Royal Redheads Raise the Standard at Leestock


Adam’s arrived at Leestock. And I do believe he’s booked in as the first comedian of the day, but I’ve just downed my ‘Five a Day’ breakfast drinks (I’ll post up the cider menu later!) and I’m feeling re-energised, so I’m taking a short walk to the lovely Leestock lavatories – in an attempt to beat the rush hour!

The Portacabins don’t look quite so pristine as they did yesterday – some idiot’s blu-tacked comedy club posters all over the doors. But comedian Junior Simpson’s beautiful smile tempts me in to give one of the loos its first Sunday Christening ceremony.


The cabin’s interior is clean enough and there’s more of that squidgy, squirty gel stuff to mess around with, so I’m in a reasonably good mood when I begin the return journey. I’m about to run; I’m keen to see Adam. But something, something very large – very large and very upright – stops me dead in my tracks.

Yesterday, I spent all day standing in the comedy tent looking up at the row of loos, but now I’m at the top of Mount Leestock, looking down a cliff at …..

And, no I’m not just looking down into the comedy tent at Adam – he’s tiny and he’s not at all upright! In fact, he’s looking like he needs his own ‘Five a Day’, because he’s looking down, examining his toes – and shaking!

I know I really ought to go and offer Adam some calming words of encouragement, but the view from here is incredible. Why didn’t I notice it yesterday? At the foot of this cliff, stands the magnificent Melford Hall, and it really is grand.


Not only is it grand but, I’m now feeling grand because, by rights,  I’m the guest. Very few of you will believe this (and, even though, as a vicar’s daughter, I’m as honest as they come – I don’t either), but many, many, many ions ago (I don’t know what an ‘ion’ is either, but you get the gist of it!) my fourth-cousin-fifteen-times-removed, Elizabeth I, stood right here before me. Well, before me and just a little bit below me, almost at my feet, at the foot of this cliff, in the sitting room of Melford Hall, being entertained by one of her male admirers … Gavin?

No, not Gavin. And not Adam either; my Elizabeth bore no responsibility for Adam’s wilted state. The man who sought to please my cousin was Sir William Cordell, none other than the former proprietor of Kentwell Hall. By the standards of the day, I reckon he was a bit of a floozy, because he’d been around my bunch of fourth-cousins-fifteen-times-removed before. Mary I was so impressed with Will’s performance that she granted him Melford Hall as a reward. Little did she know that he’d be on to her sister, Elizabeth, before Mary was even cold in her grave – shocking!

Yes, it’s all very upsetting and the fine contemporary ladies of Suffolk wouldn’t behave like that – allowing ourselves to be entertained by men; especially  not  by one with such a serious expression (Take a peek at what Sir William Cordell has to offer at: There is also, in my humble-and-honest-vicar’s-daughter opinion, good reason to disbelieve various historians who have concluded that Sir William Cordell, of Melford Hall, died childless. Just take a look at his ‘ginger’ hair and ‘brown’ eyes. It’s more-than-evident to me that, something seedy occurred between Liz and Will. Look at the visual evidence! Two people with ginger hair and brown eyes are going to make a child with ginger hair and brown eyes, who will have descendants with once-was-ginger hair, brownish eyes and poppingly-explosive white skin. And – here I am! Yes, here I am, blogging about …. Oh! Apologies. Back to …. Adam.

Adam, who seems to have somewhat cheered up, now that he’s finally got his platform. Seems this is an opportunity to make jokes about the low wages that go hand in hand with standing in a remote location in the middle of a field. And he’s pining after the ‘orange’ girls of his hometown, Southend-on-Sea, at the same time as throwing a nearly-forgot-about-her mention of his girlfriend into the banter. Guess he’s suddenly remembered that he needs her to pay the bills! Not sure what’s going on with Adam now, though, because he’s going all morose again, boasting about his ‘supportive’ friends, before remembering that none of them have turned up today. But … it’s okay, Adam!

It’s okay, because I’m here, PJ’s here, Tom Caruth is here, and … and what more do you want? We’re here and we’re standing up in front of you, and at least three of us are male. And, as you are quite rightly pointing out, it is 2017 – the Year of the Cock. With you and the three others – that’s four cocks. And that’s what we’re all here for … isn’t it?



Please take a look at the author’s family history/travel blog:


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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