Things get even better when I arrive at the Warwick International School of Riding and meet Karl Ude-Martinez and Edward Long, two good-looking knights who will be my jousting masters for the day.

My mount is an amiable chestnut called Remo, who I warm to instantly as he obediently walks, trots and canters round the arena when I am asked to demonstrate that I do actually know how to sit on a horse. There are just two of us jousting today, myself and one other girl (also called Sarah) who is conveniently of a similar riding standard to me.

During the morning we practice holding the flags (oops, I mean ban¬ners) and wielding the lances, while walking, trotting and then cantering down the tilt (the fence that runs down the middle of the arena). All jousting is done while holding the reins in your left hand, leaving the right free to hold the lance, so that is another thing we have to get used to. After we have mastered the art of going in a straight line alongside the tilt, we take up our first challenge. Two rings (imagine giant flat polo mints made of metal) are placed on top of the tilt, and the idea is to spear your lance through the centre of each. We start off in walk using a light practice pole, before moving on to trot and finally canter with the heavier 12-foot lances. To my amaze¬ment (I never was very good at preci¬sion sports in school) I am not bad at this and manage to spear more than half of the rings even in trot and canter. Trot is far and away the most difficult pace at which to master this skill because the jolting up and down means it is hard to be accurate with the end of the lance that is quivering somewhere several feet in front of you.

Next, it is time to try hitting the quintaine (basically a shield-shaped spinning target that you bash with your lance). I have a couple of mishits and when I try it in canter with the heavier lance the tip (coronal) just glances off the edge of the quintaine as I don't use enough force. When I use more, I have the opposite problem and the impact drives me backwards in the saddle. But I slowly start to get it right. It is fantas¬tic fun and I am now starting to feel like a proper knight.

By the time we stop for a (well¬deserved) lunch break, I feel I am pro¬gressing quite well, but in the after¬noon we are kitted out in full medieval costumes and it becomes a whole different story. It takes quite a time to dress us up and I learn why medieval knights needed so many squires as layer after layer goes on.

Between them, Ed and Karl cram us into mock chain-mail vests, trousers and hood (coiffe), leather boots and gauntlets, arm and knee armour.

My horse looks fantastic and I harbour a sneaking suspicion that I do too, in a crazy sort of way striking tabard and cape - royal blue for me, red for Sarah - and various other bits and pieces that look fantastic and weigh a tonne.

When Remo is led out, he has been transformed into a charger, with rug (comparison) and hood in material matching my robes. He also has a face¬guard and neck-armour that, with its overlapping segments, resembles some¬thing like a giant woodlouse. He looks fantastic and I harbour a sneaking suspicion that I do too, in a crazy sort of way. Mounting proves tricky, as, although Remo stands like a rock against the wall from which I am attempting to get on him, I am unable to lift my leg up very high at all, and in the end I have to resort to an undigni¬fied slow-motion scramble to get back into the saddle.

Everything that seemed so straight¬forward before lunch now suddenly becomes twice as difficult. Remo's previously straight lines become wiggly, I feel very ungainly and weighed down by all the gear (and this is lightweight reproduction - I cannot begin to imagine how much real knights must have weighed) and I become increasingly annoyed by the reins catching under the giant woodlouse plating. However, despite these minor niggles, it does feel fantastic - a real power trip, once you become accustomed to it.
Because I am small (and have not seen the inside of a gym for the best part of a year), it is not long before I start to have some problems with the lances. The smaller, lighter jousting poles (used for practicing) I can manage, but when it comes to manhandling the 12-foot lances, I find myself in difficulties as it really comes down to a question of physical strength. Ed and Karl have demonstrated exactly how to hold the lance in resting position - vertically, with the hilt resting on one foot - which is not a problem. And holding the lance in position to hit the quintaine or pick up a ring I can just about cope with, although my arm, encased in all its paraphernalia, is starting to ache. Try as I might, however, I am physically unable to move the lance between these two positions - something a knight should be able to do effortlessly at a gallop as he approaches his target. Much as I want to be able to do this properly, the sheer level of physical exertion required forces me to admit I need several sessions pumping iron in the gym before my next lesson.

I determine to have at least one go at hitting Ed (now also on horseback) and I struggle to get my lance in position as we charge (well, canter) towards each other on opposite sides of the tilt. Unwieldy though I feel in this get-up, I manage to make contact with my lance tip on Ed's shield and he ends up on his back in the mud.

Okay, so he faked it (I'm not that good yet) but it was still hilarious - although perhaps less amusing for whoever has to wash his robes.

The Knights of Middle England is becoming increasingly popular with a huge range of clients, riders and nonriders alike, and Karl is happy to tailor the package to the needs of each individual.
Unsurprisingly, jousting days are a favourite with stag and hen parties, as well as being a hit for corporate days out.

"Everyone wants to have a go," explains Karl. "Deep down everybody wants to be a knight."

At the end of our day, we dismount and Karl and Ed teach us a basic fighting routine with plastic poles and then swords. It is a really good laugh, although I am far from gifted at remembering the routine and I definitely detect a faint reluctance from Ed and Karl to let me loose with a sword.
I feel deeply sorry for ladies in the 13th and 14th centuries. Sit around in a pretty dress looking glamorous and clapping decorously? Forget it - I would far rather be a knight.