I’m loving the cuurent BBC costume drama ‘Wolf Hall’ about Cromwell and Henry VIII. I’ve read the books and it’s an adaptation that stands up to the original (unusually).
I’m fascinated by the Tudors and it started young.
Every Saturday without fail I used to go ice skating; it was around the time that Torvill and Dean won the Winter Olympics and Nottingham had gone crazy for careering around a small patch of ice at ludicrously fast speeds.
At the local ice rink (now demolished to make way for The National Ice Centre, with an even smaller rink, or maybe I just got bigger…) my friend and I went to the Saturday morning skating club where we learnt how to skate forwards without falling over, and occasionally backwards without too much mishap (apart from the time I broke my arm but we’ll draw a veil over that).
So what has this to do with the Tudors I hear you cry? Well, once a year at Christmas, there was, to my great excitement, a fancy dress skate party.
Still unsure about how this relates to 16th Century England? Hold your hockey skates.
I decided, most likely under the influence of a devious mother who had calculated how much costume preparation was involved, to go as Anne Boleyn, post execution, dressed in a white sheet with my ‘head’ under my arm, on skates, obviously. She was known for her skating skills. Not.
I chose to ignore that part and thought this was an excellent idea. I spent hours styling the hair and doing the make up on my Girls World (remember them?!? If you don’t, they were slightly scary plastic ‘heads’, a bit like an oversize decapitated Sindy doll, who had carelessly mislaid her body).
I was convinced that the junior hockey player both me and my friend had our eyes on would take one look at me and be so impressed by the originality of my get up that he wouldn’t fail to skate around the rink with me for the final song – the skating disco equivalent of the last dance.
How wrong I was. Please take a moment to create a mental picture of a slightly spotty teenager, hiding under an off white nylon sheet (my Mum wasn’t prepared to let me use a ‘best’ one, I’d had to make do with one that was older than me), clutching a Girls World in both hands, with felt tip around her neck, very unconvincingly like blood, especially as someone (not me of course) had left the lid off the red one so I’d had to substitute brown and green – determined to prove that red isn’t really a primary colour). Got that? Yup, cringe along with me.
The worst part, given the weight of a Girls World – they were HEAVY – and the effect it had on my centre of gravity along with the combination of trailing sheet meant that once I had the poor hockey player in my sights, the excitement tipped me over the edge. Quite literally, as I managed the most calamitous trip, was unable to windmill my arms due to my ‘head’, landed on my tummy, flat out, and slid the entire length of the ice rink in front of Everyone. I died.
So now I’ve relived the trauma with you I think that’s quite enough of the Tudors for today and I’ll show you a quick picture of my CAL.