A frantic day. In fact, about as frantic a day as I care to recall. We put trenches into towers that we thought were central gateways, then turned out to be positioned at the building’s corners. Then we looked for roadways that didn’t exist and then morphed into crinkle-crankle walls. Sometime around lunch Tudor pottery was replaced by something made in Thetford in the centuries on either side of the Norman Conquest… All in all, it was bonkers. And very frantic.
Then, during the afternoon Matt Williams disappeared from Raksha’s trench to do a cameo. It was something to do with a Wassail Cup. At the end of day we all convened in the great Tudor walled garden and drank from Matt’s wassail cup. They’d made a huge bowl of Tudor punch, liberally flavoured with spices and God knows what else. At the same time our host had provided a firkin (9 gallon) barrel of cask-conditioned, locally-brewed IPA. After each take of the final scene, Phil had to fill the Wassail cup which he handed around, and of course we had to refill our beer glasses for ‘continuity’ purposes. I think I had about a dozen of those ‘continuity’ refills – and God knows how much Wassail punch.
I think I’m back in the hotel now, but frankly, I don’t know whether I’m running, jumping or standing still. I don’t care much either. What’ll it be: supper, the bar or bed? What the Hell… Night, night…
Francis Pryor - In the Long Run 