The Man With A Long Chin's Diary


Medieval Knight


18 January 2000 - MEDIEVAL KNIGHT

I've got a new job as a medieval knight, living in the Dark Ages. It's my job to protect the castle of my lord, Baron Smith, from serfs and villagers, and undesirables such as chocolate cake thieves.

I'm currently working the "knight" shift, guarding the cake from dusk until dawn. If anyone approaches the cake - which is stored in a big iron box in the basement - I'm sanctioned to shout at them to stop. If they fail to stop, I move to Level 2, which is when I can hit them. If they continue to approach, Level 3 is when I get nasty.

19 January 2000 - MEDIEVAL KNIGHT

Being a medieval knight means I get to wear a special suit of armour. Unfortunately, I was the last to arrive at the castle and I've been forced to make do with whatever I could find.

I couldn't find any chain mail, so I've Sellotaped a bunch of thimbles to my T-shirt, and for a helmet I'm using a wooden trough from the stables. A roast ox doubles for my shield, and in place of a sword I have a sock full of hens' teeth. You wouldn't think it, but hens' teeth can be surprisingly heavy, and therefore lethal.

20 January 2000 - MEDIEVAL KNIGHT

Being a medieval knight certainly has its downside. For instance, last night I had to fight in some sort of big war thing. I wouldn't have minded, but because I turned up late I wasn't entitled to a horse. My "steed" for the duration of the battle was an extra-long sack of straw.

I "rode" into battle dragging it between my legs like a big hessian sausage. My attempts to engage the enemy in battle were met with derision and open laughter. Still, I had the last laugh when I survived the battle by pretending to be dead.

21 January 2000 - MEDIEVAL KNIGHT

I think I'm going to have to stop being a medieval knight now, as I accept that I'm allergic to The Middle Ages. So much as being near a serf - let alone kissing one - brings me out in warts, and the court jesters are causing my eczema to flare up again.

Worse still, if I go within 10 feet of a portcullis my neck swells up so badly that it bursts my armour, and if I lick a drawbridge my mouth catches alight. I must return to the present day immediately. Aside from anything, I miss The Other Half with Dale Winton.

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