Anniversary of the Battle of Chrysopolis (324)

Archdruid Eileen: Today we remember the Battle of Chrysopolis - fought between Constantine and his brother-in-law and colleague Licinius. This is a solemn moment as we remember that these two rulers jointly issued the Edict of Milan. That they were joined by bonds of kinship. That when the Roman Empire could have been organising to protect itself, it was torn asunder by ambition once again. That later, Constantine betrayed his solemn oath by having Licinius - and subsequently, Licinius's son, Constantine's own nephew - executed. That despite following the Prince of Peace, Constantine was a man of war. That..... what's that noise?

Beaker Folk: You're not Caesar, you're not Caesar, you're not Caesar anymore.

Other Beaker Folk: Licinius when you're winning - you're only Licinius when you're winning.

Archdruid: Oh forget it. Let the mayhem begin.

Anniversary of the Peasants' Revolt (1381), Battle of Naseby (1645) and the Mutiny on the Bounty (1789)

Today we remember three anniversaries linked by a single theme. Treachery and rebellion against lawful authority.

Lest Beaker Folk forget:

• Wat Tyler was stabbed to death. 
• The Parliamentary forces, although temporarily victorious and even martyring Charles I, had to come crawling back to get the Monarchy re-instated after they realised their version of ratbaggery and supposed godliness was boring, annoying and pointless. And Charles II was interesting. Ireton and Cromwell, among others, were hanged and dragged around the streets. Even though they had been dead for years.
• The Mutineers ended their lives eating only breadfruit and living on Pitcairn Island - outwardly beautiful but in fact you couldn't even get a mobile signal. Fletcher Christian died at the age of 28 after a fight with a Tahitian.

So let us forget all mutinous talk this week, and get back into the Doily Mines and get pressing. Hnaef was only joking about the mice in there. They're rats, anyway.

Feast of the Restoration of Charles II (1660)

8 am - Erection of the Maypole

9 am - Period of gloating at the discomfiture of all miserable fun-hating ratbags*

10 am - Community game of Hide and Pepys (lock up your servant girls)

11 am - Dragging Cromwell around the grounds behind a horse (in the absence of Cromwell we'll use Burton. In the absence of a horse we'll use a Landrover)

11.30 am - First aid for Burton

Noon - Nuncheon

2 pm - Throwing tennis balls at the beetroot with a wig (traditional Liverpool game)

3 pm - Parade of spaniels

4 pm - Parade of mistresses (names of the mistresses' boyfriends withheld for legal reasons)

5 pm - Evening prayer with Plainchant (Archdruid's note: I've no idea how this crept in here, but it is so relaxing)

6 pm - Dinner (Cakes & Ale)

7 pm - Entertainment (Beer & Skittles)

8 pm - Setting fire to the Maypole

9 pm - Another rebellion (to the setting "Duke of Monmouth")

*If May 29 falls on the day after a European Champions League final, this may include a period of sorrow for the losers. Unless it's Man Utd, in which case it won't.

"Saint" Alfred's Day (899)

Really bad news about the "Saint" Alfred's Day celebrations.

Let's just say, I was baking some cakes...

The not-so-merry Monarch

There is in English history a king so evil that his name should live with Stalin, Lenin, Mao, Pol Pot, Hitler and Mr Blobby in the first league of sinners.  He died, syphilitic and hideous, and missed by none.
He murdered his wives, Catholics, Protestants, Baptists and the good people of Yorkshire in equal measure. The Protestants he burned as heretics and - as a means of a kind of via media - the Catholics were hanged, drawn and quartered as traitors.

His name, of course, is Henry VIII. But because the Church of England that he founded (so he could divorce one wife and marry another so he could murder her) has continued to this day - a church of old maids cycling to Communion through the autumn mists of burning heretics - and because a hatred of Spain carried more weight than a love of the Old Religion - and because the Book of Common Prayer sounds so lovely and traditional - he has somehow kept a good name amongst the people of England as a precursor to that truly "Merry Monarch", Charles II.  Although, on the whole, of course, I prefer Oliver Cromwell, who was not so attached to any pleasure except that of banning things.

But enough of this pretending that, though he killed Catholics, Protestants and Yorkshire folk, Henry was basically a good bloke. We must strike back - and in the way that would hurt him to the core.

We must ban Greensleeves.