next three getting about a third of the way through the black background. Luckily, Spyd mentioned that there were things called puzzle mats that let you roll your puzzle up and come back to it. So that saved me from losing my whole holiday to my OCD. It will still be there after Festival when I need something brainless to do.

We actually had money for the post-Christmas sales this year and I spent most of it on a new mattress so that we will sleep comfortably. Expect new levels of sanity and attractiveness from the two of us. I am counting down the days till it arrives on the 10th. (Eleven! ha ha ha ...) (Sorry. I really couldn't help myself on that one)

Finally the one bad thing, which I thought I'd illustrate with this amusing photo of my cat hiding under a travel pillow. Don't worry, she's fine. I've realised that we're generally bad with newbies in Rowany. I realised this when I met someone at an event recently who lives here but doesn't come to local events because she was slagged off by some Rowanites at her second event. She was in the toilets when she heard herself being described in specific and unflattering terms.

Funnily enough, I had recently spoken to another very cool woman (Hi Emma!) who had had a similar experience and who had decided to write us off as a pack of wankers. Thinking back, I had a number of oldtimers describe me as an unprincipled social climbing bitch when I joined. Which is, of course, ridiculous. I have plenty of principles and I would spend my energies climbing more useful societies if that was my real goal. At least they got the bitch part right.

I had a chat with Maeve and Miles and they described similar problems when they joined. In fact, it was only that Gui and Bethan and a few others were there when Maeve and I came along, and I already had Mouse and Coco to trust, that we made enough contacts to keep us in. Miles fell in with many of the same lot, and Gawyne and Alfar, too.

So the four of us (Miles, Maeve, J and I) resolved to spend more time helping newbies in future. And to introduce them to loads of people so they can make up their own minds who they play with rather than feeling tied to one group from the beginning. It's not the world's greatest plan, but at least it has the advantage of being easy to remember. If anyone has a more concrete method for making new folk feel included that copes with being managed by four overly busy and slightly distracted people – do tell!

And now for resolutions:
Get authorised
Kill Knights (either due to being authorised or with the Mighty Midget Army, or both ...)
Make new Elizabethan frock
Wear old one again
Make smocks for Canty Faire
Finish bloody calendar before end of January
Grab Lovely Apprentices for frock-making days
Shields for Mighty Midget Army
Don't overcommit
Enjoy more events
Finally write up Hollandish notes before Adele (rightly) kills me

That's enough for one year's blogging. Happy New Year to you all and thank you for your patience.

For S and J

2006-12-20T00:26:00.000+11:00

Recently I have been prodded by two of my nearest to provide them with gift suggestions for the Birthday that will fall in five and a half weeks. This post is for them. It is not designed to make the rest of you think you need to buy me flash gifts. While I love flash gifts, I can save up and buy them for myself if it comes to that. Although, if you're one of the many people who have received expensive wedding, baby and birthday gifts from me over the years, a small trinket would be nice since I'm never getting married and none of you buggers ever have anything under $100 on your registries.

There will be a do on the weekend of Jan 27-28. Details will be sent out shortly as soon as I can book a caterer. And if I don't invite you to said birthday do, it's not for lack of love. It's for lack of catering budget and the fact that we have the world's tiniest house. And I really need a new mattress before the sleep deprivation sends me over the edge, so the catering budget is staying small.

Anyway, S and J and the few other people who feel the urge, here's a long, comprehensive list. Do not go crazy. Things I particularly love are starred with an asterisk. I would also be very pleased to receive an email from Oxfam telling me that someone in Uganda has a toilet or a goat donated in my name. Relax, S and Baggy, the goats are for milking.

Right, so, onto said list.
*J, I would like a nice piece of jewellery; something that I will wear often. You should sit down with S and LAJ (M) and listen to their advice to you. It can have your name on it. It should not have just my name as I know my name. Although it was very sweet of you to think of your cunning plan. John W Thompson is the engraver whose work I really love. I can wear silver or gold. If you decide on a ring, a good cunning plan to get the right size is to take an impression from one of the two rings I wear all the time. The one with the stone fits my ring finger, the other one fits my thumb. They live on the bathroom shelf overnight.

I will not go mental if you don't give me jewellery, but if you plan to, you should organise this very soon as it will take much more than a week.

*In other news … I collect Royal Doulton Countess china in the green, yellow and black pattern. It's the original pattern of that name, from the early 20th century. Not the new pattern (which I am appalled to discover the existence of!)
It looks like this. I only like the green, which is unfortunate because you see more of the pink and the black, but they're horrid. I would like anything in this pattern, really, but would particularly like a teapot and a sugar bowl. The former should cost no more than $150 and the latter no more than $30, but it's a matter of finding the little buggers. I have bought most of mine off eBay, which is punishing on the postage. The Sydney Antiques Centre has some from time to time in their china-focussed stores, but they tend towards the usurious. This would all be so easy were we in London ...

I would love any of the following books:
Decca: the letters of Jessica Mitford by Peter Y Sussman
Before the Mast; life and death aboard the Mary Rose, ed Julie Gardiner (available from Mainly Medieval, 02 9519 2131)
Once More with Footnotes, by Terry Pratchett, but not from Amazon as they are gouging mercilessly
Dynasties: Painting in Tudor and Jacobean England 1530-1630, by Karen Hearn
Elizabeth's spy master: Francis Walsingham and the Secret War that Saved England, by Robert Hutchinson
Linger Awhile, Russell Hoban
*Debs at War, Anne de Courcy
Agincourt, by Juliet Barker
Isabella: She-wolf of France, Queen of England, by Alison Weir

*Or a subscription to one of my favourite mags, the Literary Review. If you've never picked up a copy, do, it's brilliant. Oh, and J, Gardens Illustrated?

CDs
Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, because I can divorce the music from the history
Mozart's The Magic Flute
*Any Vaughan Williams, my albums are all just that, and I have no turntable these days.
*The Proclaimers Sunshine on Leith, because I need a quick flashback.

'Medieval' things
Light white linen, lengths of over 4m
Silk sewing thread, white, black and deep red
Purse frame from Mainly Medieval, 02 9519 2131
Candlesticks, salt or needlecase from same
Elbow cops

House things
A medium-sized food processor
Space bags, the proprietary brand, not the cheaper knock-off. S was right, they are magnificently useful.
Magazine storage holders (any type, I'm no longer fussy. Carboard from Officeworks is fine. Just not fluoro.)
A cleaner
100 per cent cotton double sheet set in plain colour (white, green or dark red are all safe)
Wooden bath mat

Writing things
Antique writing box, like this one, or this one, but only if you have actually won the lottery.
Thick cream or off-white paper with a slightly rough texture, torn edges are fine, preferably cotton or linen
A nice crystal, silver or brass inkwell would be welcome
* More Moleskine notebooks, I prefer the unlined notebooks, but also don't mind the unlined reporter's pads. The thin paper is better, since I never end up sketching in the sketchbooks anyway.
More Staedler triplus fineliners in the four-pack with the flip-top case. I go through these and Moleskines at an alarming rate.

Lifestyle things
A horseriding lesson, because I need to brush up
Singing lesson, same reason
Packed sandwiches (no pig, cheese or sour cream!), some waterbottles and company for the Spit to Manly walk
A Trangia camping stove and insulated bottle for meths
Gardener for an afternoon (just a labourer would be fine)

This will probably be amended after Christmas, as I have no idea what J is getting me, and will add on the things from the Christmas list here. Good company and laughter would do just as well. While I may not have finished the Great Novel TM yet, I have my health (which is apparently excellent according to my last checkup), a wonderful J and utterly fabulous friends. And I won't read the comments on this thread in case anyone feels the need to point out what an acquisitive horror I turned out ot be after all.

Duchy ceremonies

2006-12-09T02:18:00.000+11:00

Heyup, sorry for the delays in posting, but things have been hectic to the point of sleep deprived lunacy around here. Just between us: never try and reorganise your whole house in the weeks before your Duchy ceremony and at the busiest time of the year in magland.

On the up side, we got the mag done early, for we are godlike!

The downside is at the end of this post because I don't like to start with a grump (it's a doozy.)

Back to the ceremony. I had wanted to do this at Yule because I have never had any big moments in my home barony, so I flew down the K&Q and hoped for the best. Alas, several important (to me (and to others, but I was having a selfish moment)) people couldn't be there, but the majority of people that really mattered to me were. It was especially good to see the Colles gang (Hi Evie! Hi Zanobia!), and Phil came up from Polit specially, which was very sweet.

Thank goodness for Maeve! She spent the whole afternoon helping me out with the enormous list of things that needed to be done. She is an angel.

I, however, am foolish, because I agreed to be the Queen's native shopping guide. I should just have drawn the wonderful Deense some good maps and trusted in Anna's native genius to use them, rather than use hours I didn't have. Oh well.

It was, however, very enjoyable having brunch with Asa, Deense, Maeve and Anna. They are all women that I would like to spend more time with. We had some bad news while in the cafe about a friend that three of us care about and Anna hasn't met, which put a bit of a spanner in the day.

Fast-forward several hours of frantic preparation and the very slow return of J from the tournament and we hit the event with about half-an-hour before court, which might sound like a lot of time if there weren't dozens of things to get done in that half hour.

Quick sidebar here, the hall was fabulous. It had been beautifully decorated and the banners and greenery were such that even before we were able to taste any of the delicious food, we knew it was a really good event. Here's the lovely Stanzi looking very startled that someone is taking a picture of her (she looked great), with J, Mendoza (also looking spiffy in his new mandress), Sir Torg and Duke Cornelius behind her.

Right, so, we'd made it into the vestibule. There were four banners to assemble and my two beautiful apprentices were amazingly useful in getting them together and then, with Maeve, making sure that J was dressed. Aelfled is always a bastion of calm, and Art was amazing, especially with her head wound! (The Rowany pavilion centre pole had fallen on her earlier that day.)

Thanks, too, to Miles the ever-handy for help with both parts of that sequence. Meanwhile Marie and the lovely DV were wrestling with my sleeves. I had made a fundamental error by choosing to wear the chemise that Baroness Helene had made for me. It has boofy sleeves, which were in fact too boofy for my frock and led to some great weirdness. My fault. I just wanted to trot it out for something good given the amount of work that went into it. Thanks, DV! And thanks, Tyg, for not laughing at me!

Mayela and Tyg were calm and angelic, and added immeasurably to the beauty of the procession, and to the sanity. Even with Tyg proclaiming that she had run out of same. Blaeney was manly and carried a sword. It's what he does.

Mendoza was set to herald, which was perfect, because he is brill and also very important to us, so that was a very easy way of working him into the ceremony.

Cornelius and Morwynna, Duke and Duchess Lochac, were very helpful and calm and carried the wreaths that we used instead of coronets (too much faff to get them done, and besides, I spent all my spare money on air tickets for the K&Q!). It was very good to have them there, quite aside from setting a nice tradition of contiguity.

J went first, and his ceremony was very well handled. Although I do not know what I was thinking when I left the word heretofore in. Steffan Glaube and I like that word, maybe Anton and Marie. The rest of the kingdom have it on their Lists of Words for Wankers. And rightly so. My bad.

Once again I was very happy that Draco and Asa had won May Crown. They are so charming and relaxed in court, at the same time as maintaining great dignity and serenity. It was lovely to watch them recognising J's new estate, and also to see Duke C's role in the ceremony. My favourite thing in-game has always been people living up to their titles, and all three conspired to make it a fine moment for J.

As you can see, the wreath was a bit verdant, but I will hasten to point out that it contained many strawberry leaves, as did mine. Thanks, again, Maeve!

Baron Hrothgar later cheerfully pointed out that J would make a great green man. J pointed out that he was far from green these days. Bordering on silver.

After the Duke's ceremony comes the Duchess's, which meant that we needed to get in line and go.

Luckily there were a few hurrahs in between.

Morwynna, Maeve and Marie took their spots around me, with the banner sisters bringing up the rear. I know that I had the courtesy banner, but I forget which other one came in with me, Largesse? Probably, leaving J courage and prowess. I kept thinking, again, how wonderful Tyg, Art and Allesandra had been with their help on these. And especially Marie and Manfred who not only helped with the tech and physical bits, but gave up house space.

As you will have noticed from the photo, my whole role around Morwynna is to make her look taller and slimmer. But she makes me look long-haired ...

So we processed in with Marie carrying a pen and ink, and Maeve a rose. The rose is the symbol of the Queens and ex-Queens, while the Kings get a sword. Seems a little unequal, so I added the pen and ink, because as we all know, good press beats conventional weaponry any day. Well, at least until the Democrats take both houses ...

Note Marie's sexy hat. It's not actually hers. Her one is still half-made because I wanted to have a tidy and organised house. Alas. Still, everyone looked very good, although I can't see Maeve in that frock without the mental image of her unhooking a few clasps and stepping out of the farthingale, forepart and petticoats to tuck up the red skirts into her bike shorts and step into a sailboat. Remarkable engineering.

What's that? back to the narrative? Sure. The K&Q said nice things about me, they took the wreath from Duchess Lochac and gave their accolade, and then gave me a pen and ink and told me to write. I can't believe they let me put that in the ceremony; like I need encouragement.

Duchess Lochac welcomed me to the club; I gave her the first rose and mentioned what an inspiring model she had always been to me, which goes back to my early days in the SCA, then handed the second rose to the Queen in token of her joining us in a month. All very nice.

We then swore an oath to the King, Queen and Kingdom, which is a little different to the standard fealty. It reads:
Here do we swear, by mouth and hand,
fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Lochac.
As we have ruled this Realm in faith,
so shall we keep that faith henceforth,
that we may, by our example,
foster chivalry, courtesy, and honour throughout the land;
until the Crown depart Their throne,
or death take us,
or the world end.

Which I liked because it gave us a clear job description. I should have mentioned that the whole cermony was a merging of West and Caid ceremonies, because we wanted to recognise both of Lochac's parent Kingdoms. Benedict from Ildhafn suggested this idea many months ago, because he is a darling. Another big thank you there.

During the fealty, J dropped his sword. Which means that it is now tradition! Duchess Lochac and I hatched a plan that I will bring a sword to Draco and Asa'a ceremony, as back-up in case nothing has clanged to the ground by the end.

One thing that was forgotten was my dubbing! The most important bit! I didn't feel at all real. Asa blamed Draco, Draco blamed Morwynna. Morwynna called for a sword and did the job herself, which was stylish, classy, sensible and funny and has gone down on my shortlist of top SCA moments.

(Draco let me punch him gently in the ribs in complaint without having me banished or executed, he's a lovely king! He also promised to vote for me on the Chiv the minute I'm ready, so one day I finally will get a dubbing from a Crown. If I train a lot. Eh, it can be done!)

Finally, here are two of the banners, which you can see better if you click on them. We gave Art courage because she was so brave about the head wound; Tyg had Largesse, because it's pretty and so is she. Aelfled had courtesy, because that's her one! and Mayela had prowess, because she's good at practically everything.

But I really must make the lettering at the top heavier ... in all my spare time ...

The rest of the night was weird. I kept trying to spend it with people who had been important to me during the reign, but kept being snaffled instead. Some snafflings were fine, such as when young Robert took me to talk to his mum. Others went on for ages and were with people who normally don't talk to me. Yay for the rockstar approach to the SCA. Oh, hang on, that's sarcasm. Sorry, I try not to slip below irony.

Meanwhile, the people that I care about were treated to drive-by visits and quick chats. At least I brought champers and strawberries ... It was all very frustrating, and I can see why Cornelius and Morwynna bunked off immediately after their ceremonies.

At least I was able to see Helen for the first time in years and meet her lovely chap, Nick. He's ace, and I don't just say this because we seem to have lived parallel lives ...

Right, back to the downside.

On the downside, the house is still a teeny bit of a shambles and we didn't get to the event at the time other people would have liked us to.

To which I say: you pay for the King and Queen to visit your home Barony out of your own pocket and then feel free to come and whinge to me. 7.45, people. We knew there was a second court at 8.15 scheduled, and it's not like everyone had even finished first remove.

It rather annoyed me [pissed me off immensely] that a select band of people harped on about this. I'm not talking about our actual friends who said "Are you guys OK? We were worried." because that's fine. I'm talking about the people who, instead of saying "Yay, congratulations, bet you're excited!", started with "Where the hell were you?" and then nagged mercilessly.

Well, we were dealing with things going wrong and then people calling every five minutes to add a bit more stress. I reiterate: 7.45. This is only scary late to six year olds.

There was one person only who had a right to be annoyed at the timing, Cornelius, Duke Lochac. He had a bike meet on the next day. We had left it entirely up to him if he wanted to come to the event. He chose to (which was a very welcome choice). We also sent messages that we would understand completely if he wanted to leave, he chose not to (again, something that we appreciated). We apologised to him afterwards for delaying him an hour, he said that it was all fine. I have immense respect for Cornelius's ability to make his own decisions and be forthright in communicating them. If the one person who was inconvenienced had the grace to be offering congratulations and support, you might think that would be the model to follow.

As it was, I spent much of the last week following the other Cornelius model, where he rolls his eyes and then looks a little unfocussed as he mentally slaps gits. I feel I have a lot to learn.

What did I learn from it all? That I am very grateful for my friends, that some peers rock, that ceremonies should have meaning and aren't just for the punters, and that some people will take a happy, shiny moment and be an utter cock about it.

What I'm trying to learn is how not to let the last group upset me. But as J wisely said: "The people who have any understanding of all this are Cornelius and Morwynna, Draco and Asa, and our closest friends and household. They were all happy and supportive. No one else really matters."

Which is not at all true, and quite wholly true at the same time.

Off to Hobby Horse Crusade in the morning, must get some sleep so that the kids can climb all over me with impunity.

The curse of satire ...

2006-11-21T20:20:00.000+11:00

Is that sometimes you don't quite hit your mark. After two very smart men have both said that they found the last post rather unrealistic, I'm clarifying that the previous post included satire. The good peer is not something anyone can actually be all the time, or even most of the time. We do have days when we are out on those limbs and being amazing in our eptitude, but they're very occasional.

The good peer bits are there to represent an end-point, and while some of it is a good goal for normal behaviour, such as the ability to take criticism and the gift of giving it gently and supportively, most of it would make you into a git.

Mynabird, who is as smart as she is lovely, wrote a great post on her great costuming LJ that picked up on the reason for the satire, which is that there genuinely are people out there who expect peers to have no life outside the SCA. They get cranky when knights go home at a reasonable hour because they have to get up for work in the morning. They are outraged when laurels they barely know say they can't spend the next three hours patterning a frock for them and talking them through the construction. They are appalled that a pelican won't run their event for them. They are especially outraged that the same knights they have just been slagging off don't want to be mobile pells for them to practice on (and I increasingly have sympathy for why some heavies are slapped out of the way seconds after lay on is called in tournies and wars, also why some knights direct their light infantry to shoot particular people, even if they're on their side.)

So, I failed in part of my mission, but at least no-one's read it and said "Yes! for the love of bunnies! Why aren't there more selfless peers like that?" Because then I'd have been forced to reveal that while I try and restrict myself to bad, I am quite capable of evil.

Good Peer, Bad Peer, Evil Peer

2006-11-15T13:22:00.000+11:00

Because I am an old baggage, it often escapes my notice that there is peer mystique in the SCA. And then I will talk to someone lovely and young and be reminded that a. I really am an old baggage, and b. some people still find peers intimidating and confusing.

For example, a lovely young lass recently asked me why some laurels won’t help with costuming and patterning, to which I replied that it was probably because they were EVIL! Or brewing laurels, in which case it was for the best and they were actually being good. Then I mused a little longer and said: “perhaps they’re just tired and would rather be out down the pub or at home with a good book. Which is bad, but not evil.”

She looked at me intently, then asked: “But how can I tell?” At which point a light bulb went off over my head and several special effects could be heard. So I bring to you, Miss D’s guide to Peers: the good, the bad, and the evil.

You should know now that it’s practically impossible to be a really perfectly good peer. Genuinely good peerdom is something to aspire to and to hit when you can. Most of us are bad peers to one degree or another, but charmingly so. And there is good reason for us to be bad, we have real lives, we get tired, we’re naturally grumpy-trousered people (actually, that could be just me). What we try not to be is evil. Evil peers make the rest of us look bad. Here’s how you can spot the difference.

Scenario One: Please help me with my frock!
The good costume laurel will sit down with you for hours patterning a new frock and talking through the construction. She’ll loan you several books that show you what you’re aiming for, and answer questions over the phone, even pop round your place to make sure that you haven’t gone astray two nights before the event you want to wear the frock at.

The bad costume laurel will help you with the fitting of your bodice and draw a pencil sketch of how the sleeves and skirt should go. She will give you a list of books or websites that you should check out to see how it’s done, if she’s feeling very kind she might even loan you a book. She basically assumes you have enough intelligence to get it done, although if everything cocks up mightily, she’ll probably feel bad and help you fix it.

The evil costume laurel will offer to make it for you. For cash. And then not do as good a job as you could have paid a local dressmaker for, but charge the same and bully you more about it.
(NB It is quite kosher to ask costume laurels to make you garb for cash and for them to do so. The non-kosher bit comes about when they give you no choice in the matter.)

Scenario two: I want to learn how to fight!
The good knight will spend many months helping you learn the basics of offence and defence. He will help you make and acquire armour, fit your underpinnings until everything is comfortable and teach you the basics of body mechanics. Over the next few years he will check up on your progress and give you further pointers. He will take you aside during big tournaments and point out simple ways for you to improve immediately, or else give you tips on your opponents. He will champion you when you do well, even if you’re losing, and take you aside for a chat if you start acting like a twonk on the field.

The bad knight will help you out, but only after you’ve agreed to join his household. He will teach you and help to accoutre you, but in return you will be his buttmonkey and spend Festival running around after him. God forbid you should come up against him in the finals of a big tournament as he will show no hesitation in reminding you how much you owe him. He will, however, vigorously push your case on Knight’s Council.

The evil knight will teach you how to win. He will teach you to hit harder than anyone else and take harder than anyone else. He will deny that this is monstering and instead talk about dominating. He will insist that all of heavy fighting is about the sport and divorce it from the chivalric context entirely. Any win is a good win to this knight, any loss a failure. He will probably sleep with your girlfriend at some point.

Scenario three: I want to run an event!
The good pelican will listen to your plans and point out areas where you may need a bit more work. They will step in to help you out if anything goes pear-shaped, but before that happens they will have given you a good long list of warnings to look for, so things probably won’t. They will introduce you to others who can help, and remind you of the essentials such as having a clean-up crew, and the need to be nice to said clean-up crew.

The bad pelican will encourage you to go ahead with the event but will then disappear for much of the planning period. As soon as you hit your first major screw-up, though, they will reappear and help you fix it. They will then laugh at you a lot. But that’s okay, because their proteges will help you out for the rest of the process and you’ll come out of it without a complete nervous breakdown.

The evil pelican will ignore your cries for help and then spend the evening loudly proclaiming that it is a crap event. When taken to task over this, they will sniffily reply that it’s what happened to them and it’s the only way to learn. Evil pelicans have few friends.

Scenario four: I’m new!
The good peer will sit down with you and talk you through what you need to know to enjoy the event. They’ll introduce you to people if you’re there alone or without a big group, they’ll help your group to integrate smoothly if you’ve come en masse. During court, they will sit near you and explain what’s going on and show you the correct etiquette. At some point during the evening they will probably introduce you to some of the pointy hats, or else some of the more interesting people who will be of use to you in joining the SCA.

The bad peer will be catching up with people that they haven’t seen in ages, and you’ll probably have to butt in and ask a few questions. They will be helpful and cheerful and introduce you to some of the young people and the hospitaller. In truth, they will be fobbing you off, but it will be done with charm and they will check up on you a few times during the evening and remember to smile at you afterwards. If there is a table full of peers who are all drunk, give up, they probably won’t notice you. In a best-case scenario they will sing rude songs in your direction. Don’t target peers who are breastfeeding, crying, having a nap or in the middle of obviously important conversations. Newcomers practically never do this, but other people do and it’s just astonishing. Of course, if it’s to say something vital, such as “The hall is on fire, who do I tell?”, interrupt away.

The evil peer will look at you as though you are from another planet, say, “Yes, and I’m important,” then look away. It may reassure you to know that people who do this are almost without exception poorly endowed.

Scenario five: I’m looking for information on a topic!
The good peer will let you look through their library, then help you write up a list for further research. They will take you to the good local libraries, or at least give you instructions on how to use them. They will give you a list of key names to search on and warn you off dodgy books that sound good but are actually rubbish. They will supplement all of this with their own knowledge and experience, and introduce you to others who are interested in similar topics and will be happy to help you.

The bad peer will give you a list of names, regions or else a period to narrow things down to. They may well introduce you to a good peer because they’ll feel bad if you screw this one up. They will probably toss you a book that will get you started in the right direction without requiring too much time and effort.

The evil peer will have the perfect book for you. But they will never tell you about it. They will never tell anyone about it, they will just hide it away and present the research in the book as their own.

Scenario six: I’ve fucked up!
The good peer may well have noticed this before you mention it to them. If you come to this peer looking for help, you will find wise guidance, compassion and understanding. They will help you to fix your fuck-up and redeem your reputation, even if it’s something serious. If you are trying to get away with being an utter arse, the good peer won’t let you. They will talk to you in private and advise you to change your ways. If you persist, they will advise the other people who come to them to complain (this will happen) that they, too, should talk to you. Ultimately they may use the laws to stop you, but they will have gone to you first in a bid to have you redeem yourself.

The bad peer will look on with a furrowed brow while you do something appalling. They will have a quiet talk with some of your mates and ask if you have cracked under pressure or just gone completely mad. They will suggest to you that you may not be on top of your game. If you go to them seeking help they will make you a cup of tea and give you some good advice. If you are wearing the Crown, they will roll their eyes and say: “I’m in fealty to the Crown, not the loon who’s wearing it.”

The evil peer will shrug and call you a try-hard. Since they are more evil than you, your actions will barely register.

Scenario seven: You’ve fucked up! (no, really.)
The good peer will look horrified and then admit that they have indeed made a mistake. They will apologise publicly and they will set about repairing what they can. They will make personal apologies to individuals they have hurt and will be humble about the whole thing. It may get to the point where some of those individuals ask them to stop apologising, enough already!

The bad peer will be upset, they will say that they are sorry for what they did and if they hurt anyone they apologise unreservedly. They will then never mention it again. If the topic comes up in future years, they will leave the room or else get terribly offended.

The evil peer will say “How dare you impugn my honour by suggesting that I did wrong! I’m a peer!” They will then blacken your name to anyone who will listen and spread bitter stories about your evil attempts to make them look bad. If only the stories were consistent … Over the coming years people will talk to each other and realise that they were all told different things and most will work out that the evil peer is, or was, evil.

Scenario eight: Will you be my friend?
The good peer will say: “Sure, come round at seven and we’ll pattern you a bodice/cook something/practice wraps.”

The bad peer will say: “I already have too many friends to keep track of. But I’ll be nice to you and help you out if you need it.”

The evil peer will say: “Piss off, peasant.”

Scenario nine: Where’s the best of the SCA?
The good peer will be wearing something right – shiny armour, appropriate garb (of whatever class/time/region), shoes, hats and accessories. They will talk with newbies and with oldtimers in a courteous and interested fashion. They will introduce people who would benefit from knowing each other. They will work to stop events from going wrong, they will also nudge people in the correct directions. They will be honest (except where that would be too cruel) and they will be brave. They will open up their homes to teach and they will be generous with their resources. They will not for a moment suggest that they are what is best about the SCA, but you will come to this conclusion by yourself after a short time.

The bad peer will manage about 50% of the above. They will acknowledge that they just don’t have the time or energy to manage the rest, but they will at least be charming and amusing about it. They will have moments when people look at them and say “That’s what you’re aiming for!”

The evil peer will assume that they are the best thing in the SCA. They will probably tell you this. Luckily, people are usually only fooled very briefly.

End note The above examples are all constructs, drawn from the behaviour of collections of individuals. They are not meant to be based on individuals, so don’t look too hard for real-life analogues. Although Gabrielle, Rowan, Steffan Glaube, katherine, Evil Baron Alaine, Stanzi, Angie, Hrothers, Helene, Cornelius, Phil and Leofwynn were all inspirations for some of the good peer bits. Some of them also doubled for a few of the bad peer bits, sometimes in the one category. This being good thing is not so easy, I tell you!

Stupid quiz results

2006-11-15T00:03:00.000+11:00

Argh! I let myself be sucked in by Sir Phil's ruthless cheeriness and love of LJ memes! And then I went off and checked out his mates and discovered that Duke C is actually my evil twin Skippy. It's a scary world.

You scored as IV - The Emperor. The Emperor represents power. There is nothing subtle about this Tarot card. The Empress has power through love.The Emperor has power through power. He is in control, he is forceful and ambitious. Nothing will stop him. He is a natural leader, having either been born to the role or having disposed of all those who stood in his way. If well aspected in a Tarot spread this card can indicate success. It represents obstacles overcome, goals reached and ambition fulfilled. If badly aspected it can indicate either weakness or an abuse of power.

II - The High Priestess

94%

IV - The Emperor

94%

III - The Empress

94%

XI: Justice

88%

XVI: The Tower

88%

I - Magician

81%

VIII - Strength

75%

XIII: Death

75%

XIX: The Sun

75%

X - Wheel of Fortune

63%

0 - The Fool

56%

VI: The Lovers

31%

XV: The Devil

Which Major Arcana Tarot Card Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

In other, much more sensible news, I finally worked out how to throw a wrap (I suppose it really only took 20 minutes, but I'm used to getting things in under five!) and we have a cunning plan to make the second not-quite fitting helmet into a fitting neatly helmet. Anyone want to buy a virtually unused sallet for about $300? It's nice and shiny!

But the best news of all is that the Hamster has his driver's licence back. Right, off to finish the sensible post with actual SCA reading matter in it.

November Crown, AS XXXXI

2006-11-07T12:58:00.000+11:00

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.

Before November Crown

2006-11-03T16:56:00.000+11:00

It's the day before, and I still have no idea who half the field is. More people are keeping their plans to themselves than ever before, either that or I am so far out of the loop that I really need to reassess my personal hygiene standards.

I know that there are a few people from the Melbourne groups heading down, and some from Ynys Fawr fighting, but I don't think that any of that lot have had enough top-end practice to take it out.

I have heard rumours of Asbjorn and Inigo, which would be very exciting, but I've heard those rumours before. I think that Asbjorn may have it somewhat over Inigo if they are both there simply because the former has more high-end fighters to go up against regularly, and over the last five years that has seemed to be the decisive factor in top-end Lochac tourneys. I would love to see a Kiwi King, but I'll wait to see them at the event before I get excited.

So far, the probable top end seems to be Blayney, possibly Alfar, and J. Now J will not be winning unless there is a monumental screw-up on the part of all other participants in which case Lochac will finally see what a minimalist reign actually looks like. Also, he's in a very good mood, so the likelihood of him concentrating all the way through the tournament is negligible.

Is Alfar fighting? Goddess only knows. Half the rumour mill says definitely yes, the other half says definitely no. I could ask him, but where's the fun in that?

Which brings us to Blayney. I want him to win, dammit. Actually, I wanted him to win last November Crown, too, and we all know how that turned out (memo to self: "I can't believe you won that!" is not the most supportive of consortly statements. But my apprentice was rolling her eyes at me. And rightly so.)

But he's young, he's committed, he's been training hard and teaching harder, he's put in all the yards he needs to put in and he's a damn nice guy. Plus, his consort is fabulous. And the fact that if Blayney does win it will send a cheerfully energetic two-fingered salute in some specific directions shouldn't be ignored, either.

So it's on record that he's my pick. But no pressure. Because anything can happen in a Crown Tournament, including being drawn against the two best fighters in the first two rounds. J has been known to fight like a god in the early rounds and then be distracted by pretty birds in the semis, conversely, he has fought in a rather pedestrian fashion through the beginning of a Crown list, unable to get into the swing of it, and then suddenly turned into a fighting machine. So if Blayeney is put out by Alfar and Asbjorn, I will merely regret the fact that the list fairy is a bitch sometimes. And if he's put out by Miles, I will assume that Miles is having a dose of Crown magic where everything comes together for some fighters on the day (I am very fond of Miles, but he's not had enough prac time in the last six months for me to be looking at him on the same page as Mr B, although I could be wrong as Gui is a cunning teacher and Miles is a smart man.) So B, whatever happens, we're on your side and it's not just because Art will hit us if we're not. Yup, we both have our fingers crossed for Blayney.

Although if it comes down to the final and J is there against him, let me just say that there will be some harsh words if Mr B doesn't take it out. And they will not be coming from me.

And for anyone asking (which is very reasonable) why we're entering if we don't particularly want to win, it's for two reasons. Firstly, J and I initiated the poll that saw Lochac become a Kingdom and as part of that we felt a sense of responsibility for the whole thing which saw us agree that we would fight in every Crown we could. Secondly, and more importantly, the first Crown that J won was against a good field of midrankers, but no Chiv. And when he came back there were some delightful people who said "I should have entered, I could have won that one."

So he makes sure that in every list possible the victor can now say, "And I had to get past Duke J …" (previously Sir J).

That's because he's a man who takes people being crap and makes it into something positive. I am the mean one because whenever I heard people say "I should have entered …" I replied "Yes, then he could have beaten you, too." At least I'm not a totally unsupportive consort!

Normal service will be resumed next week when I start having a life again. I wouldn't mind working so much if anyone paid me ... the evil side of freelancing ...

Costume Laurel = Bitch

2006-10-16T23:23:00.000+10:00

It occurs to me that I have been far too nice lately. And J is away on holidays, which means I either blog or clean. So I'll blog because by jingo I loathe housework. My mother was right and every girl deserves a good wife.

So, costume laurels. We're mean, vile, ghastly people who will criticise your stitch length, mock your alleged doco and then steal your boyfriends all before lunch on the first day of Festival (Pennsic/Canty Faire/big multi-day Drachenwald camping thingy ... what's the one in Sweden?). At least, that's what our press office says. Admittedly we got them cheap from the US intelligence service, so they may not be the most accurate of bunnies, but you've all heard the tales.

And no matter what we do to be helpful, caring, generous teachers of our arts, everyone reverts to the stereotype at the first available opportunity. Two days before I stepped down from the last reign I was at a sewing night with my apprentice marking out my hem and clearly about three weeks behind in my sewing time when a young woman came up to me and said "Oh please, can I ask you a teeny weeny favour?"

I looked at her straight. "If it's for sewing or patterning help tonight, no. I have absolutely no time at the moment."

"But it's for this weekend!" she protested.

I replied, "Yes, me too!"

She mooched off with the expression of "Bitch!"

Which is fair enough, I could have been the sainted lupin and put aside my own work to help her out, except that I AM a bitch and wanted to do something for me. Something else I quite want to do for me is have the following moans about bad costume. But I hasten to add that just because I am a bitchy costume laurel doesn't mean we all are.

It's just me.

And the people who taught me.

And most of my friends, and theirs, and a few of our role models, too.

Aside from that we're all delightful.

WHEN GOOD FROCKS GO BAD
1. Breasts
In general, I'm all for breasts. Pert little ones, soft rounded ones, saggy lived-in ones, even. I've used mine over the years for everything from picking up attractive young folk to storing keys between and resting sleeping babies on (other people's sleeping babies, but they're not fussy about whose breasts they rest on. Actually, neither were the attractive young folk now that I think about it.) They're a handy tool when you need an instant comedy accessory, and a decorative element that has many functional uses.

But in period costume, breasts have clearly defined places. Those places are almost never rolling over the top of your neckline.

I've just been off to look at yet another dress-diary and what is otherwise a pleasant frock has had the neckline lowered by about four inches so that instead of having a nice smooth cone-like demure Venetian profile (as in the doco on the same page), it's all quivering norkage wobbling over the neckline, which is barely excusable when you're twentysomething, but ladies, after thirty, if you can't attract attention without threatening a wardrobe malfunction, then you did not use your twenties wisely.

There are some frocks in Lochac that I can't talk to the owners of when they're in them, as I find myself just staring at their cleavage. Not in the good way where your brain goes to metaphors like marble and adjectives like yielding, but in the bad way, where the metaphors are all down the veined cheese path and the adjectives start at wobbly and get much worse from there.

I know all about making a frock and turning into a fat bastard before you make the next one, and I accept that it can strain bodices beyond where they're really happy to go, but that's why partlets were invented. Or you can pull up your chemise or smock so that at least there's a layer of white linen reinforcing the concept of mystique.

Because if I want to see your nipples, I'll buy you a few beers first, and maybe quote some Sappho.

2. Corsets
While never in the course of human costuming have more corsets been misused for more bad breastage than in the SCA, there is still an important place for this undergarment. That place is the 16th century.

Sure there are some corsetted pre-16th century items. There are even some 16th century styles that actually don't have corsetry. But most of them do, and not always the one type.

So why do I keep reading doco that says, "After looking at the image, I decided that there was no corsetry underneath this frock"?

How many people do you know who have perfectly straight lines from their shoulders to their artificially lowered waistines? That go in little Vs at the front and back? And that make their breasts smooth out into either a straight line or a very controlled curve?

People, if you put on your lovingly made late-period frock and discover that you look a lot more like a shapeless sack than the girl in the picture, then try adding a layer of corsetry beneath and see if things improve. And then refit the fucking frock!

3. Bad fit = ugly
I have garb that is too small for me, it draws horizontal lines across the front and back, creates unsightly bulges and means I can't move my arms. I have garb that is too large for me, it hangs like a sack and lets everyone know that 40 is just around the corner for this little brown duck. I have garb that fits just right and it is comfortable and attractive and makes me look better than I was looking before I put the frock on.

And that's from pieces that all did fit properly at one time or another (mercifully the large ones fit only very briefly. Don't eat all the cakes!) I know several lovely women whose SCA clothes all have terrible fit and who always end up looking like frumps because of it.

It is hard, sometimes impossible to do it for yourself. I'm damned lucky to live near several of the best fitting laurels in Lochac, and I appreciate that not everyone has that luxury. But make an effort. Wear the right support garments, have a clear idea of where the seams should go and how the support should work. Cut your pieces on the correct grain, and find someone who knows what they're doing to fit your basic bodice, even if that means hiring in a mundane dressmaker and talking her through everything at length. (You may want to check the outcome with someone who has a good period eye to make sure that your instructions yielded the correct fruit.)

Once you have a good block that will work for what you want, never gain or lose weight again and you can adapt it a whole lot of ways.

This is really a hard one, and I am so far from perfect when it comes to my own garb because I can't ever believe I'm really this short or this fat, that I'm prepared to be really forgiving until I see stunning fabric cut up and butchered in a travesty of sofa-like construction, at which point I get a little twitch at the side of my mouth. If you can't fit clothing, only buy cheap fabric. It will cause you less pain once you learn what you're doing, and it will be easier on the rest of us, too.

4. Why choose an ugly frock?
Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the kooky frock. I own one of the stupider frocks in the Kingdom – it has many buttons! Wacky hats, I'm there. Hell, I like brown.

But there are also some frocks that are just plain ugly. They have stripes that make you look stumpy. They have padded arses, and enough fabric around your middle to make you look like the Michelin Man. The have big shoulders and big sleeves and more dangly crap than the Olympics. They have detail that draws the eyes to your knees and that makes you look about two feet high and four feet across.

And you should not spend weeks of your life making one of these frocks, for it will not magically suit you. Rather, it will look awful, and so will you.

There's a simple rule of thumb if you're going from a portrait. Does the person wearing the frock remotely resemble you and, if yes, does the frock look good on them? Look carefully. Sometimes you might think "yes, she has my brown hair and pearly skin." but then when you look more closely, you will realise that she also has a body length that is about twice as long and half as wide as it is in reality, which is why that frock makes her look long and lean. The artists just added in extra ribs or neck where they thought they could do some good, or took out a bit of hip. In one painting, there's n ectra leg. It's sort of a period Photoshopping.

Duke Cornelius and Sir Philipe recently related a tale to me where they had been sent images for some garb they had been asked to make, drawn to standard fashion model shapes. Apparently they scanned the shot and Photoshopped it so that it was much shorter and much wider, then sent on the two images labelled The Dream and The Reality. It's a bit of a harsh thing to do to yourself, but it's so much less painful than spending weeks or months making something that will look manky.

Being seduced by a pretty painting and missing that fact that the frock is manky is bad, but much, much worse are the people who choose to make something that is inherently ugly because they like one of the elements. Chaps and Chapettes, you can take that pretty embroidery or lace or colour or whatever, and make a whole new frock out if it. It is, as Gabrielle often reminds me, the Society for CREATIVE Anachronism, and while we horrid Laurels will no doubt giggle at you if you make up something that is outlandish, we will think highly of you if you come up with something plausible.

5. Shit fabric with braid is still shit fabric
I cannot emphasise this strongly enough. If the fabric looks plastic, ugly, vile-coloured, sweat-inducing or creased to buggery in the shop, that's what it will also look like when you wear it as a frock. No amount of pretty braid, pearls or even hand-woven lace will redeem crap fabric.

Buy the nicest, most period fabric that you can afford. And if that's plain wools and linens, they will still look better than shiny shit. Maybe buy a bit less braid if it's becoming a real issue.

6. You probably won't look like the picture
Artists are kinder to their subjects than prepress technicians with the full Adobe Creative Suite. Choose things that appear to look good on your body type, with regard for what the actual fabric looks like against your skin, and then if things are still a bit sub-par, light-reflecting make-up works wonders. Or only go to events where everyone is really, really drunk, steal all their cameras and re-touch all the photos before letting anyone see them.

I have grown to accept that even if I am once again skinny, I will never, ever be tall enough to look like Mistress Marienna in 14th century garb. Like her friendly neighbourhood pixie, sure! Let go of the dream, embrace the reality. It hurts less.

7. Dress does not equal outfit
We've all seen it, the really well made and quite cleverly imagined frock that still manages to look wrong. Is it the chemise that was made for another frock and doesn't really go with this one? Is it the lack of belt and partlet, despite the fact that the dress is crying out for them? Is it the free-flowing pink locks? Is it the trainers and plastic sunnies?

It's hard to put your finger on the real source of the problem, but somehow, you just can't bring yourself to say "nice frock", even when it is.

(And let's not even talk about furs, pattens, hose, books, gloves, coats and other accessories! Start with the accessories and make the frock later, that way you're guaranteed to look great (and weigh the amount you will when you want to wear it).)

8. Two words: ticky and tacky
Just as for fabric, some beads, braids and other accessories aren't work the money, even if that money is $2. You will impress those in the know far more by creating a beautiful, simple garment than by sticking on a lot of nasty bling.

Okay, so you'll distract Gabrielle for a moment, but then she'll feel bad about herself in addition to not liking your frock as much as she thought she did, and that's just mean.

Hot glue is a grey area, along with invisible thread. If you can make it look invisible and hence fantastic, then most bitch laurels are prepared to buy your argument that it's a reasonable facsimile of glued garb (quite period) and near-invisible fine silk threads (almost impossible to find these days).

9. Bulk is not your friend
Unless you are really skinny, in which case carefully positioned bulk is. Otherwise, think through how many layers you really need in an outfit and how heavy each of those layers is. Once your outfit starts weighing 7kg and above, you're not going to like wearing it as much as you thought you would. Especially in an Australian summer. And the excess baggage is punishing.

You might also resemble a rugged-up toddler and not be able to move your arms, which isn't the best look. If you have multiple layers, make them out of light materials where possible. Trim all seams as much as possible. Stitch or iron all seams as flat as possible.

Be sure that if your garb is making you go out in particular areas, those are the areas you want to be going out in. And for boys, be reasonable on the codpieces unless they are for comedy.

10. Purple unicorns make me very cranky
I'm prepared to overlook this sort of stuff on kids, hell, girls can get away with it until they're about 20. But if you're a 37-year-old woman and you're trying to convince me to take you seriously while you wear a frock with the period equivalent of My Little Pony embroidery with a pink fluffy hat, it's not going to happen. Sorry.

As for the purple, I can kind of cope if you really love St Florian or are Katerina del Brescia, but even then, there are other colours, people, and you would look lovely in them!

Of course, sometimes it is good to break every rule.

The More Things Change ...

2006-10-13T18:45:00.000+10:00

Back to SCAdia for the most part ...

As part of our Top Gear fixation, J and I have purchased merchandise. At least it's funny, which is more than can be said for most franchises. One book by Clarkson contains a series of articles written between 1985 and 1993. In one of the pieces he talks about mobile phones, and how a good model can be purchased for the princely sum of £2000, with a £50 connection charge and monthly fee of £25.

I remember those days well! In fact, as a young strumpet I would make a point of dating men who could afford mobile phones because all my money was going on travel, books and black clothes, but I still wanted to be able to call my friends from a dance party. (It gets worse, later I dated geeks so that I could use their computers to write my essays and learn about this Arpanet thingy. Some of them were very cute, though, especially after you pried them out of their cardigans and into some black stovepipes.)

This has all come flooding back to me over the last few days because Deense has gone green and was pointing out that since 1987, we've had a massive increase in consumption. You can read about that here, but I'm going off on a tangent, so don't flee if you fear the eco warrior within. When I thought back to 1987, I remembered that it was a time when we had no iPods, mobiles or PDAs, when very few people had computers (although several people on Deense's LJ piped up to say that everyone they knew had computers, but I suspect they were all 14-year-old boys at the time, which is not the same as people), and most things had an off-switch, rather than a stand-by mode.

I also had a tiny bum and perfect skin, not to mention a short-term memory, but such are the cruelties of time, taxis and the Lindt factories' output.

This led to more reminiscence as I thought about the SCA in the days that I began, and how things had changed. Last night at Stitch and Smack (the fighters have the front of the hall, the A&S crew have the back room) I was reassuring Llewen, an old old-timer, that people were actively doing things about the proposed ban on lights. He then launched into a spiel about the days when he was a big political activist in the SCA, and I realised that I had never known him then (he actually was, just before I joined). By the time I met him, he was concentrating on performance and quite loudly P-ed off with SCA politics.

This got me thinking about the people who were doing things when I joined Lochac. Some of them are still around. Rowan is still Rowan, a dignified voice of reason who can materialise at odd moments and say pertinent things from "Your Majesty, not to worry you, but the High Table is on fire and your Barons are putting it out," to "Quick, go and say hello to that person before she thinks you're snubbing her. Here's her name!"

I remember being introduced to her as The One True Rowan and thinking that must be one hell of a weight to bear, but she is also still cheeky Rowan underneath and useful Rowan all the way through, so she copes admirably, especially with her good group of friends and the ever-supportive Nico. The first time I met properly, her she helped me pattern a frock and gave me sensible advice. The next time I met her she criticised said frock in ways that were constructive and correct, and I had a momentary flash of "Hey, I'm new to making things, be nice!" followed quickly by "Omigod, I'm worthy of Mistress Rowan's criticism! She takes me seriously! I've done a good job and if I listen to her I'll do a better one!" That was a useful insight, and it alerted me to the fact that she was one of the peers who would treat newbies as though they were capable, even if it could come as a shock the first time.

Given that there was a perceived cultural division between the peerage and the rest of the populace when I joined, this was good information. It led to me being able to see that the division was maintained by people who were not peers. So the several long-time non-peer players who snarked at me in my early days and accused me of rampant social climbing were actually defending their own positions, not reporting a reality about how the game was played.

I remember how interesting it was to work all of this out. SCA social mores pretend that they are based on a meritocracy, but to a newbie at that time, it seemed that they were based on who you knew, not what. Talking with newbies these days, that doesn't seem to have changed as much as I would have liked it to.

But as you learned more about the people and the systems, it became obvious that the reason the peers seemed all to be friends was that they had all been playing SCA for years and had all learned to work with each other, many of them finding commonalities that bonded them closely. Some were former teacher-students, some began playing together, some built groups together. Of course they looked like a cohesive mass from a distance!

As you got closer, cracks appeared, especially among the Knights and Laurels. I formed my theory of A-Peers and B-Peers early on, although it took quite a few years for me to realise that there were also C-Peers. More on that later.

My first SCA contacts aside from the much-loved Coco were with people like Mouse, who was living with a Knight, Mendoza, who was good friends with two Knights and several Laurels, plus Angie the rarely seen but ever-present in conversation Pelican, and then Fabes, Elfinn, Bran and Cornelius at Festival, all Knights, all bad, bad men (but they'd make worse women). This was very helpful in that it both debunked the stupid parts of the peer/populace divide and reinforced the useful parts.

The Knights all could kill most people on the field. Mendoza's friends Mistresses Gabrielle and Marguerite did look more spectacular than most other people. Fabes, who was both a Knight and a Laurel, had made his pretty, shiny helm. The mysterious Angie was pulling half the strings behind the scenes in the Kingdom. Each had earned their dangly through skill or hard work, and each was happy to share some aspect of their knowledge. Above all, they all reinforced the idea that you could achieve any goal within the SCA that you put your mind to, and that to want to achieve was not a negative.

The sheer pragmatism of these people was quite a good influence on a newbie in those days. And their casual thoughtfulness, too. At my first Festival I was wearing my first frock, which was not spectacular, though not utter crap. Marguerite (looking wonderful) was coming up a path as I was going down, and she smiled at me and declared, "Don't you look pretty!" Instantly I decided that I was going to sew and sew until I had nice clothes like hers.

I remember well how she and Gabrielle caught my eye at that event, and how there seemed to be a gap between what they wore and what some of the people I knew better such as Tina and Mouse were wearing. A month or so later at a workshop where I couldn't do anything at due to broken bonage, Gabrielle explained that the difference came down to thinking and doing and redoing. And, of course, developing certain technical skills. It was the first glimpse of the library of knowledge these women carried about inside their heads.

Over the next few years I watched my friend Mouse go from good embroiderer to great embroiderer, and the process was exactly as they had described. At first she gathered a set of technical skills, then she immersed herself in period examples and yet more technique, and then she synthesised her knowledge and ability to the point where she could produce works that were simply exquisite.

We reigned as P&P during the period when she was being discussed for the Laurel Council, and it was interesting to see the process of how elevation happened. There were two broad directions of thinking, the peer focussed and the process focussed. Peer focussed thinking starts with does the candidate meet Corpora's criteria for peerage, and then moves to whether their work is comparable with other members of the order and whether they fulfil the technical requirements. Process focussed starts with the work and then looks at the peerage aspects.

Both ways of working have things to recommend them, and I think that they are usually a personal choice. Although I do worry when someone who is very strong on the process side gets through regardless of the peerage side. Sometimes this happens because we all get fooled into believing that individuals have put their days of deep craziness behind them. Usually there are one or two peers on the council who say "I think they're still a nutter!" and get out-voted. And in the rare case when the loony within re-emerges in full and freaky flight after dangly grantage, those peers are allowed to be rather smug forevermore, and the rest of us comfort ourselves with the knowledge we acted in good faith and that it is generally a good thing to believe that people can change for the better.

Other times it happens because the talent is so extraordinary that we allow ourselves to be swept away and forget to make sure that they have the involvement and deportment that makes up the other part of a peer. If we're lucky, the individual goes "Eep!" and leaps up to make the grade. More often it does terrible things to them and they often stop playing at a high level, or at all. Anyway, that's for more detail another time, too.

At about the same time, Mouse and Tops became B&B of Rowany. They were the third since I joined, and I have to confess that I was concerned when they took it on because they were so heavily identified as Lemmings and because Rowany had become very factionalised at that time. I needn't have been. They went out of their way to be inclusive and judged people, for the most part, wholly on merit rather than on affiliation. I say for the most part because it's not really possible to do it entirely. I know from my own experience that some people who are close to us got awards as soon as they were recommended, because we knew very well how good they were, whereas others would need recommendations from several disinterested parties before you could convince us. Mouse and Tops are not as narky as we are, but a little bit of this goes on with everyone who reigns as B&B, P&P or K&Q, even Arnfinr, who is otherwise perfect in every way (that'll be $5.75, Your Excellency. Happy now?)

Mouse and Tops's term as B&B is the time that J and I really started to identify ourselves as Rowanites. Prior to that there hadn't been that much of a Rowany to identify with during our time here. There had instead been several powerful households and two large colleges. I came in through one of the colleges and J still had ties to Mordenvale. And when I was too old to be an Ursie anymore, I identified as a Lochacian, since I wasn't an Attican, Celli, Lemming nor Lyon.

But Maeve, Aeron, Bethan, Hrothgar, Gui, Gawyne and several others at that time all decided that there should be a general Rowany, too. Maeve and Aeron trailblazed somewhat by making sure there was a Rowany campsite at Festival, which Nikki was also a part of if memory serves. I was by then a Viscountess (my peerage advice? Find a promising squire and train him up. Got me a Viscounty, County and Duchy) and they reminded me that it was important to work with the local groups as much as with the Principality as a whole. Since the Kingdom process had moved over into the useful hands of Del and Baron Stephen, and I needed something much more cheerful than the OziBoD for day-to-day SCA enjoyment, I listened. So I started to make a point of attending more baronial things, and they were right, it was fun!

Over the successive years my younger friends all took on leadership roles. Little Hrothgar who was still at school when I joined and who Gabrielle had described as permanently 11 in her head turned into this amazing adult (no longer 11 in anyone's head) and was the next to run the Barony with his beautiful and brilliant wife. It was less startling to see Helene go from newbie to Baroness and Laurel, because I had picked her early on as a woman of intelligence, taste and ability (when she turned down Uther in favour of Hrothgar, even though Hrothers was a nutter and had failed to make the trip north for the Coronet at which she planned to woo him).

Of the people who were leading things when I started, they're mostly still about albeit in different ways. Torg and Lindoret moved to Stowe. Mistresses G&M have bambinos yet are still spectacular (curse their genius). Rowan is still Rowan, Mouse is still Mouse, albeit with more titles and with a mini-Tops on the way, and Tops is as unchanging as the hills (except that he keeps learning more bits to add to his underwater city plans).

Around them a new generation of leaders has grown up, of which I was privileged to be a part. We were very lucky in many ways because we came through at a time when those who were in power were largely about education and not a whole lot about mystification. So we always knew that things were open to debate and that change was possible, even desirable when it was for the good.

I remember when J and I announced the Kingdom Poll we were told by several people that it was the worst idea at the worst time imaginable, but both the leaders that I admired, such as Gabrielle, Marguerite, Rowan and Mouse, and the leaders that I had joined with, such as Bethan, Gui, Maeve and Gawyne, all thought it was a great idea, so we knew that it would work. And it did.

Looking back, the last 11 years in Lochac have been a time when we have been very lucky to have had a long series of peers who have worked to build skills in the populace and to encourage participation. We have had B&Bs and P&Ps and K&Qs who have led with dignity and vision, but who have also been inclusive and encouraging for the most part. Those who were not have still been useful, because they bonded others together in a what-not-to-do way.

That same Llewen told me about a year after I joined that he saw me burning out quickly and becoming as P-ed off with the process as he was. While I definitely get cranky with individuals and groups when they are unecessarily thick, I've never felt despair. When I thought last night about what made the difference, I realised that it was the strength of the leaders around me that had allowed me to exercise my own leadership skills, and the bright future of leadership in Lochac that exists now, from the huge corps of Kiwi talent (Adele, Therese, BB and KK, Ulf and Alys, Angel, Benedict, Eleyne, Fina, Inigo and Cecilia, I'm barely skimming the bowl here), to the strong pool of B&Bs, to local people such as Tyg, Molly, Hunnydd, Paddy and Willem.

And that's why I'm not too fussed when things go a bit wrong. Because on the whole, things are going very right indeed. And earlier in the year, I watched Helene talk someone through how to improve her frock and I found myself saying "You look just lovely!" to a young woman. We were taught well.

Unprecedented.

2006-10-08T23:01:00.000+10:00

Fox News and I are on the same page of an issue. In complete agreement and with not even a tiny space between us. It's never happened before and will probably never happen again. But the insanity of the Westboro Baptist Church has built a bridge that I would never have imagined.

Thanks to the LJ thoughtfulness of I-Autumnheart whose friend Misscam brought this to the attention of those beyond the reach of Murdoch Media. I loved her note that the image on the Fox site has clearly been chosen to show this nutter at her loopiest. A big round of media applause to the site crew.

Bring back the days when Christianity was represented by people like Mistress Gabrielle and not these lupins.

The Hamster is Doing Better

2006-10-08T01:43:00.000+10:00

As many of you know, we have an unholy love of Top Gear in this house. Well, to be honest, it's all motorsport in general so far as J is concerned, but for me, it's F1 and Top Gear. F1 is fascinating for the high-tech high-tension sagas of drivers, cars and teams, where one month's Juan Pablo Montoya is the future of Mercedes-McLaren and the next month's JPM is that wanker who's going back to a lower series where he belongs. But I can understand people who see nothing in this; a lot of the actual racing has been processional for the last few years and it's only recently that things have hotted up again (Go Schumi!).

Top Gear, on the other hand, offers something for everyone. And that something is usually explosions. Now I'm as mild-mannered as the next woman, but I must say that a well-controlled explosion offers that certain je ne sais hedgehog that most television can't quite capture. And it works for me.

I'm not a natural TG viewer: I can't drive (and refuse to learn); I can change a tyre, but care not whether it is a Michelin, Bridgestone or Pirelli; I really don't give a sausage about the Ford Mondeo; and I ride a bicycle (well, in theory. In practise my nearest and dearest all threaten to kill me if I take my bike out on the roads again but only because they want to get in before the inevitable taxi. But we hit the parks now and then.) So I am actually the anti-Clarkson, and not just because I am a cute, short woman with straight hair.

Yet give me an hour of Jeremy Clarkson, James May or Richard Hammond fanging about in ridiculous vehicles while gleefully exclaiming that they have soiled themselves, and then blowing up a caravan, and I'm a happy punter.

So you can imagine my concern when Richard Hammond, better known as the Hamster, went completely cactus while screaming down their decommisioned runway in a dragster at 300mph recently. Reports have suggested everything from a blown tyre to asymmetrically deployed brake parachutes as the cause of the accident, but suffice to say it was a screaming pile of mess, with a bright-eyed, Colgate-whitened little TV presenter slumped in what remained of the vehicle.

For anyone who lives in a land untouched by motoring journalism, the Hamster is cute, amusing, slightly over four foot tall, and insanely enthusiastic about everything. So naturally, I quite like him. And as a denizen of the media world, I appreciate him allowing subbies all over the UK an opportunity for headlines such as Hamster's Horror Head-On. Here's a picture of him before the accident. He's sweet and goofy and has a lovely wife and two little girls. He's probably nice to dogs and cats, too. It was a bloody huge crash, with the Vampire dragster apparently rolling several times and leaving Hammond with his helmet half-buried at the end of the shunt.

Here's what's left of the car. Now these things are constructed to very high standards and have everything from roll cages to special devices to protecting your head and neck in the advent of a crash. In fact Hammond is reported as talking lucidly at the crash scene. But the paramedics had a better idea of what was really going on and, in the immortal words of the late Barry Sheehan: That's a major, major sausage. Look at the state of it! So our little fella was whisked off to hospital by air ambulance and some really good doctors did a really good job of stabilising him once he got there.

Jeremy Clarkson writes about it here, and rather sweetly manages to say nice things about the NHS for perhaps the first time in British media history. The good news is that in the intervening weeks, the Hamster has staged a remarkable recovery and has sodded off to rehab now that he's clearly on the road to being normal again. He's walking and talking and genuine experts rather than the media variety have said give him six months and he'll be fine.

I know from my own attempt to dislodge my head (at much lower speeds) that six months is about how long it takes to rewire properly, so I have every hope that this is a real prognosis and not the sort of thing that people say about celebrities in a bid to make people feel better about watching shows that encourage them to do stupid things.

However, the doing stupid things thing has gained a great deal of mileage in the UK. All over the press there have been screams of outrage that the BBC funds a show that exists primarily for people fanging about in cars and blowing things up. The argument is that these actions are inherently dangerous, serve no purpose, and are bad for global warming.

Now, that is true, but then again, it's true of most things. You can say exactly the same things about the SCA. (See! Linkage! I am On Topic, oh yes, I am!). Admittedly our Global Warming Impacts are all to do with enormous amounts of flights and long-distance drives (well, and letting some people talk), but there's really no good reason to get dressed up and hit each other with sticks.

Except it's a lot of fun.

And, in the case of Top Gear, it's all done away from public roads and without risk to anyone except the presenters themselves. I can even live with Clarkson hating cyclists, because you know he'd brake like a bastard to avoid hitting you on a bad corner – he's a marshamallow under the bluster.

And I have to say that millions of people enjoy watching Clarkson, May and Hammond destroy caravans (and if they could take out the odd Sydney taxi, I'd be even happier. And if they could have a certain I. Nakle driving it at the time, I'd be happier still!) Luckily the Beeb has renewed the show and started filming on the latest series, but this has all brought home once more what a nanny-state world we live in.

And for anyone thinking that it's only in the UK, HAH! Australia is just as bad and the US is much, much worse. In fact the only liberty that Americans seem hell-bent on preserving is the right to ready armaments to kill each other. This makes life very difficult for motoring programs, and I suspect it will continue to make life difficult for SCAidans, too.

The one bright light on the SCA front is that the SCA Inc has finally decided they need a liaison with the rest of the world. It won't be me, because I would spend all my time screaming crankily and this is not effective. But it may well be Maggie, who is every bit as smart as I am (quite possibly more, but like I'll admit that), and more useful in every direction from multi-linguality to patience and dignity. Or it could well be a Drachenwalder, which would also be good, as they seem to all have their heads screwed on and a reasonable sense of how the world works, not just their backyard.

On a final Hamster note, an appeal to raise funds for the air ambulance service is closing in on the £175,000 mark and hopes to raise some £500,000 for a new chopper. You can check up on the tally or donate here. So some good has come out of the whole thing.

Personally I'm looking forward to the next two F1 Grands Prix, where I have my fingers crossed for TGF (That German Fellow). It won't be the same once he finishes driving; I've grown to believe that the Italian national anthem is the second verse of the German one (that's how it's always played on the podium). I'm just hoping that he wins because then he'll cry in the press conference again, and with a bit of luck, Kimi Raikkonen will be there to take on the role of his fellow Finn in years past with the sympathetic back-patting. It's a beautiful thing.

Back to the usual SCA suspects next post ...

Reasons not to sleep with knights, part III

2006-10-04T01:20:00.000+10:00

Back to the silliness! If you are an FTN subscriber, you will be holding a paper copy of all 75 in your hot little hand soon, along with much other dodginess. Any day now I will have time to finish my event reports on the St James Pas and Festival 2oo6. But we do have a lovely new bathroom cabinet and I have found the floor in both the bedroom and living room. And they said it would never happen (which may have some validity when it comes to the sewing room ...)

51. Say G-Spot and he thinks groin shot.
52. He loves your long hair, so much so that he snips it off one night and uses it for his helmet crest.
53. Your shed is filled with armour, your hall is filled with weapons, and then he starts to assemble his chainmaille in the living room …
54. Using your jewellery pliers.
55. Your leather tools become his leather tools. Your shoe leather becomes his leg armour.
56. He asks you if you love him, then he asks you if you can make him a new gambeson to show you how much you love him. For war. This weekend.
57. He gives the gambeson to his new squire in lieu of a belt and then asks you to make him another one.
58. He’s a wonderful man, except every Festival he disappears all day to the war or tourney fields.
59. Then he disappears half the night to gasbag with visiting international knights.
60. Then he organises your international travel plans so that you can catch up with his overseas knightly friends.
61. And 34kg of your 60kg travel allowance is made up of armour and vegemite. The vegemite is for him, you have to carry the bribery Tim Tams in your carry-on.
62. In your early days, he yells “Good!” at startling moments. After which there’s no way you’re going to be having a similar opportunity.
63. Yet years later, he still encourages you to adopt the same tactic.
64. “Left”, “Right”, “Slower”, ‘Faster”; none of this works. He only understands “Hold”
65. What the hell does he mean by “Light!”?
66. Someone writes a filk about his mightiness. He sings it in bed. He wants you to sing it.
67. Squires try to hit on you in case the magic can rub off. That’s not all they want rubbed.
68. He’s one of the good knights, and you love him. But then there are all his friends …
69. Who turn up at your house every time there’s a big tourney.
70. With their armour, in your hall.
71. For a week, because there’s another tourney…
72. Say ‘stick’ to them and they start waving their arms around. Not the effect you were after.
73. Don’t even mention thrusting tips.
74. They buy your favourite beer. They take it to Knight’s meeting.
75. You ask if they have protection. They smile and whip out a pair of gauntlets.

Fiat Lux

2006-09-25T18:29:00.001+10:00

Right. A quick warning. Many people seem to be finding this blog due to its kooky climb up Google page rankings, for which I blame either Lorenzo, since he linked me from his highly ranked blog, or a scary number of cyber stalkers. If it's the latter, hi! Keep drinking the herbal tea!

The upshot is that people outside my original demographic are reading this, which is all cool, except that you may violently disagree with what I am about to write. That's your right, but I make two demands at this point. Read the whole lot before you comment, and comment in reasonable language. Because I swear to the gold bunny that anyone who writes "You shouldn't be on the field unless you're prepared to get hit," will have me making up little songs about their lack of genitalia from now until Ragnarok, and I will sing them regularly in my surprisingly carrying voice.

And for anyone who is actually thinking "But it's true!" let me put it to you like this. I am a costume laurel. If I started to rant that "You shouldn't be in the SCA unless you're prepared to handsew all your garb!" you would all look at me askance. It is exactly the same. Oh, and this is long, no surprises there ...

Okay, to the meat of it. Fiat Lux is a petition started by Baron Bartholomew about the "Lights Issue". You can trot off now and read the comments that hundreds of people have made here, or you can sign it yourself here. I want to talk a little bit about the issue and its repercussions, and then address some specific points that have come up from all this.

To read this, you need to know that Lochac has a number of unarmoured combat classifications that have traditionally taken our warfields. The first is light archers. These are archers wearing minimal body armour (a helm, elbow and knee protection which need not be rigid, and neck , groin and kidney protection). Their armour is designed to take one blow from a 'heavy' fighter in a worst-case scenario. Light archers are authorised and have tests for competency and safety regarding shooting and taking deaths, they must be at least 16 years old. Then there are light siege crew, who are similarly armoured and authorised. They crew the siege engines, of which we have a startling number these days. Finally there are banner bearers. Banner bearers only have to be 14 years old. They are also armoured with plumes, and have a separate authorisation have safety drills that include being shot with arrows from minimum range (because they're going to get shot at some point, and exposing them to the worst-case scenario at the beginning means they know whether they can cope or not.) All of these combatants wear plumes on their helms.

Our light archers shoot fibre-tape-wrapped wooden arrows with blunts on the ends, and in mixed combat scenarios all participants wear mesh. There are also heavy-only scenarios at all of our wars for people who hate mesh.

The "Lights Issue", as we have been referring to it around Casa Erko, is actually two law changes that have come together. The first of these is the ruling from the Society Earl Marshall (SEM) that all archers must wear heavy minimum armour. This ruling came from the previous SEM, Sir Robert Osborne (I think that's his name). It was not discussed with the Lochac Kingdom Earl Marshall (KEM), who at that time was Daemon Morrison.

So what? You might ask. Under the terms of the SCA/SCAA affiliation agreement, all policy changes at Society Officer level must be explicitly sent to the corresponding Lochac officer for comment. The exact wording is:

"All Society officers shall explicitly solicit comment from the corresponding officers of Lochac before imposing Society-wide policy decisions."

By 'explicitly solicit', the framers of the document intended that – as it says – the officers get in direct touch with the corresponding officer. They were not bound to abide by any dissent from Lochac, but they were bound under the terms of the agreement to directly approach the specific officer. Knowing that officer was on a list that they were chatting about the issues on was NOT enough.

How do I know what the people who framed the agreements meant? I was one of them. I quote here from an email that I sent to the SCA Inc team when we were negotiating the agreement:

[Miss D]
>Comment: We do need a necessary consultation with International Groups
>> from the>> Marshall of the Society. This has been happening on an ad hoc basis with
>> the>> last few incumbents of this role, however, it should be formalised,
since>> US>> law and custom deviates (at times substantially) from the rest of the
>> world in>> marshallate matters. The suggestion for SCAA opinion to be solicited
>> explicitly>> for all changes in Corpora (see below) covers part of this.

To which Meg Baron, who I think was then Chair of the SCA Inc, although she may have already begun her term as President, replied on March 8, 2002:

"Yes. There MUST be close communication between the worldwide
members of the Marshallate, probably more than in any other office or area
of activity."

Now Meg is a wonder, and she did her very best to make sure that this part of the agreement was adhered to. For nearly two years after we signed the agreement I was the Chair of the SCAA, then I reigned as queen for the first time, by then Meg was President of the SCA Inc. During that time we had several issues where Society Officers completely failed to get in touch with their Lochac counterparts before imposing Society-wide rule changes. Her response was always the same: If they haven't followed the conditions for the rules, then the rules do not exist for you guys.

So, when Daemon Morrison rang us as Crown in a bit of a flap and said that he'd just been told that there was a Society law change that all Lights must go to minimum heavy armour, he was asked if he had had his comment explicitly solicited. No, he replied. The first rumours he had heard about it were on an email list that he belonged to, but it wasn't until the SEM had sent him the new standards that he found out about them.

Right, we said, and got in touch with Meg. Same thing, she replied. If he wants to make them law in Lochac he can rescind them and then solicit comment and impose them if he still thinks they're a good idea. If he doesn't, they don't exist because they have been illegally imposed.

At the same time in Drachenwald, the Barony of Aarnimetsa were fuming. They also have an affiliation agreement with the SCA which has the exact same clause except that it says Marshall of the Barony of Aarnimetsa in the obvious spot. Not only did they not have comment explicitly solicited on this change, they have never had any comment solicited on any change. Like many Finns, they have been stoic about it all, but are not happy.

Unlike Lochac, our Finnish friends did not have a tight relationship between the Crown, Corporations and Kingdom Officers, so they just went with things, because they are tough and pleasant. We stuck by our legal rights to not be affected by an illegally imposed policy change.

That year, 2004, Mistress Margie of Glen More, the then-Lochac KEM went to Pennsic. She spent about three hours and several beers talking with the SEM who was defintely Sir Robert Osborne at that point. She believes they talked at length about the Lochac conventions with arrows and mesh, and also about the need to maintain light armour standards. He is in agreement with her on the first part and semi-formalised the Lochac exemption for arrows and mesh, but disputes the second.

This is why you should a. Never discuss important policy with beer, and b. Never discuss unless you're also recording in minute detail, preferably to an electronic device.

Fast-foward two years. Very late in our most recent reign, June 2006, our new KEM, Sir Gregory of Loch Swan, contacted us, rather upset. He had just been told that the current SEM, Duke Hrothgar, was not only insisting that Lochac impose heavy minimum armour standards, but also banning the category of light (non-contact) combatant from all warfields of the Laurel Kingdoms.

Banning non-contact combatants meant that every person on the field could now be hit. As Duke Hrothgar wrote about the change:
"And if implemented properly, I strongly believe that it will have very little impact on everyone's actual participation. Archers who don't want to be struck may always choose to yield, and any fighters found abusing archers (hitting them after they've yielded, striking them excessively, etc) should be dealt with in the same manner as they would for any other infraction"

While I can see where he might have been going in theory, in practise it's a different story. Sixty per cent of Lochac's fighters are authorised as Lights, 25 per cent of those are exclusively light. This affects hundreds of people in this Kingdom.

And while His Grace may have every faith in fighters accepting yields, I have seen people struck as they came of the warfield dead with their shields held over their heads. I once saw Sir Gregory, co-incidentally, have his rib broken after yelling "GOOD" three or four times. He had been backed up against a star picket and could not fall. His opponent genuinely could not hear him, and so just assumed he could not have been hitting hard enough and ramped up the strength between each call of good. It was sickening, and it was on a tournament field.

While I think very highly of our fighters, I do not think it safe or sensible to rely on them hearing a yield on the warfield. Countess Aeron of the West was nearly mangled when she was backed up against a tree one Pennsic and a heavy fighter laid into her repeatedly until (again!) Sir Gregory came to her rescue. One cannot always fall. And if one is carrying an expensive bow and arrows, one needs to fall really carefully. This is Lochac. We have big stones, big spiders, big snakes and really big bull ants. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be falling on any of those.

Back to the process. Sir Gregory then wrote to the SEM and hoped that he could garner a Lochac exemption to this new rule. If not, he planned to speak with him directly at Pennsic this August past. We spoke with him a few days after he first contacted us when we visited Aneala, and were quietly confident that he would succeed. We asked him if he had had his comment explicitly sought on the matter. He replied that the rule change had been formulated before he stood up as KEM.

Later we spoke with the previous KEM, Margie, she also replied that she had not had her comment explicitly sought on this matter. It had come about well after her discussions with Sir Robert at Pennsic 2004. She had seen it bandied about on the Society Marshall's list, but had believed that the exemptions for Lochac's style of archery that she had gained from Sir Robert would cover this, too.

I should emphasise here that the SCA/SCAA agreement puts the onus of explicitly seeking comment on the SEM. It is not up to the KEM to ask if something might affect us.

I also asked the SKA (Finland) whether they had been contacted. No. Still never heard a word from the SCA Inc. That affiliation effort was apparently a bit of a waste for Meg and me. Good thing I got to know her out it, or there'd be no upside.

We had several people contact us, as Crown, to weigh in on the matter. We wrote one letter to the SEM at that time. In that letter we wrote:

"As you know, this particular change in Society standards was never put forward to our our Earl Marshall for explicit comment as required in the SCA/SCAA agreement of 2001. This invalidates the change in Lochac under our operating agreement.

Had the change been put forward for comment before being implemented, that comment would have been robust and determined in the negative. While this change may have very little impact on participation in the American Kingdoms, it would have a massive impact on the state of play in Lochac."

We also commented on the reasons that he had stated for pursuing this rule change. In the email that our populace members forwarded, Duke Hrothgar wrote: "The goal making this change is twofold, in order to simplify our rules and fighting conventions as well as make them universally consistent." It was also reported by those people that it was seen as improving safety on the field.

We stated that we saw very few fighters from other Kingdoms in Lochac, and that those we did see were often regulars and always able to adapt to our style of play quickly and effectively. Our lights do not travel to other Kingdoms to shoot as they loathe the poxy golf tubes passed off as arrows in the rest of the Known World, and if our heavies don't hit an archer at Pennsic, well, good. They're lovely heavies.

We stated that we believed that having Lochac's archery style maintained did not cause a problem because there is no confusion here. We have one standard of play and everyone manages it. There is little cross-over of our fighters and we do not have inter-Kingdom wars such as Pennsic and Estrella where there could be problems of inter-Kingdom differences.

Moreover, our style of archery has an excellent 20-year-long safety record, and allowing archers to be struck would make our warfields less safe, not more safe.

We finished by saying:

"By seeking to impose 'consistency' here, you would be killing of not just diversity, but a rare experience for SCA fighters from other Kingdoms. We would invite you to attend next year's Rowany Festival and to take the field with our troops before you make any decisions regarding imposing this change on Lochac. If you can honestly say that the experience is not worth preserving, we will be very surprised indeed. We would be happy to host you at the event, should you be able to attend. "

We never heard back from him.

We did hear back from the President of the SCA. He told us that since there was no clause in the agreement about what would happen if Society Officers did not explicitly solicit comment, then under US law it would mean that the contract had been breached and therefore terminated. Said termination would mean that the SCAA would be required to cease using the SCA's intellectual property, including the Kingdom and branch names and heraldry.

Yes, punters, you read that right. If we complain about the agreement not being followed, then not only does the SCA Inc not give a rat's, but we can no longer call ourselves SCA and lose not only all of our titles and membership rights, but items that are actually the intellectual property of Lochac, including our names and heraldry.

I have actually been too furious to respond to this yet. But Patrick, I will get over my fury and you and I will have a long, long talk. Perhaps after I hit the pell a lot more, because I am really really cranky.

At the same time as all this was going on, I heard from our friends in Finland that a SCA Inc Board member had stated on the Grand Council List that members of affiliated organisations could not ever serve on the SCA Inc. I have since seen a copy of the email and that is what was said. Whether she was authorised to say it and whether it is true remains to be seen, see above comment about crankiness with BoD and delayed writing.

It it is true, it means that not only are we at the mercy of any oficer decisions they want to make, we can do smeg-all about it. Ever. While at the moment this just pisses off Australia, New Zealand, Finland and Sweden, it will one day extend to every country in the SCA outside America as legal changes oblige us to make more interanational affiliations.

At the root of the problem is the fact that there is no SCA International. There is only the SCAUS who deal with everyone else as an afterthought (and that includes you, Canada, I'm sorry to say.) Now in one way that's entirely fair and reasonable. They need to make sure that they are legally protecting their American members as much as anyone else. And even if there was an SCAUS and SCA International, the International body would still be a majority US group due to numbers. But it would be made up of people that included other SCA countries and it would be acting with a global view, which would be better as it would be less prone to being hijacked by small interest groups.

Back at the Lights Issue, Sir Gregory has drafted a Kingdom Law that would see our plumed non-contact combatant classes preserved under Kingdom law, which Corpora says can be stronger than Society-level law. It is not certain that this will succeed, since the SEM has said elsewhere that he will allow no exemptions and it can be argued that it is a weakening, not a strengthening of the Society law.

At the same time, Baron Bartholomew Baskin of Southron Gaard began Fiat Lux, a petition seeking the reinstatement of lights, in Lochac at least. The last time I checked it had over 300 signatories and 200 comments, which is quite good in one week.

I have been quite amazed at many of the comments, and the number coming from other Kingdoms. There is a genuine sense of good will towards archers that makes me quite happy, and a lot of interesting Inter-Kingdom Anthropology.

I have also been enjoying many of the photos. For instance, this woman is just gorgeous. She has one of those faces that makes you pause and just appreciate the prettiness. Like crocuses. She's Adriana Michaels, a heavy fighter from Atlantia. I do hope she's not one of the people who consider heavy to be an un-PC term, she looks friendly and reasonable, I'm going to assume that she is comfortable with her clearly quite appropriate Body Mass Index and just accept that Heavy and Light make useful shorthand terms. And she writes very nicely, too.

Then there was this guy, Titus Antonius Archelaus, from An Tir. I feel sure that I must know someone who knows him, because he is ringing one of those bells. You know, the type that end up with one of your friends saying "No, that's Titus! You know, the guitar-playing, red bear-boot-wearing Baron I was always going on about. I can't believe you don't remember!"

Hell, I feel sure I'd want to know him because he's managed to combine SCA bling with Lounge Lizard chic (NB the floral arrangement). The man has style.

Two of the people who I just wanted to hug were Sir Rhys and the Widow Montoya from Caid. their comments were sensible and generous. They were so delightful at Festival, and I really wanted to stomp up to them and pathetically ingratiate myself with the plying of chocolate. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to do that while still being terribly Queenly and decorous. And they ran away the one time I was close enough. They may have actually hated me on sight, I suppose. Probably best that I continue to believe it was a potential friendship missed by my ineptitude.

So far there has only been one snark. Amusingly, because of the way that the site is set up, he's had to sign on as a signatory to the petition to tell everyone he hates the idea. BB is tricksy.

"I see a common set of themes running through this whole thread None of which make a great deal of sense to me. 1) We are Lochac and our tradition are diferant and we don't have to play play by the same rules as every one else. Well then Leaves the SCA you obviously don't want to part of the same game the rest of us play. 2) I don't wanna get hit, But I wanna have the right to hit anyone I choose! I should not have to even comment on the lack of chivalry of that concept. 3) I am to weak, disabled etc to play heavy. Tell That to our local Knight with just 1 leg, Tell that to the Lords who fight from wheel chairs every year at gulf wars. If you Can't be in combat, don't expect to be in combat and treated special. "

I've deleted the guy's name (you can look it up if you want) because he's probably a nice and decent person, but his argument is crap. The whole rationale for removing lights was to fit in with the vocal Kingdoms who do not have them and who do not want to have to fight by other Kingdom's conventions at inter-kingdom wars. We have NO inter-kingdom wars in Lochac. We have a handful of overseas visitors each year who are smart and capable and they manage our rules very well. Our lights do not play in the US, and if our heavies do not hit archers when they play in the US, there is no downside to that.

I don't wanna get hit, But I wanna have the right to hit anyone I choose! I should not have to even comment on the lack of chivalry of that concept

This bit doesn't even make any sense. Archers shoot people not hit them. They are quite happy to be shot by anyone else. They frequently are. How the hell is that non-chivalric?

As to his point three, you know what, I hate that crap. I think it's brilliant when people overcome their disabilities. For example; I have brain damage but I can still construct rational and grammatical arguments. I really do know quite a bit about getting over adversity, aside from brain damage I shattered my right foot, but bashed away at physio until I could walk on it without a stick, which the surgeon who rebuilt it had said I would not manage. And you know what I've learned from overcoming my physical adversities? That it's hard. I'm a tough old bugger and I chose to do it to the level that I did. But I would never judge someone who chooses to take things a bit easier.

Beyond that, I am a tough old bugger. And I bet this guy's one-legged knight is, too. But not everyone is physically tough. Not everyone can be. Some people are simply not as physically robust. Others have already used up their mental reserves. My foot still hurts with every step I take, but it hurts like someone kicking it casually with a trainer on. If it hurt like someone hitting it with a hammer, I'd probably still be bloody-minded enough to walk, but I'm damned if I'd have enough energy left after that to want to fight.

This chap has suffered from a big empathy failure, and I think that is what has propelled this whole issue. I completely accept and understand that there are people out there who hate lights, hate archers, hate being shot, hate mesh, whatever. And there are plenty of options for you to all fight heavy and hit lots and lots of people, even the Archer-mad Kingdom of Lochac has had had many heavy-only scenarios at every war I have attended. But we are bound by our duty as peers, officers or simple SCAdians who believe in justice and other chivalric virtues, to empathise with the people who will be affected by this ruling.

To them it is not a trivial thing in any way. It is the core of their enjoyment to the game, as much as if someone were to say to me that I could only play if I wore brown T-tunics because bad tailors are tired of me making them look bad, or to tell J, Alfar, Berengar and Corney that they were not allowed to fight again because it's boring for other people to die to them all the time.

Quite aside from the fact that this has all been done in a fashion that infringes the very agreement the SCA Inc signed, it's against the spirit of our game. And that offends me deeply.

The SCA is a place for encouraging period practices. It is a place for inclusion. It is a place for families. It is a place for everyone to excel. And if you feel that you need to get rid of a large part of the SCA's war traditions in order for you to excel, then you should also remember the last and most important thing that the SCA is. It is a place where courtesy and humility are still virtues.

A quick note on good and not-so-good events

2006-09-25T00:12:00.000+10:00

Things have been a little hectic lately, but Manfred will kill me if I don't post something this weekend, and since he has the stomach lurgy, he possibly could.

I've been very busy at a certain newsmag that begins with B, and, prior to that, a chick mag that begins with NI. I like working with both teams, because they are, as is usual for the subs desk, filled with bright, funny, personable people. But I must say that the B doesn't do my head in, unlike NI. I understand reading chick mags, because sometimes you need to turn your brain off, but after you've subbed three astrology pages in a row, you lose a little faith in humanity – though not in Karen Moregold's ability to stretch a sentence to its utmost length through repetition and merciless abuse of adjectives.

Anyway, work dull for sick Manfred, SCA interesting, so let's talk SCA.

I've been to three events in the last few weeks, two of them were quite good, one was surprisingly flawed.

The first good one was Mistress Gabrielle's feast. For the grand total of $15 (the hall was free due to a previous stuff-up on the part of the hall owners), we were treated to great whopping piles of food including pomegranate chicken, cream meringues and delicious antipasti. It was not all period, in fact only about half and half, but it was the best $15 meal I've ever had.

And it was a fun event. We all sat around and gasbagged. Because the bookings were limited to 50 people, we counted everyone in, then locked the doors. No-one had to sit on the gate, and there weren't stragglers going in and out all night. The Lemmings grabbed the big centre table, so it was like being in Rowany in my early days when the big table was grabbed by either Lemmings or Attica, but never attempts at grabbing by both, since you never saw both at the one feast. And so it was here, only graduated Atticans Gui and AElflaed were holding the flag up. I felt almost young again.

We talked utter rubbish, it must be said, and after the last few months I quite enjoyed myself. There was some discussion on the archery issue (on which more later), but for the most part it was an entertaining and relaxed evening that reminded me of how things can be once you take all the egos out of the evening. It was especially good to see Kate, Cos's sister, who was looking brilliant in a Spyder frock with Mouse accessories. I had to get Topsy to tell me her name, though, because I had three possibilities of who she could be based on the fact that my memory is crap. But I did know that I had liked her when I met her before!

The other good event was this weekend, even though I didn't appreciate it as much as I would have if I had not spent last week going mad from large amounts of work. Katje ran Bunch of Classes and she did an excellent job of it. It was disgustingly hot today, and little better yesterday, but she made sure that all the teachers and students were well apportioned with food and drink, even buying special pig-free sausages for me, which the delightful Mayela, who we will miss more than words when she moves to Bendigo, cooked separately before embarking on the journey of a thousand sangers.

As usual I did not make it to most of the classes that I wanted to, one because it was scheduled against mine and two because I slept in, but I really enjoyed Marie de Lyon's class on period table manners and now want to make a very long napkin that I can wear thrown rakishly over my shoulder. My handsewing class was a bit shambolic with one beginner, two near beginners, a few reasonably experienced and two very good sewers. So next year I will just do advanced and I have ordered all the beginners to practise religiously. I'll try to make up some notes and put them up here, but that will require computer time, which I really only get when J is watching motor racing. This is why I taped six-hours of car today – at least two blogging sessions there ...

Along with BoC, the weekend had the Ursie feast last night, which was a good college feast with simple but tasty food and reasonable amounts thereof, but mostly a good happy spirit about it, with things happening as there was a need. So the singing group bounced up and performed a few pieces to make everyone feel as though it was a proper celebration. Then, because there were quite a lot of young kids, Maeve and the muscians taught the Bear Dance. I was very happy to see the kids who were mostly part of Festival's Midget Army, from the Dragonfly Household, which has a real name that Rhiannon reminded me of when I saw her today, but I have forgotten it, of course. Nice adults and delightful kids, all of whom seem to be genuinely enjoying themselves, which is what I am determined to do, too, even if some people are driving me to distraction.

We ended up going home early because both Marie and J had headaches and Marie had to get home to her house of the Pox-ridden. It was a shame, because there were many people I wanted to talk to more, including Andre who came over to continue his Knight Clubbing Tour of Lochac.

And then this afternoon saw the first round of the Rowany Tournament of Champions, which may or may not be the official name. There were 26 fighters, there would have been 28, but Cornelius and Philipe are soft. So says our Glorious Baron and his Mighty Knights. While they may not have wanted to drive down from the mountains after getting up late, we were up till 3.45am with our neighbours' party and we still made it. Of course, our neighbours now think I am a crazy woman who regularly stomps about with a veil of hair and grotty T-shirt over tatty skirt and tells people they can only dance in thongs or trainers on the wooden floor and turn that music right down, but I don't really care about that. I was going to just nick their fuses, but it seemed mean.

Anyway, the lads who actually showed up included many Mordenvalers, espceially Angus, who it was good to see even if I once again failed to get a copy of his arms so that the torse and mantle I started making for him many years ago will remain unfinished. there was a good batch from Colles Adorum, including Blayney and Blethyn, our favourite pair of field engineers, and Art and Eadie, who simply rock. It was especially good to see both Gudrun and AEflaed there, even if I didn't have enough time to talk to them sensibly.

The lads all acquitted themselves well. Between the 33 degree celcius temps and the gale-force winds (not an exaggeration) it was all a bit dramatic out on the field where they originally planned to fight, so Gui and Alfar intelligently decided they should do it down at the school. This was a great idea as it got everyone out of the worst of the weather, gave some shade, saved the Baronial Pavilion from doom, and allowed everyone at the festival of the frock inside to come and watch at various times.

I took lots of photos, but most of them are of people standing around looking mighty but not doing anything. I hate digital lag.

Here's a nice action shot of Berengar attempting to krull Yves (I think he succeeded), they look cheerfully monochromatic together. Gui was about to kill someone, but alas they were out of shot and I have no idea who they were, because about now the ice-cream truck arrived and we all ran away for choc-dipped Flake cones (several of the marshalls and fighters indulged too, so it was a field of choc-coated SCAdians by the end.) The actual tournament was a Valhalla format, which means that when anyone is killed, all the people who they have killed can re-take the field until they are either too buggered to come back, or else the guy who's still out there has killed everyone else. It's a cruel and unusual style that really tests the fitness as well as the skill of the fighters.

Sadly I have no photos of the finals, so have a look at the nice shot of Baron Hrothgar and Sir Gui while I talk about it briefly. Waltheof and Blayney were the two finalists. Waltheof is an Attican, and Blayney is from Colles Adorum. I really like Waltheof because he is a lovely guy and very courteous, but I admire Blayney a bit more because he does so much stuff other than just fight, from training the masses down south to running large parts of Crossroads for Festival. Waltheof does stuff with his household, but his SCA involvement is mostly just fighting for himself. I think that's okay, and would love to do the same myself. But I am always happy that Blayney is a slightly better fighter than Waltheof, because he spends so much time doing stuff for others, usually for little reward, and so it seems karmically just that the small amount of time he has to put into himself reaps good rewards. And today it won the tournament.

Now that's a good thing in itself, especially against quite good competition (and very gracious competition, I must say. I was genuinely impressed at the supportiveness and good sportsmanship that everyone showed), but there is an even bigger prize at stake. This was the first in a series of tournaments. At the end, everyone who fought in every tournament or who won one round will go into a final round to fight for an ounce of gold donated by the Baron and several of his Knights.

This is extremely cool, and I think that the boys have not only been very generous with their cash, but used their imaginations wittily and wisely. Yay lads!

So now to the event that didn't quite work, Polit Invest. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong until later that night when Rowan talked me through how the event was meant to go. It had lots of good details, like individual servers for the messes, lovely napery, some brilliant desserts and subtleties, but it actually forgot about a lot of the big-picture stuff. So, from a feast logistics side, there wasn't quite enough food and a lot of it was really peculiar, such as what appeared to be steamed chicken, and was just chicken. No sauce, no skin, no vegetable or rice bit to accompany it, just chicken.

I'm told that the kitchen had a numbers increase sprung on them in the last 24 hours, and I must confess that we booked only in the last 7 or so days, which is bad. This probably accounts for it not being traditionally Polit in the stuff yourself senseless stakes. I didn't really mind because there was a pleasant sufficiency of food, and even the plain chicken was well-cooked if unusual (it's the SCA, something has always been done to the chicken, often something the chicken would have been quite startled to think about. No, not like that, Manfred, you sick, sick man.)

The bigger problem was the overall lack of focus of the timetable. The last Baronial Court did go longer than had been expected, but not by so long that it should have bumped all the entertainments. There was actually a long period of time between courts, and a reasonable period after the last court, but apparently several of the musical and theatrical interludes that had been planned did not go ahead because they were not able to be fitted in. I think the problem there was that they just needed someone with a watch saying: "OK, food's gone out, you've got 20 minutes until we yank you off, go!"

One of the things that we have learned is that someone will always grab you food if you have something that you need to do, and that after service is the best time to do something because people are stuffing their faces and won't talk over you.

On the upside, they were very good courts, the K&Q were delightful as always and both the incoming and outgoing B&B were ace. We like all of them a lot. If it hadn't been Polit, it would have been less noticable, because we expect them to do so well at everything. Although a tip if you plan on having specified servers; give them lists of the dishes and their ingredients because ours had no clue of what was in anything, which I think upset him more than any of us, poor lamb.

This is what happens to Baronesses when they are forced to sit on too many High Tables. They steal hats from nice Canadians and then take them on mad adventures around the world. Our lovely Helene toughed it out up the front much longer than Arnfinr and Aine who were sneaky and hid up the back with us as soon as they could. Which I can't fault them for. Arnfinr was the object of much amusement for Sophie and Catherine, Joan and Crispin's gorgeous daughters. Catherine learns quickly and pronounced him silly.

I was able to catch up with Bethany, Fruitbat's oldest, and Eleanor, another of the champion Mouse Guard, too. They are good fun and much less kooky than most of the adults who were at the event. I will have to remember to take some board games next time I go down so that we can have some quiet amusements during court.

Hunnydd was looking lovely, and Fitzy was not looking half as gorgeous as Miss Krin, but she wasn't about, so he'll have to do in this photo. They are pulling the facial expressions that are the appropriate responses to the previous photo.

All in all, I had a good time, especially because we were able to spend a little time with Rowan and Nico, who we like a great deal, but it was a strangely unfocussed event that left me wanting it to have fewer good details and more overall direction. That said, the good details were excellent and I can see why the stewarding team spent so much time and effort on them. It's a hard one, and given that I have run only a handful of events I really shouldn't complain but should instead say thank you very much for your efforts. I really did enjoy myself! Oh! I forgot to mention, Gabrielle and her wonderful girlfreind whose name I can never remember were there, which was very cool because I like spending time with them, and they had painted the most amazing map banner that had little archers and mad bands of kids lurching about in the scenery. Really spiffing, I hope they trot it out regularly.

Must dash off and send out invoices now in vain hopes of being paid. Normal service will resume shortly.

Reasons not to sleep with Knights, Part II

2006-09-13T22:59:00.000+10:00

These things are easier to handle in 25-bad-joke lots.

And a pleasant distraction from yet more articles on the tragic and untimely death of Steve Irwin (two magazines, all Irwin, all the time. Except for the Brock bits. I'm just relieved that Kylie's feeling much better. In The Bulletin subs desk Aussie Icons Killed By Things They Love Dead Pool, I was going for John Howard killed by a six off an Australian bat, my good friend G is going for Shane Warne killed by a blonde.)

Anyway, you lot be appalled by this while I go off and console J for the fact that Schumi is retiring at the end of this season and wonder what crack the people who think that "lights have no place on the field of Chivalry" are on. (Alleged direct quote, according to J. No-one from our lovely Kingdom, fellow Lochacians.)

26. They swear to come and to go. Nothing about snuggling …
27. They spend their weekends on the tournament circuit.
28. They spend their disposable income on the tournament circuit.
29. They swear there’s no homo-erotic subtext to it all, then go off and ‘polish their armour’ with other men.
30. If you’re very unlucky, some of them occasionally strip off, oil up, and start wrestling. But really, there’s nothing gay about this.
31. Some of them insist on taking their squires in public.
32. Their squires follow them around asking for tips on all aspects of fighting.
33. Their squires start to follow you around asking for tips on all aspects of hygiene.
34. His fellow knights ask if you know any nice girls.
35. You break up and discover that his fellow knights think you’re a nice girl.
36. This happens more than once and you realise that you’re a cliché.
37. Things go well, you start a family, he wants to call the kid Galahad.
38. And you can’t fit the baby capsule and his pole arms in the car at once.
39. So you and Galahad stay at home.
40. Galahad’s a girl.
41. Why sleep with a Knight when a Laurel will make you nice things?
42. Or a Pelican will work very hard for you?
43. And those squires are very good at taking instruction …
44. To you it’s middle-age-spread, to him it’s a Ducal Profile.
45. In the throes of passion he cuts you out of your lacing. The next morning he’s cannibalised the laces to use for armour repairs and you have to hold your frock together with duct tape.
46. To him, two minutes is a long bout.
47. His sense of timing goes like this: one, two, three, reset. One-two, three-four, reset …
48. He thinks a small target area is your upper arm.
49. Don’t even ask about slot shots.
50. There’s a race memory lurking within him, if there’s someone on their knees in front of him, there should be a buffet …

Reasons not to Sleep with Knights Part 1.

2006-09-12T01:08:00.000+10:00

I've gone from having loads of time to having no time again, for which I blame work and people who do not read what they write. Things will look up again in the near future, but for now, it's time for some emergency filler before everyone writes me off as utterly hopeless. AND I can also get Maeve the first part of her new FTN copy this way! Because goodness knows where I've hidden the scan she wants. I'll dig out the orginal and make another one. Yes, I am crap.

So, reasons not to sleep with knights. Many, many, many years ago (nearly 11) I was at a party at Helen's house. I had recently started seeing the divine Mr J, who was in those days a lowly Squire. Actually, he may not have been quite squired yet. Anyway, he was a pretty rubbish fighter. All those people who looked at the photo of my early garb and said "Yay! She used to be crap, too!" would have said the same about J's fighting in the first year we were seeing each other.

His best mate in those days was Sir Ragnar Magnusson. Ragnar is a lovely bloke, though he's hell to keep in contact with unless you live in Newcastle. He was knighted at my second event, and for long and complicated reasons I ended up being on the door taking money for about an hour at that event (would you trust me with your cash? I mean, you can, but I was startled, too, they barely knew me.) Because I had no idea who anyone was, things took a little while and so I was relying on a combination of good looks and charm to keep people at their ease.
Ragnar handed over his membership card, he was dressed in red velvets as befitted the Yule theme. "What a great name!" I enthused, with enough tits and teeth to keep the whole Mordenvale contingent from getting cross with my ineptitude. Years later he reminded me of this, which sets the tone for the story that comes next.

At Helen's party, Ragnar and Sir Daemon of Deorc (venerable Lochacian legend, a little like a bunyip) were engaged in their famous evil old men act. Being a little older than Ragnar, I have always been immune to this act. Tina, the delightful but slightly crazy young woman who I had a complicated relationship with at the time, was astonished that I was seeing J. "You could have a knight! You could have a Duke!" she protested to me. I would normally have explained that I choose partners based solely on prettiness and amusingness (and there we have the secret of my sterling success with J and staggering lunacy with most other people), not on SCA rank, but she had said this in front of Ragnar and Daemon. And they were off.

"Yes, yes, yes," I waved a hand airily at their assertions of knightly prowess. "But I can give you 75 reasons not to sleep with Knights."

"Go on," they replied.

In the end, the list grew to 117 and did not even include the names of all the Knights I knew because I wasn't that mean (and one or two were vaguely fanciable). I found it recently and while some reasons were still funny, they weren't as funny as I would have wanted them to be. So let's start again. I reckon I can at least make the original 75 before I run out of good material. Suggestions, comments and cries of denial all welcome.

1. They have some very strange beliefs about counter-rotation.
2. Belts, chains, spurs: is this really your scene? (yes, I am keeping a few of the good ones from the original list for the three of you who read those)
3. They'll never love you as much as their lucky gambeson.
4. If they win a tournament, they're too tired for victory sex. If they lose, they're too bruised for pity sex.
5. When you're done, they call up 12 of their mates and dissect your technique.
6. They ask if it's okay to video things, "for their 'squires' ".
7. They stop you part way through and give you a quick tutorial on hip flicks.
8. After you've known them for a little while, they start leaving pieces of armour around the bedroom and invite inquiries.
9. They leave their chains on during.
10. They leave their spurs on during.
11. He wants you to call him "Sir".
12. He cries out, "Who's your feudal overlord?"
13. The expected answer is "You are, and you are mighty!"
14. At camping events, he sleeps with his gambeson in the tent.
15. At camping events, he sleeps with his gambeson as the pilllow.
16. When you first meet him, he begins his suit with "Hi babe, how'd you like to be Queen?"
17. Many years later when you are onto your 32nd hour of reign paperwork in the one week, he declares, "But that's why you were attracted to me in the first place!" before pissing off to fighter practice.
18. He's a traditional knight, there's a long list of conquests who have gone before.
19. He's a traditional Westie Knight, there's a long list of Queens who have gone before.
20. He's a traditional Lochac knight, there's a wife or long-time girlfriend who'll rip your bloody arms off.
21. Despite having developed something of a Ducal Profile, in his head he's still the same lithe squire he was 10 years ago. Sadly, he still dresses as if this was real.
22. They woo you on the Thursday of Rowany Festival with charm and wit, on Friday they expect you to watch them on the field, on Saturday they expect you to rub in the bruise cream, by Sunday they expect you to carry their armour and by Monday they're too tired, drunk and dehydrated to be any use whatsoever.
23. They learn from head blows.
24. By this stage, they've learned a lot. Unfortunately this means they will never recall your birthday.
25. They practise shots in their sleep (true!)

Universe 1; Crocodile Hunter 0

2006-09-04T15:55:00.000+10:00

Stever Irwin, better known as the Crocodile Hunter, has died this morning from injuries subsequent to being stung by a sting ray.

That never happens.

Despite the fact that we tell everyone in the rest of the world that everything in Australia will kill you, most things won't. Sure, they'll make you wish you were dead while you recover in a casualty ward somewhere, but pretty much every single person who has every been stung by a stingray has hoppped around saying "ARRGH!! MY FOOT!" (they're usually trodden on), had some first aid, then had a scar and story to take home from their tropical holiday.

But not the guy who spends his time annoying crocodiles. Those same crocodiles that actually DO eat unwary tourists fairly often (when you see a 'don't swim here' sign in Australia, we're not pissing in the wind.) Nope, he gets a sting through the chest and carks it, legs in the air, bucket well and truly kicked, an ex-parrot.

Don't mistake me, I feel very sorry for his young family and think that it's an awful thing to have happen. But at the same time, I have a sneaking suspicion that the crocodiles must have paid off the stingrays: "Guys, it'll look too suspicious if we do it. And, after the huge amount of lobbying he's done to keep us protected despite booming numbers and increased tourist eating, it'd be ungrateful. But someone has to stop him ..."

News items rarely surprise me these days, this one did. I look forward to the eulogising from the same media who poured scorn over him when he held his youngest child near a crocodile's mouth. The kid was perfectly safe, he didn't look a thing like a German backpacker

Quick Biff Update

2006-08-30T13:21:00.000+10:00

As many of you will know, after putting down running imaginary countries, I took up a piece of rattan so that I could learn to fight and, er, run imaginary countries again.

So far I'm having more good bits to this plan than bad bits.

To get the bad bits out of the way first: my helmet is too big. Just generally too big. It has been designed for someone whose head is big man sized, I am little woman sized. Because I had it made for me many years ago before taxi crunching and the Curse of Fabian* intervened in the 'I will be authorised!' plan, it never occurred to me that it might be hopelessly wrong, but it is. These things happen. If any of you know someone who has a nice helmet that is too small for them and would like to trade it for my simple but pleasant salet, let me know. It's been beautifully polished by one of Lochac's nicest Pelicans.

The only other bad bit is that J is a fiend as a teacher and has me out practising passes at midnight half the time. Still, I'm learning.

The good bits are that my muscles are adapting to the weird positions and J's methods of fighting involve very little positioning that takes your body off-line and causes overstrain. In fact, if I can just remember everything, there should be no overstrain at all. Which is good. And apparently I hit nice and hard and have an unholy glee about hitting people, so no girly reticence there. Everyone is so surprised.

J got into armour last week and had me try and hit him while he tried to avoid me hitting him. Since I do not have a lot of armour (see helm saga above) he was not trying to hit me, so things were much easier than in real life, but by crikey there's no comparison between a human and a pell. All that pell time was helpful in reminding me to keep my lines of movement smooth and across the body, but I learned that my standard ballet and running front-foot motion was utterly useless for fighting and I need to relearn back-of-foot movement. Which I tend not to do because it isn't natural for me and puts more impact on the joints that I have mangled. So I should make myself some comfy fighting boots that help with that. There are advantages to this Laurel businesss ...

I did get a few shots in, and I had a few epiphanies. The first and most useful is that I don't need to look at my sword as I throw a shot. Either it will hit or it will be blocked and observing makes no difference once it's thrown.

The second is that J finds it a little hard to see what I am doing because I am such a shortarse, so every now and then he will pop his head above his shield like a meercat and I can whack him if I'm quick. Probably shouldn't have blogged that one ...

Last night he was showing me some thrusting tip techniques and combinations, but using his steel sword. When he had me do them, he flinched like a flinchy thing and so we switched to rattan. Where is the faith? I held my terror inside! Although when he was standing in stance waving the tip of a steel sword at me, I could see how the famous J hypnotise the chickens move works.

So far the best two moments have been last week when he was in armour. He had me practice throwing shots while he stood still for a bit, then he said, "Okay, we'll move onto leg shots now. I'm going to take stance and I want you to just hit me." And he stood there with his round shield by his thigh.

"Just hit you?" I asked, expecting him to add 'in the leg'.

"Just hit me," he said, a little impatiently.

"Okay," I said and whacked him in the head. Yes, I think I am hilarious.

So then he said "In the leg, monkey girl."

So I took a step and landed a lovely shot square into the back of his thigh. On top of the bruises that he was wearing from the Innilgard visit. Which made him make squeakie noises. I apologised profusely, although I have to admit I was both amused and proud of myself at the same time. "You told me to!" I said in my own defence. "I didn't expect you to be competent!" he replied. I laid my little skill at the feet of my excellent if burgundy-tinted teacher.

Later that night he made me rub bruise cream in, and assured me that I was the only one of his students to be granted this extra-special privilege. I remembered hearing that bruise cream contains mashed leeches, and felt very special.

*Curse of Fabian: 1995: meet Duke Fabian at Festival. Come home. Go to fighter practise. Say "yeah, baby! biff is what I want to do in the SCA!" Go to Canberra. Order armour. Come home. Go and see friend's band play. Ride bike home. Get wiped out by taxi, break bones, do not return to fighter training.
1998: Catch up with Duke Fabian at Festival. "How have you been since I saw you last?" "Good, except I nearly died in a horrible taxi squashing cyclist incident." "Bloody hell!" Go home. Decide, let's give biff another go. Dig out stick. Begin backyard thwacking. Don't even make it to fighter practise this time. Ride bike down THE SAME STREET I WAS WIPED OUT ON THE CORNER OF LAST TIME and hit the world's deepest concealed pothole while indicating a right-hand turn. Fly through air. Twist mightily so as not to land on head. land on foot, shatter navicular. Have surgery and wear plaster for nearly six months, do not return to fighter training.
1999/2000: J wins Coronet. Halfway through reign, Fabian wins West Crown. Must swear fealty. Very nervous about "Till death take me" bit. Likelihood of literal fulfilment seems eerily high. Send bell, book, candle and nice request asking that a monk lift the curse along with fealty scroll. Receive message from Fabian that curse lifted by monk, wearing bell as favour for extra Viscountess protection. Nice King. He comes to Festival. J and I arrive at Festival late in the day with J in snappish mood. I insist we should flag guy ropes before anything else, since it is dark and they are dangerous. J demands we unload car first. I grumblingly pick up load of luggage and stomp over towards tent, trip over guy rope and give myself a black eye on the next tent peg. J declares I have done this on purpose. I go off to find ice. Instead I find Kurgan. Kurgan says "Fuck!" a lot and takes me to find ice. We go to tavern and find Patri and ice. Patri is calm and useful, Kurgan disappears. A few minutes later I hear voices behind me, a hand grabs my chin and tilts my bruised face upwards. "Look what you did!" Kurgan proclaims. Fabian looks appalled. "I broke the bell while packing to come here! It's in my luggage waiting to be repaired!" I burst out laughing and point out that, comparatively, I'm unhurt. Fabian stays up till 3am repairing bell and wears it for rest of Festival, I break no bones.
2006: Begin fighter training again. No Fabian at Festival. Not riding bike. Especially not riding bike down Campbell St, Surry Hills. So far, so good. Might send over new bell, just in case.

Flametree at last!

2006-08-29T13:30:00.000+10:00

I should begin by warning everyone that I am not at my charming best this week. We are in the middle of an 'issue' with two members of the Kingdom who have made some very serious allegations about a third person and then accused us of aiding and abetting that person while Crown.

We went to some lengths to investigate their allegations and found them to be without substance, now new allegations have been made. Either, the third person is much, much smarter than I had given him credit for, or the first two are really misled. Given that I had previously considered these two as friends, and I am still convinced that they feel they are doing the right thing, this is all mentally exhausting.

And, of course, the curse of rumour is coming into play. So even if I stand up in public and say "This is, in detail, the investigation that we did that put our minds to rest." there will always be some people who say "Oh, well, they would say that to protect their arses." And then if person three does turn out to be an evil genius, won't we look stupid. Still, he just doesn't look that smart …

Obviously what I really want to do is to bang people's heads together, but that is neither realistic nor productive. Yet every now and then, I think, bugger being tactful and politic, what's needed here is a cast-iron frypan ...

Which means that I must apologise to the good people of Colles Adorum for beginning the tale of their joyful ball with a tale of woe. The good news is that I did what peers always tell you to do in these circumstances, I spoke to another peer, and that helped a great deal. She was very wise and talked me down from the bit where I started making feral ferret noises.

The Flametree Ball is one of the nicest balls of the year. It's relaxed, there's fabulous live music from the Happy Happy Dance Band (I know they have a real name now, but that's how I'll always think of them), there's good food, it's in an easy-to-get-to hall and it's a friendly, fun event after the stresses of Festival and May Crown.

This year was no exception, even though things have been a little more kooky in Colles Adorum than usual. And, because it's me, I'm going to tell you about the kooky from my perspective. I expect that several friends and readers will have different perspectives, I am not saying that mine is the only one nor that it invalidates any of yours. It's just what I think.

CA's newish Seneschal, Adam, is very household-oriented. This can be a bit of a problem when it is felt that the needs of the group and of the household pull in different directions. To his credit, when people have spoken with him about it, he has worked to be as impartial as he can be. But he feels a great sense of responsibility towards the household and so can't step away from it during his time as Seneschal, despite this being the best option.

I quite like Adam, even though he drives me nuts now and then. He has a good heart and he really believes that he is doing things for the best possible reasons. What he doesn't have is a sense of proportion on email. So if you walk up to him and have a straightforward chat about how you think that something should be done a little differently to the way that he is doing it, then he is fine and reasonable. Write something similar on email and it's the Hatfields and McCoys, the Orange and the Green, Tony Abbott and 21st century science (range of metaphors provided for cultural breadth).

I have to admit to a personal failing here, despite knowing this and making sure that whenever I have had an issue I talk to him face-to-face, I have never sat down with him and said "Email: not the tool of anti-Adam Satanism." I probably should, being one of a handful of pointy hats that he talks to. It's just, who died and made me the arbiter of how everyone should behave? While I'm as entitled to my opinions as the next person, I also believe that the next person is entitled to have one of my opinions be "I'm not involved in this, so I'll not tell you what to do."

Anyway, over the years I have had a few occasions to gently nudge Adam down from a high horse and, more often, reassure others that they didn't really do the equivalent of shooting his cousin (or creating stem cells if you're going with the Abbott reference) when they had a divergent view. The most common divergent view is over peers. Adam thinks that peers are basically evil and is on record as saying that he will refuse all awards (although, once again, I should check that is up to date, as the last time he said it to me it was last century. See, I don't care as much as I should. I gloss over people who aren't immediately important to me in favour of making frocks. This is not Right.) While I can see his point about evil peers (being one), there is a useful place for them and they are a part of the system. You can't be SCA without them, it doesn't work. And most peers are nice peers, who shouldn't be ignored, nor should they be snubbed nor vilified simply because they are good at what they do.

It's like hating the pretty people at school for being pretty. Exactly like that, in fact. And at some point you just have to say "We're not in the education system anymore, Toto."

So, Colles Adorum. Great group, wonderful people on both sides of the political divide, secretly competent and energetic Seneschal who has a few Major Issues, secretly unified populace who think that they have big schisms but watch them all snap back together when you threaten the group.

And a ball, and drink, and group A and group B taking positions in separate parts of the hall and not mingling. Can you guess what happened?

Absolute concord. Peace and respect for each side of the group. Applause at awards for the 'enemy'. And do you know why? Because Colles Adorum is really Lochac's Casablanca. They've looked at the serious issues facing the world, they've seen the real stoushes and the bloodfueds and the banishments, and they've realised that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this world. And at some point soon, it will all be the start of a beautiful friendship. You watch, introduce a Nazi Colonel they'll all have each other's backs in a second-flat.

Back to the ball itself. We do not dance. We are famous for not dancing. We actually do know about six dances after years of Del's brave demands, but James has a bung ankle and I have a manky foot and so we rarely take to the dance floor, unless we're particularly keen to make Del smile. Which has happened and will happen again, but not often. So we watched.

And it was beautiful. There was a lovely lass in really well made Eastern garb, there was a graceful young thing in a pretty Venetian, there were the nice Sockpuppets being gentlemanly , there were Wulfkin newbies in ENORMOUS pants, there were little Malachites being adorable (one of Lochac's two best-looking Colleges) and there were old-school CAers having a good old time. Killian whose new name I have completely forgotten because I am vague cooked a delicious repast, despite the fact that she was headed OS very shortly after (bless!) and she and Mayela were the kitchen angels of much cordial and snackery.

The whole evening was excellently coordinated by Alessandra, despite the fact that it had been a week of chaos in her personal life. She was surprisingly calm and held everything together most admirably. And I still have her Queen's Cypher to get to her, but I haven't seen her since then! Argh! Anyway, good job!

We handed out several awards, and we felt really dodgy because they were all to members of our household or associates thereof. But when I mentioned this to Adam (his wife, the wonderful Zenobia, had made a stack of the recommendations) he said, "Actually, I only twigged to that when you mentioned it. And while it's true, it also doesn't matter. These guys really deserved it." Which made me feel that I was not in Pollyanna-land when I realised that they were secretly Casablanca, and that while the French police and the locals may be having regular run-ins, they were all on the same side underneath.

They did all really deserve it, especially Mayela's Golden Tear (Lochac Service Award) and Blayney's Promethean Flame (Teaching) which had both been recommended by multiple people from multiple groups. Those two have no idea how much use they are to the Kingdom as a whole. We were privileged to give AoAs to Edie and Freiderik, who have both made a huge difference to the group in different ways since they joined (Edie usually smelling better) and, while it might be considered just vanity to give your apprentice a Lily (A&S), Art has done pretty much everything with no useful input from me, so I can't claim credit. I do yell at her to make things occasionally, but I do that to everyone, so bad Laurel, no biscuit.

The very best thing about the event was the A&S. there were two competitions, one on poetry and one on masks. The former was fairly easy to judge since most of the entries came from Paddy. He won with the one that was legible to others, luckily it was also entertaining and had some passages that were particularly well written. And he was still fairly sober when he read it out so that the jokes were comprehensible to the masses.

The latter was a right bugger to judge. There was one mask that was not technically very exciting, but which was conceptually very cool. It was a felted sheep mask based on a Norse find. the doco was great and fascinating, but unfortunately the artisan didn't have time to do their own felt and the shop felt did not lend itself easily to the task at hand. In fact, it worked against what the artisan had been trying to do, despite her best efforts. Damn shop felt. So the winner was, I think, one of the leather masks, which were all very nicely made and some technically better than others, but which weren't as basically 'cool' as the sheep mask. So much so that I can't quite recall which one it was. Perhaps Edie's spiral mask? She provided a little doco, but needed more! I think that I will try and grab the felt artisan for the next felt workshop that Tyg is doing, since I MUST go to that or she will give me A Look.

Despite several people complaining beforehand that it was inappropriate for Adam to miss court now that he was Seneschal, he was front and centre and laughed indulgently at all our bad jokes. I simply asked him to come and he said he would, ta da! I know that things are not so simply solved when you are part of a dispute and not some outsider with the power of pointy hatness, but there is good will there among most of the people involved. And the few areas where there is genuine craziness could probably all be sorted by getting drunk and tearful together, if only we could be 100% sure that that wouldn't be as a result of getting drunk and punchy or bitchy. Perhaps some investigations could be made into the best alcohol for quick maudlin "I love you, man"-ness. Hints? Suggestions?

Of course, from J's perspective there is one reason only to attend events in Bulli: the drive there. Down highways and freeways almost the whole way, with the steep windy descent of Bulli Pass on the way down and the long rolling curves in evening fog on the way back. There are giant illuminated signs suspended over the road that suddenly flash through the fog huge yellow letters that say "Beware FOG", although since they do this so suddenly and alarmingly, I have always thought that one should have another sign that says "Beware scary fog sign" a little bit beforehand. The same signs are used to say "Legal speed limit: 110" They used to follow this up with "Your speed: XXX" where the Xs represented your actual speed. They stopped doing this when it became obvious that people were using the signs as testament to their speedracerishness, some even going so far as to take photos.

When we arrived home that night, we were probably the most relaxed of any post-event homecoming. I say again: Colles Adorum may have problems that cause them the odd headache, but the rest of us just keep seeing the fact that all sides of the dispute are wonderful people with passion, commitment and ability. They just need to step away from the crazy and embrace their own usefulness. And perhaps read every email three times before replying.

More Secret Blows of Reigning

2006-08-22T00:30:00.000+10:00

But first, some housekeeping.

Thank you very much to everyone who has read the blog and said nice things. As you all know I am a pathetic wee beastie who thrives on people laughing at my gags. And I feel much better knowing that all that typing isn't just wasted hand actions. Because we have a word for that.

Thank you, too, to Bron and Gareth for taking such good care of us at Claire and Eric's wedding. I will upload the photos and do an entry on the wedding itself for everyone who knows them. It was a great event (admittedly we were only at the reception, we had to work through the wedding on Friday) and we had much more fun than we were expecting to, mostly thanks to Bron and Gareth, but also thanks to Holly who is lovely and hilarious. And Miles, get in touch with Anne. She's gorgeous.

I know that I said this was going to be Flametree, but I had some ideas for more secret blows of reigning. If you missed the first set, look below or in the archive. Sorry about the misdirection. It's a blog. Just be grateful that I don't fill it with everything I hate or blow-by-blow descriptions of every shag. Baron Bartholomew is to blame for that last comment and he knows why. Bad man! He's starting to remind me of Kurgan, which is just wrong. Anyway, onto the topic.

More Secret Blows of Reigning
8 Learn to step back
When you have the pointy hats on, everyone treats you as though you are the most important person in the Kingdom. Which is fair enough, because for once you actually are. But you are not the only important person in the Kingdom. When people are talking in Court, especially when Barons are coming up with Cunning Plans, stand back and listen rather than grabbing the opportunity for a good punch line or Dramatic Monologue.

Sometimes they want you to provide a dramatic monologue. You can tell those times because they turn to the Crown with a question and an expectant look. At other times, listen all the way through and then, after they have declared war on each other, proscribe their limits and remind them that their war is a diversion to try the troops of the Kingdom in a time of peace and prosperity. Because if you let them get too serious about it, it all goes rapidly downhill.

At other times they just want to be centre stage for a bit. It's not just Barons, it's some peers and some courtiers, too. When it is right and proper, give them the stage for a reasonable time and then lead the response, whether that be laughter, applause or chagrined headshaking. The one thing that sets apart good court crowns is a sense of timing. I think that this is probably the only genuine skill I brought to the role of Queen, and I found it very handy. Anyone else who spent half their childhood in dance and drama will have the same skill; remember to use it.

Lochac had two very famous Courts From Hell in the last five years where the Crowns had no sense of timing and never once stepped back from the spotlight. On the upside, they weren't Lochac Crowns. But if you do not want to have your Royal Peers doing Mexican Waves from the choir stalls during Court, this is the one piece of advice that I really recommend following.

9. Learn to jump in
This is number eight's evil twin. Sometimes you'll be sitting in the middle of a perfectly nice court and someone will come up to make an announcement. And then it will go on. And on. And on a bit more. And maybe there will be attempts at humour that make everyone pull that face that is half pity and half a pleading for a swift and merciful death.

These are bad times. You can learn to spot the culprits in advance and warn your heralds to say "Oh, I'm sorry, court time is very limited, can I add that in to my announcements so that we can get through them all in one hit? I'm afraid that the K&Q aren't accepting any other kind of announcement. I'm told she has ADD."

But sometimes it just happens there in front of you and something that you thought would take two minutes starts taking 25. A few tips. If it's an announcement, pretend that a large section of the crowd can't hear properly because it's windy, or else they're all getting sunburnt. Step up next to the announcer and say "So we should all be taking our used cans where? To the recycling area behind the showers. Right. Everyone got that? Lovely. Thanks! Great job! You have our leave to depart." The same technique works well for events where you find out the date, cost, location and bookings person that everyone can speak to later.

It's harder when people are being recognised for something. ibn Jelal will kill me for this, but Lochac's fencers have heard the word brevity and, on the whole, believe that it relates to underwear. So when they have fencing awards to give out, it often drags on and on. Ask all the awardees to stay at the front of court so that the cheers can be made for everyone at the end of the announcements. Once the dragging out has begun, subtly stand up and shake the hands of the awardees then position yourself next to the speaker and mutter "If we could just speed things along, we do have 11 other court items and people are starting to go into comas ..." This is not to say that fencers and other long-winded people shouldn't have the same court time as everyone else. They should. Just not tenfold that time.

Aside from their sesquipedalian loquaciousness, they're very nice chaps, those Lochac fencers. And Angus and Alwyn are concise.

You should also be willing to throw yourself bodily in front of a situation that is turning ugly, especially if you're the Queen. Because SCAers will posture (wank on) and subtleties of meaning can be lost (they do their nanas), and situations can escalate (come to blows) if there is no-one being the voice of reason. You can be the biggest bitch in the Kingdom (hey! that's me!) or else as tough-minded as Mathilde, as coolly cutting as Morwynna with a migraine or as physically able to break their nose as Asa and yet all SCAdians will look at you with the Queen hat on and see a sweet, loving, kind person who is like a Princess Diana without all the shagging and whining. And you should use that power for good.

10. For some people, you will never lose your King or Queen hat
And this is not a wholly bad thing, some of those people are very very sweet about it all. J and I went to a wedding that was mostly SCA on the weekend and one lovely woman was sat next to us and described her terror at realising she would be sitting beside the King and Queen. "But," I said, "That's Draco and Asa now, we're just J&D. We're normal!"

We had a great time hanging out with her and chatting and developed a real sense that she was a PLU*. At the end of the night, she turned to another friend and said "And the King and Queen were so friendly!"

I have been thinking about a card with a photo of Queen Elizabeth II on one side that says QUEEN, and me on the other side that says LUNATIC. Or possibly Not Queen. But despite the fact that I find such situations very odd, they make sense in that the person has learned to read us within the context of the SCA at a specific time. Until we replace the court image with a new and updated image, that's all they have. And I must say that I still think of my friend Steve with a whole lot of King of the West attached to him. And that's only partly because he was filling that role so often in the first years of me getting to know him. That persona is a large part of who he is in the SCA, and explains elements of his behaviour such as nearly killing himself training newbies at the list field when he was developing pneumonia. Well, that and he's a bit thick (I say that with love!)

Of course, it can be a bad thing for you. Once having reigned, you will always be in the loop for crises. You will always be frowned at by the people who think you done them wrong and you will always have to live with the guilt of too much credit for things that went well but which others had a large involvement in. The only alternative is to reign so badly that people avoid you forever after. If you choose to take this path, might I beg that you do it with style and class? Go completely berko, not just a bit wacky. Although you should definitely draw the line at Royal Porn tapes, it's been done to death.

* Person Like Us

11. Craft can be frightening
People will make you things. Some of them will be wonderful and amazing. I have a beautiful piece of reticella, a photo album, a poem and an illumination among other gifts that I would risk burnt arms to rescue if the house was on fire. These are great things.

Some of them will be a bit … odd … Like the drawings that you look at for a bit and realise are meant to be you. Or the subtlety that you look at long and hard and finally twig what it is (when one of the locals takes pity on you and whispers it under a cough). Or the jewellery made of something that smells like Perkins Paste.

Do not show your fear! Most of these people will never come to your house and will never know that their treasure is buried deep in a box or was possibly sent to a local school fete for the kiddies. Those who are regular visitors can be treated in the same way as in-laws: stash it somewhere accessible and pop it on the mantel when they ring to say they're on their way over.

Remember the kindness of the thought and the generosity of time that went into the effort. And pray that none of the people you visit are as bitchy as certain people who have horrid gifts that they keep for those who have behaved appallingly, knowing that they will feel obliged to wear the world's ugliest brooch because I, er, those people gave it to them. Because if they are that bitchy and they're giving you crap gifts, you've done something awful.

A quick word here, think through your gift comments. When we were at the Polit Baronial for Edmund and Leta, we were accompanied by Alaric and Nerissa, our gorgeous and brilliant predecessors in our first K&Q reign. The Worshipful Company of Broiderers gave Alaric a gift, a magnificent shirt with a blackworked sleeve.

J looked at it admiringly, and said to the representatives "This tradition of giving gifts was instigated to encourage your members to develop their skills, was it not?" oh yes, they replied. "So," he went on, "Our gift will be better."

Into the horrified silence that followed, I injected the essential word that his brain had supplied but his mouth had omitted: "He means, our gift will be even better? One can scarcely credit it, this is so good."

J, appalled, realised what he had done. He pointed at me. "Yes! That! That's what I meant to say! Oh god …"

I am so grateful that all my verbal faux pas involve accidental smut, which people take so much better than accidental snubs.

Anyway, make sure you practice your "Oh! How lovely!" facial expressions for the times that you need them. It's Lochac, those times should be very infrequent, we're talented bastards.

12. Organisation is your saviour
My darling Apprentice Number One came to me a year or so ago laughing like a hyena. When I could finally get some sense out of her, she told me that she had been chatting with a friend of hers who had said "You are so lucky that Dame Y is your Laurel, she's so organised!"

While Art is a cruel, cruel woman, she's also very accurate. I can be the organisational goddess who controls 57 things at once and they are all done in a perfecly timely manner. But I mostly save that skill for the real world where it is one of my editorial superpowers. At home, I'm a bit of a sloth. In the SCA, I'm in between. Because if you are perfect all the time, your brain never has any time off and you turn into a crazy person.

But you do need rigorous organisation to run a reign. Or else you turn up in Aneala when you are meant to be in Ynys Fawr. Which would be great from the perspective of catching up with Bec and Carlie, but very very bad from the perspective of Arnfinr will kill you.

We outsourced our organisation. Dame Joan was the Court Dragon from God. And I'm talking a big Judeo-Christian-type god here. Or maybe Zeus. She plotted, she planned, she started up a second courtiers email list so that she could give lots of orders without us being the loonie hippies that we are (Guys, chill, court will happen, it will all just come together …) and while she may have had some of the court hiding from her at various times, she made this the easiest reign ever by a huge factor.

To give you an idea of the difference Joan made, last reign when we stepped down I caught every single disease going around for about five months afterwards, had no energy to start anything new, didn't travel for about six months afterwards and still didn't get all the paperwork up to date.

This time, despite having caught bird flu in the last weeks of the reign, I was almost wholly up to date with the paperwork when we stepped down, had enough energy to stay on in New Zealand for a little break and then come back and start a many-thousand word blog, not only got over the bad case of flu reasonably swiftly but have not come down with any of the other viruses going around, such as Alfar disease, and was in Adelaide last weekend and should be travelling two out of the next three.

So, despite the fact that Joan was 'demanding and scary' for some of the court with her timetables and lists of duties, she was a saviour for us. And she spread the work around as evenly as she could, so no-one had to suffer too much. And when people grinched at her, she just adopted the same look of saintly patience that she pulls out when the girls are grizzly, or made those quiet but hilarious comments that you have to remember to keep an ear out for lest you miss her sotto voce. Which is why she will always be able to count on us for babysitting and chocolate provisions.

Our other regular angels were Marie and Manfred, who, every week, would ring and say: "Have you done all the things you were meant to do?" They also fed us a lot, which was a pleasant excuse to sit around the table being nutters. The level of comedy at their house is rather high, and very welcome.

And then there were the transient angels of organisation: Hagen's magical breakfasts; Isabeal's C&I; Katie with her boiling water at tea time; Laetitia and Lilith with tissues handy as the dust hit the eyeballs; Andre, Christian, Rioghan and Dragen who were always appearing just as things needed to be lugged; Maeve with her jokes and cheeriness when all was grim; Spyd with her ability to put things into perspective (consciousness organisation!); Deense and Finn with their appearing at the right momentness ... it's a long list.

If your find yourself running an imaginary Kingdom and don't have the world's best peer group to turn to, then turn to your actual Peers. Royal Peers, Pels, Laurels, even Knights are all damned useful people and will be there for you. Just ask. I know that it can be very hard to ask, but you will be thankful you did.

13. Things are not always as they seem
Now this is a bit of a Miss D axiom. I'm reminded of a faux pas I once made when I mentioned to a girlfriend that I was sharing my bed with Daz the World's Loveliest Musician. This was about a year after I started seeing J. She looked at me in a rather appalled way. What I meant was that I was time-sharing for a few weeks. Daz was in Sydney through the week to work on his latest album, I was in Newcastle with J. On the weekends J and I would be in Sydney and Daz would be off touring or up in the mountains with his girlfriend.

We'd leave each other notes on how things were going and the sheets would be washed, bed made, and usually a nice pressie of some flowers or chocolate lurking on top of the reading stack. Sometimes I'd leave Daz a book that I thought he'd like, he left me music suggestions. After a fortnight of this, one of the other people living in my co-op congratulated me on having organised to be seeing two of the cutest and nicest men in the world at the same time, because she hadn't noticed that, at most, Daz and I would have a half-hour crossover when we were both there at once. And while I love Daz dearly, he's not J.

Last weekend Bron and Gareth were telling us how funny some of their pre-conceptions of us had been. For instance, they thought that J was a drinker and a scientist. He's quite sober and an accountant. We could see how they jumped to each of these conclusions (and J would make an excellent mad scientist!), but were amused at them nonetheless.

This is a pretty regular part of life and, in examples like those above, the truth comes out eventually and there's no harm done. But in the SCA, where there thousands of people, some of whom you might see once a year, you need to be more careful.

A few years ago we had real issues with one of the Royalty. I talked with this person over the course of a year and, in the end, we made a very tough call on the situation. It was a call where we sought to limit the amount of damage done to that person, and the amount they could do to themselves. We told the individual concerned that we would not publicise the sanction and that we would limit ourselves to answering people honestly when they came up and asked us what was going on.

Several people did this, and we gave them answers to the best of our ability. We were not always calm through this period, but we tried to restrict our "Oh for fuck's sake if you want to be treated like a grown-up then act like a grown-up!" comments to senior peers who were close to the situation and in this, at least, we succeeded.

However, the story was put about, or at least a few interesting versions of the story were put about, and we had some people coming up to us and saying "Yay! You nailed that bastard!" And we said "Whoa! Stop right there." Because the truth of the matter was that the individual was not a bastard, literally or metaphorically. We thought (and still do) that the person had made grave and significant errors of judgement on a number of occasions. But those did not annul the many other brilliant things that this person had done before and has done since. In fact, we ended up spending most of the next six months telling people about the really really good things that this person had done to remind them that the actions that had led to the sanction were out of character.

The problem, of course, is that the people who met this person during the days of acting like a twonk are convinced that the twonk is the actual person.

And, on the other hand, we also received a fair deal of hate mail from people who had only ever seen this person in their usual inspirational and good mode and who couldn't comprehend that they were capable of evil.

The fact is that we're all capable of evil. We're all able to be utter bastards who make newbies cry and screw over groups because we feel like it and who stand there and expect everything to be done for us because we're the centre of the goddamn universe, thank you very much. We were all five once.

But we put a lid on the ego, we reign in the campaigns of terror and we sit back and see how we can work with the group as a whole, because we're all older now.

It's just that every now and then, a bit of our inner five year old comes creeping out and says "That person voted against me at the meeting, so I won't be their friend anymore." And unless we're vigilant about why we think things, kindergarten reasoning can start to come into play.

So when you go to a group and you hear how there are terrible factions and person A is evil and person B is insufferable, listen carefully and hand out the cups of tea, but be well aware that it's never that easy. Person A usually believes that they are doing the right thing, and person B honestly feels that they need to act that way in order to preserve their dignity. They are rarely bad people.

Of course, if they are genuinely bad people, they've usually done something genuinely bad, in which case it's easy. Call the police and banish them. Problem sorted.

14. You can't screw it up in six months
This is the reassuring thing you learn about reigning. You cannot screw up the whole Kingdom in six months. You can piss of all the fencers or the archers or the Pelicans or Ynys Fawr or Southron Gaard or Rowany or all the non-Vikings or all the Norse, but they'll get over it immediately you're gone. Because it's six months. That's less time than I had my foot in plaster after I shattered it. Less time than a baby. Less time than it takes Miles to call a girl who's charming and interested in him.

And in some kingdoms it's only four months.

Even if you go utterly mad, or indeed start from the point of being a raving loon, you cannot destroy your kingdom in the course of one reign.

So, knowing that you cannot do it, it's probably best not to try. In my nearly 12 years every single Disaster Reign has come about through impositions of will rather than listening to people. This never really works, even when you think it does. Ask a Lochac Fencer.

Dodgy Crowns can certainly impact on a Kingdom, sometimes for good. They can piss people off so much that they get organised and fix problems, whether those be low membership numbers or a need for fencing rules. They can bond together people who previously did not like each other, but who are willing to unite in their greater hatred of the Crown. They can provide an excellent example of what not to do in any given circumstance.

But to impact for significant bad, they usually have to be repeat offenders. My friends in the West only start to grumble after a few too many turn and turn-about reigns from the SuperDukes. Over here we are still too new to have that problem. And there is a simple solution. Train a lot and kill the buggers. Goodness knows that I have picked up a sword so that I can one day work out my issues on the Chiv who irritate me by hitting them in the head. Or the bum if I can't reach.

But even if you have two bad Kings in a row, they cannot be everywhere screwing up everything at once. You will still have sane Officers, sane B&Bs and some sane Peers. Support them when they need to be supported. Develop a very private comedy routine about the dumb royalty that never ever leaves the room but which keeps your local Seneschal sustained when they have to deal with the 47th piece of crap that week. Mark the date of step-down in your diary. And, above all, go to Crown and cheer for the people who you know will be less deranged next reign. Because no matter how painful, crazed, self-centred or delusional your royalty may be, they just don't matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.

In 20 years, bad Crowns will have entered the mythology as 'that painful git', while good Crowns will still be bought beers at the tavern. Remember, you want to be the sort of person who has youngish people clap their hands together and say: "You're William the Lucky*! Oh I'm so happy to meet you and talk to you!" And at that moment, the not giving way to all those daft selfish interests will seem wholly worth it.

* Or John Theophilus, or Radnor, or those legends from other Kingdoms including Caid's Ivan.

May Crown part 2

2006-08-16T15:08:00.000+10:00

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.