Stewart

Harry Potter and the Politician’s Wig

It was a very large but dark and scary room. A lot of menacing people were around him. He didn’t know what he was saying but he was saying in with menace and vitriol. Raising his hands in the air in celebration he seemed to make everyone chant at him.

He awoke from the vision clutching his head and screaming.

“Harry! What is it? Is it your scar?” enquired Hermione.

Harry Potter nodded. It felt like he couldn’t talk. His throat was dry. Pointing at it prompted Ron to thrust some butterbeer to him which he gulped down in a few seconds. It was obvious that Harry had been practicing his pint drinking skills in preparation for wizard university.

“Trump!” he gasped. “They were chanting it at me… at him… Trump! Trump! Trump”

“They were chanting at you to fart?” Ron asked surprised. “It sounds like they need to visit Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

“Ronald Weasley!” sighed Hermione. “Sometimes I wonder if you ever pay attention in Muggle Studies. It must have been Donald Trump.”

“What?” said Ron. “The idiot who went bankrupt four times and keeps forgetting where he lives and where he parked his plane, so he writes his name in big letters on his things. Why would anyone be chanting his name? That’s just ridiculous.”

“If you’d been paying any attention recently, you would have realised that he’s running for the presidency of America which is a very dangerous thing because quite frankly, he’s a complete idiot,” explained Hermione. “Holy cricket! It all makes sense now! His wig must be a horcrux. That explains a lot. Only dark magic could trick almost half of the population that it would be a good idea to vote for him! Once he’s become president, he’d basically be in charge of the world!”

“But we destroyed all the horcruxes. The last one was me!” said Harry. If there was one thing he wanted to avoid, it was fighting Voldemort again. It seems like he would be fighting him eternally in a magical version of Groundhog Day.

“You were an accidental horcrux, though, Harry. Voldemort never intended to create you. He made seven horcruxes. You were the eighth. That means there’s one left.”

“And he’s put one in a muggle’s wig. That’s bloody clever isn’t in, really. We’d never have thought to look there!” said Ron who was almost impressed by how smart the dark lord actually is.

“Right. I’m going to sort this out right now. I’m sick of this!” said Harry, getting to his feet. “You guys stay here. It’s not safe for you. Hermione, you’d be in danger of sexual assault and Ron, I’m not sure what his feelings are on gingers but he’s clearly a racist so it wouldn’t be too much of a jump to assume he might also discriminate based on hair colour.”

“Harry, we’re coming with you, obviously.”

“Yeah mate, you can’t leave us behind. You tried that before.”

“Fine. It didn’t work last time and it won’t work this time either, will it? Come on then. Accio broomstick!” he shouted, and his Nimbus 2000 came flying into his hand.

“Accio broomstick!” said Ron and Hermione simultaneously.

They flew across the Atlantic as fast as their broomsticks could take them. They easily found the Horcrux. The human that Voldemort had been controlling had a voice so loud that they could hear it as soon as they’d got 20 miles west of Ireland. The stupid ignorant words that were coming out of its mouth only served to motivate the three friends to finally put an end to Tom Riddle once and for all.

They found him at an election rally the night before the election. He was so into his blustering nonsense that he didn’t sense Harry’s presence through their intimate connection.

“Accio wig” cast Ron hopefully.

Amazingly Trump’s wig flew straight into Ron’s hand.

“Wow! I wasn’t expecting that one to work.”

“Quick, Harry, the basilisk fang!”

Harry quickly got the fang from under his cloak and stabbed it through the wig which was struggling in Ron’s hand. It instantly withered and died. Harry’s felt pain greater than any pain that he had ever felt before.

“That’s it,” he said. “My scar doesn’t hurt. And I know it won’t hurt any more. I felt him die. For good this time.”

The crowd seeing that Donald Trump had been lying about having a wig for many years, realised that everything that he had been telling them for the last year was a whole load of poppycock. They also realised that his name meant fart, although they weren’t sure why. (It was a spell that Hermione has secretly done under her breath to prove to Ron that she wasn’t as stuffy and boring as he thought she was.) All the crowd immediately vowed to vote for someone else.

The Election Day came and went. Ron, Hermione and Harry stuck around in America to watch the results there. Partly because it was more interesting to do so but partly because the frozen butterbeer you get in the States is pretty amazing and they couldn’t go back without celebrating finally killing the dark lord with a butterbeer bender.

“Potter! Grainger! Weasley!” screamed Professor McGonagall as they flew back into Hogwarts the following, rather pleased with themselves but hanging off the back of the broomsticks – metaphorically, not literally.

Ron gulped.

“Yes, Professor?” said Potter.

“You know what the rules are on doing magic outside of Hogwarts. You are forbidden to do so!”

Hermione started to look worried. She couldn’t have a blotch on her record which might damage her chances of getting a job at the Ministry of Magic.

“However, based on the circumstances and the fact that you’ve averted unprecedented disaster and possibly the destruction of the world, I feel I must award you a million points to Gryffindor! Do you fancy a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?”

“Hair of the dog?” said Ron.

“We’re in!” all three of them said in union.

Bucket List Item 13: Read War and Peace

I put Read War & Peace on my bucketlist when I made it a number of years ago. I can’t remember exactly why I put it on there. I think it was probably at least one of the following things:

1. The fact that I love reading and I wanted to put something related to reading on the list.
2. I’ve enjoyed the Russian literature that I have read.
3. Despite now having been there and being a bit underwhelmed by it, I have had a fascination with Russia for several years.
4. It is supposed to be a difficult book to read and I wanted to prove that I could do it.
5. I want to be able to say pretentiously to people that I have read it.

Jo bought me a lovely hardback version of the book for my birthday last year (now almost a year
ago), which I finished reading earlier this year. It took me several months to read. It’s a long book. But not only that, it’s a heavy book. That meant that it wasn’t too easy to transport and therefore I didn’t read it on the train which is my usual reading time. I ended up reading for a quarter of an hour every night before bed.

There are almost 600 characters and it isn’t really suited to this style of reading, especially with my concentration span. I would often forget who people were when I began reading the next day, let alone a few weeks later if they had gone out of the narrative for a while. As such, there are passages which I remember vividly – Pierre’s father’s death and the game of cards are two of them – and yet others which I barely remember happening at all.

This was brought out when we recently watched the BBC dramatisation of the novel. There were bits that I definitely don’t recall at all. Then again, there are bits which I am fairly sure Tolstoy didn’t write but were included because they were naughty bits and the BBC wanted ratings. It was really useful to see how it was condensed down to a 6 hour series, and I think I’m quite a visual person and being able to see the actors made it easier for me to remember which character was which, rather than getting lost in all of the words in the book.

I think I will definitely attempt to read it again at another point. I don’t think I got everything that I could out of it, however it won’t be for a while as my pile of books to read is almost as tall as me.

Bucket List Item 50: Visit My Town’s Twin Town

This has always been a thing I’ve been interested in. That the place where I live is somehow mysteriously linked with an enigmatic town in another country with an exotic sounding name.

Earlier this year I won an overnight trip on the Eurotunnel. I was trying to decide what to do with it when I realised I could finally visit one of these mysterious places in a faraway land.

Hythe where we live is twinned with two towns – Berck-sur-Mer in France and Poperinge in Belgium. As we had already booked our summer holiday for Marseilles, we decided to go to Belgium for this trip which we tied in with our anniversary celebrations. We booked a slightly extravagant hotel (we were being decadent) with a bed so big I couldn’t reach the edges and a really cool bath and headed over. It also had free sherry and brandy. Winners.

It turns out that our twin towns aren’t quite as faraway as I’d previously thought. It took us less time to get to Poperinge than it takes to get to Oxford or Southampton or anywhere else that seems like it should be nearer.

Jo managed to tick something off her unrecorded bucket list by driving in Europe whilst I navigated us there. These roles definitely work to our skillsets as I’m not keen on driving but I’m great at planning and I love maps, and vice versa for her.

I’m quite glad I waited until I had moved to Hythe to complete this item. I previously lived in Folkestone (admittedly only 10 minutes drive away) which is twinned with Etaples-sur-Mer. I don’t know much about the place, but it definitely doesn’t seem as interesting as Poperinge is.

I didn’t know much about Poperinge either, really. I didn’t even know how to pronounce the name (Popper-Ing-Err, if you’re interested). However, I did know that the town had a lot of beer related connections which made me quite excited to visit.

We therefore made our first stop the Hopmuseum. It was informative and we got to smell a lot of hops but there was a lot less beer drinking involved as part of that tour than I had hoped there would be. I insisted then that we made our next stop a beer bar that they do so well in Belgium. I love anywhere that has a beer menu and the place that we found was fantastic, cheap and gave us free peanuts. We both had a local Poperinge beer which probably tasted even better due to having to wait so long for it.

I had wanted to eat at a restaurant called Markt 38 as according to Trip Advisor it is the best restaurant in the city. I didn’t think that the best restaurant in the city might be fully booked on a Saturday night so we went to a hotel nearby to try more Poperinge beer and have quite a posh meal. Not as posh (or as expensive) as the breakfast we would have in our hotel the following day but quite posh, with an amazing local desert that I have completely forgotten the name of but was an apple and cinnamon thing which I completely recommend.

The other thing that the town is largely associated with is the First World War. One of the reasons it is linked with Hythe is Talbot House, a club for soldiers established by Lord Talbot of Hythe. Unfortunately we weren’t able to visit – apparently they have lovely tea and cakes. There is a war memorial in the town and around 40 soldiers were executed in the city.

The following morning we took a visit to Lijssenthoek Military Cemetery. It is a ten minute drive
from the city and, as always with this sort of experience, is very humbling. The visitor centre gives you an idea of the size of the military hospital which in itself is mind blowing (around 4,000 patients at any one time) but then going out to see the graves of over 10,000 and being unable to comprehend what you are seeing, when it is still such a small portion of the total number of dead… it’s one of those things that always hits me emotionally.

Overall, the city was a lovely place. It was great to also go somewhere that we knew next to nothing about and to learn the local history and sample the local food and drink.

Duckman: The Origins

I’m going to let you into a secret. I’m a superhero.

I know, it’s difficult to take in. Let me just remove my glasses. It will seem much more plausible then.

It all started when I was on “tour” with my band. We were staying at The Billing Aquadrome. The place is as wonderful as it sounds. I think the magic of the place might have been what caused me to turn into a superhero. It might be my radioactive spider.

Every superhero needs an origin story, and this is mine. It is not as heartbreaking as seeing my parents murdered. It’s not as scientific as a spider bite. I’m not a multimillionaire. I haven’t been able to make my own technology. I’m not a mutant (as far as I can tell).

Not an actual picture of me as Duckman. I like to keep my identity secret.

All I have is my wits and a power to control the actions of ducks. Allow me to set the scene.

We were playing Olympic Frisbee. I say playing, we were training really. We never made it to Olympic standard. The reasons for this will become obvious shortly.

It was early in the morning. We’d just had a bit of breakfast and were in the process of waking up before we worked out our plan for the day. One of us – I can’t remember who but it wasn’t me as I’m awesome – failed to catch the Frisbee and it went into a nearby lake.

Everyone was distraught. They thought our game was over and the disc lost forever. Whilst they were busy crying and lamenting, I was not to be stopped.

“LEWIS! GET ME THE BREAD!” I commanded.

Lewis, being inferior to me in every way (although he never says it, I know he thinks of me as his hero), followed my every command. He hurried over to where our food supply was and brought me back a loaf of bread.

Using this as my conduit, I summoned the ducks nearby towards the Frisbee. Throwing bits of bread just in front of them where I wanted them to go I controlled them using nothing but the power of my mind to nudge the Frisbee back to us.

Everyone around bowed down at my feet, for they had never seen such a feat before. Women wanted to be with me. Men wanted to be me. The game of Olympic Frisbee continued.

This is how I became Duckman – controller of ducks using only the power of his mind! (And occasionally bread).

Duckman is looking for partners for a kick ass superhero team. Apply within.

Even Rocky had a montage…

There has been a thing going around on that there internet that they invented. It is to do with the fact that in the United States around 22 veterans of various ages commit suicide every day.

To raise awareness of this issue, a challenge has been going around to attempt to do 22 press ups a day for 22 days. The idea is that you video yourself doing it and tag a friend each day to get them to do the same.

My “friend” Steve Ashley tagged me in one of his videos, which I thought was a bit mean of him. I’m a man who likes a challenge though and so I decided to give it a go.

September also happens to be national suicide prevention awareness month. Anything that can reduce the stigma around suicide, whether caused by PTSD or one of many other factors is a good idea in my book. I think that nowadays

I decided to do the challenge a bit differently to others. I didn’t want to upload a video on Facebook everyday because I am already narcisstic enough on there already as it is and seeing a video every day is bit like overkill. I also didn’t want to annoy 22 other people by nominating them to do the challenge as well. If people want to, then fine. I didn’t want to make anyone feel guilty for not doing it, or pressured into doing it.

I also thought that a montage would be much cooler.

I also chose to do the challenge as I know that I don’t do enough exercise and in itself it is a good thing. Having the motivation to do so would be a good thing as I’m usually too lazy to force myself to do exercise. It turns out that doing press ups every day makes you better at press ups. Who would have thunk it? You will notice this if you watch the montage video.

Raising awareness is just one part of the solution and so I decided that I would donate money to the Royal British Legion. I chose to give them £22 as it was an important number in the challenge, plus £1 for every press up that I missed. One day I was so ill that I was only awake for 4 hours and so missed those press ups, and so I have donated £44.

Below are a montage video plus a video of all the press ups. If it looks like any are missing, then that’s as a result of my poor editing rather than actually missing any.

Here is my montage video:

Or if you want to watch every single press up:

My 4 stages of confusion about Pokemon Go

Confusion Stage 1: What is Pokemon Go?

At this stage I was blissfully unaware of what Pokemon Go was. I had never played a pokemon game before and didn’t understand what it was about, other than the fact that you have to catch them all. It sounded to me like an electronic version of a Panini football sticker book.

Adam was telling me about it a couple of weeks ago when he had managed to get the app via some super secret l337 haxxor method. Or something. He was extremely excited and giving me loads of information about what goes on. So I had some sort of understanding after this, but I was still really confused.

Adam’s excitement about the matter persuaded me to download it. I wanted to be doing what all the cool kids do. This progressed me onto stage 2 of the process.

Confusion Stage 2: I don’t understand Pokemon Go.

It was quite cute. I liked the fact that the warning when you load up the game is is “Don’t walk into a Giant Monster’s Mouth.” It amused me enough to give the game a few goes. I didn’t understand what was going on really and forgot that I had the app.

As a few more days passed and the app was all over the news and I spoke to more cool kids who were playing it, I started giving it a few more goes. I still didn’t understand it but I carried on playing every so often for a few minutes on the walk to the supermarket.

Confusion Stage 3: Why am I addicted to Pokemon Go?

I have just been for a lovely 3 km walk. Unlike running, I do really enjoy walking. I find it a pleasant form of exercise, in which I can take in the lovely surroundings and learn about where I am. I really like reading the signs which tell you about local history, checking out the architecture, enjoying the seaside.

I popped into the library and borrowed a couple of books, discovered that they have a town history museum in there, learnt about my town, got a bit of sunshine and had a really nice time.

I would not have gone for this walk if I hadn’t somehow become addicted to Pokemon Go. My route was basically dictated by where PokeStops are located in my town (5 within a minute’s walk of my house – one of the many benefits to living in the town centre).

Transferring between stage 2 and stage 3 was when my understanding of the game clicked and I knew exactly what was going on. I don’t know how this happened but it did.

What I can’t understand though, is why I am addicted to it. All I am doing is walking and pushing a button on my phone every so often. I don’t know why I want to do this but I want to. It’s a really weird state to be in. Even after reading this article on the Forbes website, I am no closer to understanding.

Confusion Stage 4: Why is there a dying fish?

The Pokemon all seem to be based loosely on real life animals. This sort of makes sense. It allows kids to have an understanding of what the monsters are.

I was really freaked out by one that I caught last night, though.

Magikarp.

A fish.

Flapping around.

Out of water.

Dying.

Why does this exist?

So freaked out.

Pirates and Pirates and Pirates

It was Layla’s birthday this week, which reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to write about for ages.

Pirates and Pirates and Pirates
supported by Hattie Hatstar

Once upon a time, in a field not too far away… Merton Farm in Canterbury, to be precise. At Lounge on the Farm. In the year two thousand and ten. The greatest band ever were formed!

We were at the festival for what I think was the second of the three years I went for, and Lynsey had started running a Quarterhouse Stage. Unfortunately they had a couple of performers drop out and were looking for replacements.

Stefan, probably fuelled by a beer or two at the time, suggested to her that he and I – who had never played music together previously – could fill a slot on the bill.

Me, probably fuelled by a beer or two at the time, went along with this and suggested that it would be a really great idea.

Lynsey, probably fuelled by whatever her choice of beverage is, was somehow convinced that we would actually be able to put on a performance and gave us a slow on Sunday afternoon, giving us a day and a half to get our shizzle together.

The first thing any band needs is a name. Then you know what sort of band you’ve got. There was a band playing at the festival called Cats and Cats and Cats. I had seen them earlier and thought they were quite good. Afterwards, I had nodded at one member of the band assuming that they were someone that I knew. They looked at me weirdly. I then realised that I knew who they were but that had no clue who I was.

Someone, I think James most likely, was telling me a story about how they had almost called themselves Parrots and Parrots and Parrots. “Pirates and Pirates and Pirates?” says I. “That’s an awesome name, let’s take it.” So we did.

We managed to borrow an acoustic guitar. Neither Stefan nor I can sing. He told me I had to as the guitar was right handed, and with me being left handed, this was the logical way to arrange the band. I had never been encouraged to sing in a band before. Mainly because people I’ve been in bands with have heard me sing.

This gave us Saturday to write songs. We had to borrow Dan Light’s diary so I could write lyrics down, and we sat around the campfire mainly writing songs about things that had happened to us over the course of the festival.

We wrote a song called No Cash Back about how the bars on site weren’t giving any cash back so James had to walk into town to get to a cash machine. We wrote another called Hobo Joe about a guy called Joe who Dan Light found sleeping in his tent one evening. There was The Ballad of Dan Light about Dan Light graffiti which had been appearing mysteriously on site and which we had absolutely nothing to do with.

On Sunday morning, it was Layla’s birthday. This is why I remembered that it was the 6th anniversary of the formation of the band when it was her birthday. Mainly because we then wrote a song about her birthday called Layla’s Birthday. It lasts 10 seconds and has the lyrics “Layla, it’s your birthday, but we’re not celebrating.”

For her birthday, Sophie had bought Layla a toy xylophone. This meant that she instantly made it into the band. Ben wanted to be in the band, and we wanted him to be in the band because he could actually sing. So he got in too. I seem to recall we also bought some sort of whistle from the Siesta tent for him to play as well. The drummer from Stefan’s actual band was at the festival. Stefan grabbed him, some saucepans and wooden spoons and he became our drummer.

We rehearsed briefly as a full band and then at 4.30pm we were unleashed upon the unsuspecting world. We had been spreading the word a bit, and as it’s quite a small festival we actually managed to get maybe 30 or 40 people we knew come along to watch us which I was extremely impressed with, especially as we had been talking down the band all weekend.

When we finished playing Hobo Joe, we discovered that Joe was actually a friend of a friend who had come along to watch us and that he was actually quite embarrassed by what had happened.

During the Ballad of Dan Light, Dan himself held up big bits of card which he had taped on True and False, to coincide with whether the statements about him were true of false. Attempting to “sing” the lyrics to the song whilst he was doing so is one of the funniest and most enjoyable memories that I’ve got.

We finished with a song called Thank You Lynsey thanking her for letting us play her stage. We added in information about things about her that Sophie had informed us about so we could embarrass her slightly, before legging it from the stage.

A few months later, Stefan came over to my house and we attempted to record the songs. There is a link below, but they are not as good as the originals, especially as they are lacking several instruments and I attempted the drums by filling a container with coins which really doesn’t work.

Although the band never officially split up, they have been on an indefinite hiatus. Perhaps there will be a reunion one day. Judging from how many times my old band have had reunions, nothing can be ruled out.

The band:
Stewart Cork – “singing”
Stefan Birkett – guitar
Ben Bailes – vocals, whistle and pretend trumpet
Layla Silbert – toy xylophone
Tom the Drummer – pots and pans

Songs from Dan Light’s Diary:
1 No Cash Back
2 Ballad of Dan Light
3 Hobo Joe
4 Piracy Funds Terrorism
5 Hotter Than The Med
6 Nice Guys Finish Last
7 Layla’s Birthday
8 Thank You Lyndsey

A version of these songs can be heard at https://soundcloud.com/pirates-2/sets/songs-from-dan-lights-diary

Bucket List Item #48: Climb Scafell Pike

Once upon a time, I went on a little road trip around England. One of the things I was wanting to do was to climb Scafell Pike. I ended up not doing so. For a few reasons.

1. It is really big and I am generally quite lazy.

2. I was on my own and thought I might navigate myself to certain doom.

3. The weather was supposed to be bad for climbing mountains.

So instead I did other things. However, climbing the mountain got put on my bucket list as a result of not climbing it. I resolved to do so when I wasn’t so lazy, had someone to navigate me away from doom and when it wasn’t so windy.

Therefore, I gathered a band of intrepid adventures and we made our way to the Lake District on holiday (having previously done a similar thing in Snowdonia at the same time last year) to complete this feat. Due to amazing planning, we were there the week that the wettest place in the country had its summer and all managed to get a little bit of a sunburn.

The mountain is 980 metres high. This doesn’t sound like much until you try to go that high. Then it sounds a lot harder. When you have been climbing an hour and still can’t see the summit, it appears infinite.

Compared to Snowdon, it is actually smaller, however as a climb it is a lot more intense. Snowdown has more scrambly bits (I learnt that the technical term is scree) but also more flat bits. Scafell Pike is basically a 980 metre staircase. With big rocky stairs. I thought I knew what to expect having done Snowdon but this was a lot more intense. But we all managed it, see! Go team!

Several years ago, I always got confused by people who went up mountains because they were there. Now I am that kind of person, and I can recommend it. You get a great sense of achievement, and you feel like you are on top of the world (both literally and metaphorically) and that you can achieve anything. I would definitely recommend it, as long as you have some idea what you are letting yourself in for and prepare adequately in advance.

There has already been talk about doing Ben Nevis next year to complete what is one of the slowest Three Peaks challenges, I am just giving my body a little time to recover before telling it about this.

We could be heroes

Last week’s Big Issue was a heroes edition. They had famouses talk to other famouses in the pretext of interviewing them so they didn’t feel nervous and awkward about their desire to speak to another famous just because they were someone they admired.

The other day I went to see Richard Herring. I’m a bit of a fanboy of his. I have been a fan since

watching Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy (TMWRNJ) back when I was at school. I have seen him perform 4 or 5 times now, bought DVDs, listen to some of his many podcasts. I even got a bit excited when he emailed me back after I sent him an email about his Me 1 v Me 2 podcast where he plays himself at snooker.

I had an opportunity to meet him after the show. He was selling books and DVDs and chatting to fans. It wasn’t a long queue and wouldn’t have been too much of my time to queue up and meet him. The opportunity to meet my hero. And yet I didn’t want to do it.

Thinking about why I didn’t want to is a little odd. I know I’d want to say something clever or memorable. I also believe that I’d mess it up and say something stupid. I’m also not sure what I’d gain from a very short interaction with him.

When I was at university, I used to work for the local newspaper and I got to interview the big bands that came to town. I especially remember interviewing Stove, the bass player from Mansun who were (and still are) one of my favourite bands. If there was ever a time to be nervous and say something stupid to a famous, that was the time. However, I think I did fine – or at least as fine as any 18 year old can do when in that sort of situation.

Not wanting to meet my heroes is not a new thing. I support West Ham United and they came down to play against Folkestone in a pre-season friendly many years ago. My family when to the bar and meet the players and staff – including my 12 year old brother being offered a pint by Harry Redknapp – while I was sat in the stand with my friend. However, missing that experience isn’t something I have ever regretted.

You’re told that celebrities are just nice normal people like you or I (or at least you’re told that some of them are). I think maybe that’s the problem. I don’t want them to be like me. I want them to have some sort of mystique. Something other worldly. Something that makes them more interesting than just a regular human.

And also, I think I’d want to say something cool but I know I’d just say something ridiculously embarrassing like squeaking out “You were a joy to watch.”

Happy 600th Birthday Agincourt

It is my birthday tomorrow and also the 600th Anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt. Once I found out that I shared a birthday with this battle, I had a bit more interest in it than I may have otherwise had.

I’ve always had an interest in history and I think that if I could go back in time and speak to younger Stew, that I would tell him to study History at university. I love castles. I love stories. I love the whole kings and queens and battles for territories and beheadings, even though I am a republican and a pacifist.

I guess these stories are magical because they tell of a different time. They tell of a world so completely different to ours in how it is run and the rules of society. It is difficult to see the similarities, yet at the same time, important to understand that there are lessons to be learned.

I was lent a great book on Agincourt earlier this year, Juliet Barker’s Agincourt: The King, The Campaign, The Battle. I learned a lot. Mostly I learned that I didn’t know much about that period of history at all. I got quite engrossed in the book and it encouraged me to want to read up more about history in the future, especially as I currently have a lot of time to read on the train.

I think that Agincourt was pretty neat because the archers got to play a big part in the battle due to the way it played out. Archers are cool. The whole idea I think is much cooler than a knight wading into battle on a horse with a sword which just seems a bit too bombastic for my liking. An archer just loiters at the back, picking people off without really having to get their hands messy. More about my love for archery another time, perhaps.

I found it really enjoyable reading the book and getting all the details about the build up and the political situation at the time. The list below shows other things that happened on my birthday. I think I’m going to read up on the Charge of the Light Brigade for next year. If anyone has any recommendations of good books, let me know!

Other things that have happened on my birthday (at least according to the internet):

1854: The Charge of the Light Brigade
1881: Picasso is born
1917: The October Revolution (depending on which calendar you adhere to)
1935: Clement Atlee becomes leader of the Labour Party
1979 (The Year I was born): Video Killed The Radio Star is number 1.
1979: Eddie Argos of Art Brut is born
1990: I score a hat trick in a 6-5 victory over All Souls Primary School
2004: Castro bans the dollar in Cuba