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the faire
renaissance man and woman

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    last year deb and i decided it was time to put on costumes for the renaissance pleasure faire at black point, near navato, california. we even got don and daver to dress up.
    just in time, too, because this is the last year of that particular faire at that particular location. it’s the talk of the faire because no one knows where we’ll be next year.
    to wit, here see sir ralf and his wife, lord and lady twaddlesham, entitled by alison wiley, esq., of merry old england.
    it’s not a cheap hobby; we’ve spent significant portions of our disposable income last summer and this. generally it’s a whole lot of fun. costumes come with an attitude, which is played up when there are hundreds of others of the same mind. we get compliments and photograph requests nearly every day we go to the faire.
    besides, i get to wear my sword.

more faire

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so ironic i feel rusty!
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     at the faire with wendy, who also likes to dress in renaissance period attire, deb invented a new game called “drink-faire” in honor of the pewter flask that has become a part of our gear. (i bought it, but deb certainly enjoys it most.) the rules are pretty simple. for each person in your party, the other members of your group get to select a special someone from the crowd. as the day goes on, whenever your special fairgoer person comes into view by the members of your group, you take a drink.
constable photo
Real Soon Now

     to play-test the game fairly, we all selected the same jolly fellow, the constable of the shire where the faire is held. we’ve noticed this constable often before, due to his well-worn costume and rowdy manner. so on this day, each time we came across this man, deb would take out the flask of irish mist, and we would each drink a toast to the constable, albeit from afar.
     at the end of the day, after the closing parade had passed and the drummers had broken off their dancing, we saw the honored constable one last time. he was coming down the lane, and would pass by where we sat, all there atop a hay bale. i noticed him, pointed him out, and, unstopping the flask, commented that this constable fellow probably thinks we’re jolly folk, for whenever he saw us that day we were drinking! laughing, we finished the flask, each of us taking a turn save for Wendy, our driver, who wisely abstained. presently the flask was empty, even to the last drop.
     moments later he, the object of our game, the constable himself in all his wonderous accountrements, was standing before us! addressing deb, who had the flask in her hands, the man says to her, “good woman! show my companions how to make a good bribe!”
     “alas,” sayeth she, “the flask is empty! we have just drained it dry. there is nothing left to offer as a bribe.”
     “we'll see about that!” says the man, and he taketh the pewter from her hands and raised it high over his head, spout held over his mouth.

     i do not think he tasted a single drop.
     “bah!” says the good constable to deb. returning the flask to her, he turned to his companions and said, “that is not how one bribes a man!”
     i feel that when we go again to the faire this saturday next, we owe the good constable something—some form of a bribe—for the unknowing service he did for us and our game.









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