Book of the Black Dog

Just because you've always done it that way doesn't mean it's not incredibly stupid

Ok, to get a couple inside jokes out of the way: ahem
THIRTEEN!!!
Up by the Ilium of dawn.

Really, don't ask.

Ok WW breakdown. This was my first SCA camping event, but I did day trip WW a couple years ago in search of my rapier authorization. I could say that the experience was biblical. First there was the great storm, then the plague of flies, and by the end we almost had to kill Mary's first born son. Just sayin.

I attended solo as my honey's idea of camping is a hotel with hot and cold running waiters. With that in mind, I am so glad I did not convince her to come with. She would have been miserable with the heat, the flies, the strangers, the storm etc etc and then looked at me and asked "Remind me again, why did you think this was a good idea?".

I camped with great folks, good food, good laughs good times. The tent weathered the storm with absolutely no troubles. I got some nice compliments on the pavilion and my mead. Cooking with dutch oven and coals turned out to be a learning experience, but none the less yummy.

Fighting: Friday, I was off my game. Period. I could make excuses, but really that's what they would be. Saturday on the other hand was a GREAT day. Started off with the Baroness' Whim, and got to schtick it up and play the fop, and make both baronesses laugh. I got to step in and help assist two relatively new fighters against two Dons in a reductive Mele and turned the tide so the final fight was between the two new folks. Got to rip off some memorable lines in the NOT the duel at dawn - Nuh-uh! and picked up some fights with out of town folks that I would never have a chance to spar with. Now I want to pen a song called "Nickle sized bruises" (Even if you win you lose, if all you take home is a nickle sized bruise.)

Saturday evening was ended with way too much drinking at Shadow company, and staggering mostly downhill to my tent. But next year, (yes dear readers, I'm hoping there is a next year) I want to have more clothes made, and final touches put on my tent.

That's all for now. More as I remember it.

Putting start to lyrics here for later reference. Not finished or scanning right, but it's a start.

Yesterday,
I don’t think my nipple looked that way.
Now it’s an ugly bluish green,
And several more spots can be seen.

Hell, here’s three more on my leg.
I look like I‘ve got the plague.
Or like some spotted jersey cow
I’m sure there will be more three days from now.

The heavy fighters catcalls come in a flood,
Just because I’m not pissing blood.
I could wear bruises like a pelt,
Like some under-armored “generi-celt”

They’re right of course it could be worse,
I really like my spleen unburst.
My Don is asking me what’s up.
I tell him that I’m glad I wear a cup.

My doctor asks me if I feel safe at home.
But I'm abused on the field by Guillaume.
Or by Simon, Micheal, or Doc Jock.
I really shouldn’t use my face to try and block.

My Capo Ferro could improve
I practice footwork til I’ve worn a groove.