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

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?

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 ...

... 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 ...

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!

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 ...

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!

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

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 ...

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!

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 ...

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 ...