Windfalls

I ain't be driving no automatic

East Kingdom University at Glenn Linn

by Rhiannon

Diego and I were unable to travel to Glenn Linn on Wednesday evening because of the Tex-Mex Night/ Independence Day party we were hosting, but we recovered from the margaritas by early afternoon on Thursday, and got under way at that point. It was raining miserably, and our stuff was already soggy before we even finished packing the car. Portents were bad.

The fencers who make up the Shark Pool (Fergus, Nataliia, Thomas, Dylan, and many other dubious characters) had already attempted to bribe or threaten me into letting them use my pavilion as a shade tarp. Unfortunately, I had designs on actually camping in it, so I brought the Two-Car Garage as a compromise. I didnšt actually know how to set up the TCG, so that was our first adventure upon arrival. The Junior Scientist Corps helped out by offering suggestions as to hardware I could buy to make the center pole arrangement less stupid. Once threatened with a hammer, however, they saw the validity of holding poles and unwinding rope and other more practical endeavors.

Once that was done, we set about to dinner and drinking. Lord Michael of Castle Keep was the chef du jour, and he had planned a luxurious feast of steak, asparagus, fruit, and way, way too much wine. A surprise dinner guest was Duke Inman of Ansteorra, who was great fun to talk with during the meal.

After dinner, we didn't even bother cleaning up after ourselves, and we all simply wandered off to do more drinking. Fortunately, I was fairly plowed by the time Portia slammed a beer bottle into my nose, and so I didn't go into shock while I bled all over the place. I don't think I've ever bled so much at once in my life. It was like I was Mathilde, or something. Diego laughed his head off, and Fergus sat there offering helpful advice like "No, stick the tissue ALL the way up your nose." I will, however, commend Sir Richard Blackmore for being genuinely caring and informative, and he didn't even snicker once, at least while I could see him.

I woke up the next morning with a headache which could have been due to either the alcohol or the head trauma, and a missing contact lens. So, to sum up, the first 18 hours of the event really sucked. Fortunately, it improved after that. I have a new definition of a good event, however. Instead of basing my evaluation on whether or not anyone throws up on me, I will henceforth consider it a good event if no one hits me in the face with anything.

I decided not to fence on Friday, even if my nose didn't hurt that much, so I sat around in the shade and watched everybody else instead. The fencers took control of the horse corral right in front of our camp and used it for the fencing field. They were at it for hours before breaking off for dinner. In the meantime, there were classes of various sorts going on, despite the fact that Octavia and the schedule didn't arrive until late afternoon. Even with the schedule, it was hard to find the classes, since location was not one of the criteria included on the schedule. The whole thing took on the atmosphere of a treasure hunt.

Dinner on Friday night was pasta cooked by Saint Liam (I had canonized him at some earlier event). Most of the pasta was made on site by Lady Dante, with supplements of commercial egg noodles when the yummy handmade stuff ran out. I decided that excessive drinking was probably not a good idea since I still had bones left unbroken. Diego and I sort of wandered around for a while then went to bed early.

My class on "The History of East Kingdom Fencing" was at 10:00 the next morning. I decided to teach it right in the camp. No one really cared that breakfast was going on around them. The class was well-attended, and people seemed to enjoy it.

After class, we all suited up and went out fencing. The horse corral was no longer available, since there were now horses in it, so we went out by the fighting field instead. Dylan taught a class on the London Masters, or the Original Pyramid Scheme; Thomas taught one on Advanced Tactics in Fencing; and Orlando taught one on Theatrical Fencing and How To Cure It. The rest of us just held pick-ups in the midst of all this, occasionally seriously disrupting the classes.

Court was on Saturday night. I made a batch of tacos before Court for whoever could manage to snag one (reverting to the usual Shark Pool food-serving methodology). We brought our chairs up for Court, and didn't even heckle too much. At Court, Boudicca and Dirk both received Awards of Arms, and Lady Clotilde von der Insel got a Manche for some pretty spiffy spinning and weaving. Brokk Jarlson also got his OGR, so we retired to camp for a serious congratulatory party.

However, Ailis was using our camp for the Schlager Information Meeting, so we hurriedly retired right back out. The meeting (surprise!) featured a few hours of people arguing about stupid details. It had started out okay, with Fergus, Brokk, and the SCRAG team filling us in on the mask-destruction experiment and showing off the caved-in masks. After that, it went downhill fast.

Finally, the last holdouts were ushered out of the way, and we broke out the beer (The baby OGR had actually bought us two cases worth of it!). The best party of the evening was in the Shark Pool that night. It was warm and mellow, and the sky was full of stars.

Just as we were about to slip off to our beds, an extremely drunken squire staggered into camp, brandishing a pickle. Loudly, and with much slurring of speech, he implored us to take the pickle, so that his master-at-arms would give him a name. This was new and different, so we all stayed to watch. Finally, after no one would accept his pickle, the squire announced that he would do anything if we would take the pickle. It was like blood in the water. The Sharks came to life.

"Anything?" repeated Diego.

"Uh, within reason..." stammered the squire, but it was too late. We gave him not one, but two names: Chum (for use within the Shark Pool), and Esteban. In the process of harassing this unfortunate, it was revealed that he had been put up to this by his master-at-arms, Master Hans, with help from Master Padraig. It was also revealed that he had already that evening been thrown out of Royal Encampment, after Hans had put him up to trying to sneak into Bjorn's tent and pinch him in the butt. Apparently, the King and Queen were much peeved at this little episode.

With an admonition to return the next morning at 9 to wash dishes, Esteban was released. Hans and Padraig made the mistake at this point of getting too close, and they were dragged in to get their fair share of the abuse. After about ten minutes of being worked over by Natalia, who is if anything even more evil than Caterina, it was decided that they would pay Queen Morgen tribute in chocolate at the Great Northeastern War. They had walked into camp with tipsy but confident expressions, but left looking like they had just been subjected to an IRS audit.

In the meantime, Diego had amused himself by showing Esteban how to use a chain mail link to lock the zippers on a tent, preferably with someone inside. Diego strongly suggested that Esteban use this as retribution on the people who had gotten him into this much trouble. Upon overhearing this, Dylan threatened Diego with death if Diego ever got within 20 feet of Dylan's cadets. Diego took this as a compliment.

In the morning, Esteban's camp seemed to have two chants upon which they meditated: "Hans said it would be a good idea" and "Padraig had little or nothing to do with it." Esteban himself showed up at 9ish, as ordered, and was put to work cleaning up the camp.

Later on, after Martin had spoiled us with blueberry pancakes, Grendel and Diego passed their Marshal-in-Training Final Exam with Ailis, and we all got packed up. Despite my horrible directions, most of us managed to meet at a Ponderosa in Saratoga Springs for lunch on the way home. After that, everyone going south got caught in an hour-long traffic jam on I-87, but Diego and I managed to avoid this altogether by going west instead. All in all, it was good practice for Pennsic, and well worth the trip.

My throat's all closed up or I'd do Tracy.

Skilled Artisans Use Authentic Methods to Restore Windsor Castle

The damage was extensive in the northeast area of the castle, necessitating the restoration of over 100 rooms, including St. Georgešs Hall, a site for large banquets, and the Private Chapel, originally built by Queen Victoria. The early medieval castle is now a mixture of styles and materials that many English rulers have altered or added to over the years.

St. George's Hall, which lost almost all its furnishings, including the roof, will be rebuilt in the Gothic style popularized by 19th-century English architects. The roof will be constructed by hand-shaping vaults and arches of green oak with adzes and drawknives. The green oak will dry gradually over a period of 50 years. To prepare, artisans studied medieval ceilings at Westminster palace and at a Tudor banqueting hall. Other restorers are creating fine plaster modlings and carving stone to re-create gilded, late-Georgian reception rooms.

Undamaged areas of the castle are open to visitors during the summer, 10 am to 5 pm daily.

Paleolithic head!

Index

I caught it between my knees!