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Nov. 18th, 2006 10:00 amLast night I donned my hired knight costume for my mother's Medieval Evening. We got to the venue an hour before the start to iron out any last-minute issues. Among the raffle prizes, I noticed, was the wall clock my mother won at Calamity Jane last month. The recycling queen strikes again. It wasn't long before we spotted a few place settings without chairs and vice versa, so I spent most of that hour hauling chairs from one place to another, and rearranging chairs and place settings so most people had enough leg room. I was just completing that task when the guests started to be let in.
As each pair or group of guests arrived, my mother and I had to pose for photos with them. They were all being served a glass of mulled wine on arrival; as I'd never got into the foyer, I didn't get a sniff of mulled wine all evening :( My mother, though, had thoughtfully provided three bottles of real ale to keep me going through the meal.
I'd arranged it so I would be next to Maria, and, sure enough, we kept each other entertained the whole time. She was wearing a low-cut black lacy dress that, on reflection, could probably have passed for medieval; she explained that she was a 15th century Wench. A venue staff member dressed as a herald announced 'My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, pray take your seats for the repast', and the starter - rustic autumn vegetable soup, plus a large hunk of bread each - was served. It was really nice, perhaps because it contained plenty of vegetables, including ones you wouldn't find in modern soup.
Main course was a whole mini chicken, roasted ribs, a whole jacket potato (butter was provided) and salad. Absolutely delicious, and all the better for being able to eat it the 15th century way, with fingers - though that meant that, as Maria observed, it would have been handy if we'd been provided with Wet Wipes instead of conventional serviettes! We were at least given a second serviette each towards the end of the course. We civic dignitaries were, of course, served first, which prompted Uncle Ron to stand up and call out to my mother "How come you've been served and we haven't yet?"
"'Cause I'm the Queen," me ma laughed. "You're the lower orders." I turned to her and added "My lady, methinks the peasants are revolting." That creased her - and all the relatives - up, and she gave the standard reply "Well, they're certainly not very nice."
As the main course came to a close, The Villagers came on and began their performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. They were superb as always; it was just a shame that several of the guests, including Gran and Aunt Jean, insisted on rabbiting through much of it. Someone went as far as to point out to my mother that Gran was 'causing a disturbance', prompting me ma to threaten her with the stocks or the ducking-stool.
As well as my real ales - Whitechapel Porter (first-class stuff), Gentleman Jack and Old Speckled Hen - the waiter kept my glass full with red wine all evening. By the end of the main course I was well inebriated.
Early in the play Jim said to me "I want more wenches". As if on cue, the well-proportioned Charlotte O'Toole, playing Hermia, appeared in the next scene. When an actress with a bit of a baby bulge came on, Jim said to me "That damsel is with child." "Indeed she be," I replied, prompting Jim to add "Was it you, Sir Knight?" "Nay, verily," I said, "I was on crusade fighting the Turks at the time." That didn't stop Jim musing "I think it was Sir Knight on a dark night."
Uncle Ron got up and asked my mother if he could be 'excused'. "Wouldst visit the privy?" I said; he replied yes and someone directed him. A bit later John from Rushmoor wanted to go, so I told my mother "My lady, my Lord of Rushmoor would visit the privy." To get to the toilet, one had to pass the area where the play was being performed, so she retorted "Well, if he goes now he'll get mixed up with the villagers."
During the play's interval, there was dancing to a band of medieval-style musicians. As I passed Peter the driver - on guard duty as a knight armed with a sword - he said he thought Michelle seemed a bit on her own (she was talking to two fellow Town Hall staff) so I should ask her to dance, but there was only one place I was heading (the combination of real ale and red wine was having an effect) so I replied "Firstly, sire, I must visit the privy." When I returned Michelle was dancing in a group, so I joined my mother, Jim and Maria in their little circle. Maria and Margaret from Rushmoor seemed to be having a little competition dancing up to each other showing off their cleavages (both were in low-cut dresses) - Margaret made some remark I didn't hear, Maria retorted "I'm sexier than you", I shouted "Girl fight!" and everyone laughed.
As the second half of the play opened cheese and biscuits were served, then a bit later came dessert - 'Marchpane Sweetmeat', an icing- and marzipan-topped pastry cake. Jim didn't want his so I got two bits; it was lovely stuff, but I was stuffed to the gunnels with all the food that had gone before, and feeling the effects of all the drink, so I had to eat my marchpane slowly. Still finished both bits of course :)
While Oberon and Puck were on stage plotting their dastardly magic, Maria told my mother Jim wanted to go to the loo; me ma replied with a giggle "If he goes up there now, Oberon'll put a spell on him!"
In the scene where the two pairs of young lovers finally agree to marry, my mother and others went 'Awww!' while my cousin Jacqui said "I think I'll slash my wrists". Maria called her a pessimist, and Jacqui started to explain to her how, being a single mother, she often gets lonely when her wee lass is in bed. I let them have a girl talk and turned back to the play.
After the performance came the raffle. Richard won three prizes, and his friend, Sally, won one. None of my family won anything. Once the last prize had been claimed people started to say their goodbyes to us and leave. With the last of the guests straggling out, because of all the people who'd been chattering during the play I went up to Carol from The Villagers and told her how much I'd liked the performance.
I'd been a little uncomfortable since washing down dessert with the third of my ales, and by now I had a feeling I was going to have to use the white telephone, so headed for the gents, but only a tiny little bit came up.
When I returned to the hall, my mother suddenly presented me with a four-pack of Marston's real ales. No explanation was given, but that's the kind of gift you don't question, so I simply thanked her. The staff and the Villagers props people were clearing the decorations and the set away. My mother offered to help, but John and Michelle wouldn't hear of it and insisted we go out to the Mayoral car.
On the drive home my mother told John that she'd intended to have male and female 'Best Dressed' prizes, but only realised when everyone was going home that she'd forgotten to do that, so she'd given the ladies' prize - a poinsettia - to one of the staff for her help, and the men's prize - the Marston's beers - to me. Home and straight to bed.
Still feeling stuffed this morning.
As each pair or group of guests arrived, my mother and I had to pose for photos with them. They were all being served a glass of mulled wine on arrival; as I'd never got into the foyer, I didn't get a sniff of mulled wine all evening :( My mother, though, had thoughtfully provided three bottles of real ale to keep me going through the meal.
I'd arranged it so I would be next to Maria, and, sure enough, we kept each other entertained the whole time. She was wearing a low-cut black lacy dress that, on reflection, could probably have passed for medieval; she explained that she was a 15th century Wench. A venue staff member dressed as a herald announced 'My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, pray take your seats for the repast', and the starter - rustic autumn vegetable soup, plus a large hunk of bread each - was served. It was really nice, perhaps because it contained plenty of vegetables, including ones you wouldn't find in modern soup.
Main course was a whole mini chicken, roasted ribs, a whole jacket potato (butter was provided) and salad. Absolutely delicious, and all the better for being able to eat it the 15th century way, with fingers - though that meant that, as Maria observed, it would have been handy if we'd been provided with Wet Wipes instead of conventional serviettes! We were at least given a second serviette each towards the end of the course. We civic dignitaries were, of course, served first, which prompted Uncle Ron to stand up and call out to my mother "How come you've been served and we haven't yet?"
"'Cause I'm the Queen," me ma laughed. "You're the lower orders." I turned to her and added "My lady, methinks the peasants are revolting." That creased her - and all the relatives - up, and she gave the standard reply "Well, they're certainly not very nice."
As the main course came to a close, The Villagers came on and began their performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. They were superb as always; it was just a shame that several of the guests, including Gran and Aunt Jean, insisted on rabbiting through much of it. Someone went as far as to point out to my mother that Gran was 'causing a disturbance', prompting me ma to threaten her with the stocks or the ducking-stool.
As well as my real ales - Whitechapel Porter (first-class stuff), Gentleman Jack and Old Speckled Hen - the waiter kept my glass full with red wine all evening. By the end of the main course I was well inebriated.
Early in the play Jim said to me "I want more wenches". As if on cue, the well-proportioned Charlotte O'Toole, playing Hermia, appeared in the next scene. When an actress with a bit of a baby bulge came on, Jim said to me "That damsel is with child." "Indeed she be," I replied, prompting Jim to add "Was it you, Sir Knight?" "Nay, verily," I said, "I was on crusade fighting the Turks at the time." That didn't stop Jim musing "I think it was Sir Knight on a dark night."
Uncle Ron got up and asked my mother if he could be 'excused'. "Wouldst visit the privy?" I said; he replied yes and someone directed him. A bit later John from Rushmoor wanted to go, so I told my mother "My lady, my Lord of Rushmoor would visit the privy." To get to the toilet, one had to pass the area where the play was being performed, so she retorted "Well, if he goes now he'll get mixed up with the villagers."
During the play's interval, there was dancing to a band of medieval-style musicians. As I passed Peter the driver - on guard duty as a knight armed with a sword - he said he thought Michelle seemed a bit on her own (she was talking to two fellow Town Hall staff) so I should ask her to dance, but there was only one place I was heading (the combination of real ale and red wine was having an effect) so I replied "Firstly, sire, I must visit the privy." When I returned Michelle was dancing in a group, so I joined my mother, Jim and Maria in their little circle. Maria and Margaret from Rushmoor seemed to be having a little competition dancing up to each other showing off their cleavages (both were in low-cut dresses) - Margaret made some remark I didn't hear, Maria retorted "I'm sexier than you", I shouted "Girl fight!" and everyone laughed.
As the second half of the play opened cheese and biscuits were served, then a bit later came dessert - 'Marchpane Sweetmeat', an icing- and marzipan-topped pastry cake. Jim didn't want his so I got two bits; it was lovely stuff, but I was stuffed to the gunnels with all the food that had gone before, and feeling the effects of all the drink, so I had to eat my marchpane slowly. Still finished both bits of course :)
While Oberon and Puck were on stage plotting their dastardly magic, Maria told my mother Jim wanted to go to the loo; me ma replied with a giggle "If he goes up there now, Oberon'll put a spell on him!"
In the scene where the two pairs of young lovers finally agree to marry, my mother and others went 'Awww!' while my cousin Jacqui said "I think I'll slash my wrists". Maria called her a pessimist, and Jacqui started to explain to her how, being a single mother, she often gets lonely when her wee lass is in bed. I let them have a girl talk and turned back to the play.
After the performance came the raffle. Richard won three prizes, and his friend, Sally, won one. None of my family won anything. Once the last prize had been claimed people started to say their goodbyes to us and leave. With the last of the guests straggling out, because of all the people who'd been chattering during the play I went up to Carol from The Villagers and told her how much I'd liked the performance.
I'd been a little uncomfortable since washing down dessert with the third of my ales, and by now I had a feeling I was going to have to use the white telephone, so headed for the gents, but only a tiny little bit came up.
When I returned to the hall, my mother suddenly presented me with a four-pack of Marston's real ales. No explanation was given, but that's the kind of gift you don't question, so I simply thanked her. The staff and the Villagers props people were clearing the decorations and the set away. My mother offered to help, but John and Michelle wouldn't hear of it and insisted we go out to the Mayoral car.
On the drive home my mother told John that she'd intended to have male and female 'Best Dressed' prizes, but only realised when everyone was going home that she'd forgotten to do that, so she'd given the ladies' prize - a poinsettia - to one of the staff for her help, and the men's prize - the Marston's beers - to me. Home and straight to bed.
Still feeling stuffed this morning.
