With memories of hideous history lessons in mind, we're about to find out...
HISTORY!
Whether arguing the merits of the croissant versus the bacon sarnie, or boshing trucks through barricades of burning sheep, the English and French love to tear it up with one another. But the best thing to have come out of the cross¬channel clashing? jousting of course.
And the good news? It's not just knights of old who can attempt to skewer each other's rib cages now any clown can have a crack. And the French aren't involved. After relocating to a corner of Warwickshire, FHM slipped into chain mail and armour to experience the ancient and noble sport. Having never ridden a horse Ever.
HORSES!
First realisation: galloping on a horse while holding a lance and shield is nothing like pootling on a seaside donkey whilst trying not to spill beer and eat ice cream. Having been taught the basics of steering and not falling off, FHM enters the houst arena to commence combat training. "I did break my
knuckles once," explains organiser Karl Ude-Martinez, "but you'll be fine." Moments later and the "Red Knight" plunges his lance through the cloak of the "Black Knight", missing his body by inches. Gulp. Second realisation: a large curry the night before jousting is a very bad idea.
HOSTILITY!
Some expert tutelage and FHM is ready to face the Black Knight. "We do stag do's and activity days when groups of mates come and learn the ropes," grins FHM's new foe.
"If you go to fall just throw the lance and hold on!" Horse hooves thunder. Lances are raised.
FHM discovers what a cue ball must feel like on every break.
"War! What is it good for?" once questioned crooner Edwin Starr. Jousting. that's what.
