Sir Guy of Gisborne's Diary

Entry 10

Morning

I write this entry in a hurry, so little time do I have at the moment. Christmas is coming and I've a hundred and one things to do. There are presents to buy, the decorating of Locksley Manor to organise and I need to purchase another bottle of brandy to feed the Christmas cake, having drunk the last bottle to drown my sorrows when I thought Marian was about to become a nun.

Fortunately, my present list is small, even more so now that I can cross Annie off the list. Last year, I bought her a new dress. I should have given her a batch of morning-after herbs instead. I'll bear that in mind next time I decide to shag one of the kitchen wenches.

Marian, of course, but she's easy; I'll buy her another horse, a white one this time. Probably won't wrap it.

I drew Neville, one of the castle guards, out of the secret Santa hat. I drew him last year too. He's one of the more stupid guards, if that's even possible. I could probably get away with giving him nothing, or even getting him to give me a present, the idiot. I think I'll give him dungeon privy duty, even though I gave him the same present last year.

Then there's the sheriff. Another bird? Nail polish? A tiny jewellery box for his gold tooth? Actually, I know what he wants: me, in fishnet stockings and nothing else, dancing on the table top in the Great Hall while he gives a rousing to speech to no one about operation sha'mat (no idea how you spell that word), after which we will . . .

On second thoughts, make that two bottles of brandy.

I suppose I ought to mention what's been happening since my last diary entry, but the sheriff wants me to help get the Great Hall ready for the castle Christmas party this evening, so a few words will have to suffice.

Some girl called Eleri. Necklace. Marian. Lucky George. Spy in castle. Sergeant. Torture. Eleri. Necklace. Marian. Decoy cart. Marian. Betrayal. Marian. No necklace. Marian. Necklace.

To be honest, I found the whole necklace thing a little confusing, but no matter. The end result is that Marian has agreed to marry me when the king returns to England. To be honest, I'm thinking of writing to King Richard asking him if he could come home now - for say a two week holiday or something - so that I can marry Marian, and then he can go back to the Holy Land. Only the thought of my letter being intercepted stays my hand.

On that note, I am feeling rather chirpy. Perhaps I will enjoy tonight's Christmas party after all.

Late, gone midnight

I survived another God-awful Christmas party, unlike some of the castle guards.

There were less attendees than last year. Economy cuts, the sheriff said. So no nobles or merchants. Just the sheriff, a bunch of sozzled castle guards and me.

There were the inevitable party games, of course.

First off, musical chairs. The sheriff cheated as per usual by tying a chair to his butt so he always had one with him when the music stopped. The guards tripped over the chairs more times than they sat on them. It didn't matter because the sheriff won of course.

Then we played pass-the-parcel. The sheriff had instructed the lute player to stop playing whenever the parcel was in the sheriff's hands. Inevitably, he won again.

After a brief interval for drinks and canapés, more games.

A version of Simon Says called Sheriff Says. The more stupid guards jumped off the battlements even when the sheriff didn't say 'Sheriff Says'. Blind Man's Bluff followed, ending in more guards plummeting off the battlements. Deciding that we couldn't afford to lose any more guards (even though it was funny) we then played Pin the Tail on the Donkey (guess who had to be the donkey!). Only the sheriff managed it, probably because he refused to wear a blindfold, the bastard.

We finished the evening with apple bobbing. The sheriff made those guards still sober enough to stand fill an enormous barrel with water and then said that everyone had to strip naked and get in the barrel in order to play the game. Let me tell you, the water was freezing. At least three guards drowned. Needless to say, the sheriff didn't take part, instead declaring himself the judge.

I am still shivering now, even though the fire in my room is burning fiercely. I am sure I am going to catch a cold. On the plus side, the sheriff told me that he would not be visiting my bedchamber this evening as he wanted to watch the dead guards being scrapped off the castle courtyard. So, on that rather unpleasant thought, I shall retire to bed and dream happy dreams of wedding Marian.

Just before dawn

Woke up at this stupid hour remembering that I still haven't written my Christmas list, so I shall scribble a few thoughts here and then rewrite my list and ask a rider to take it to Father Christmas, whom I'm told lives some miles from Nottingham - Scotland, most likely.

What I Want for Christmas

A look-alike King Richard, so I can trick Marian into marrying me as soon as

Voodoo Robin Hood doll, including extra long pins to stick it with

Leather tooling gear

Bag of oranges (not one measly one like last year)

Bag of coal (not one measly piece like last year)

Leather bed sheets (for wet slip-ups)

A teddy bear

Leather man-bag (with plenty of pockets for hidden daggers and emergency eyeliner)

To get inside Marian's knickers (this is a wish rather than an actual item)

A pair of Marian's knickers (next best thing to above), preferably ones that have been worn but not washed

More guards (not really for me specifically, but after the party this evening we're terribly short)

Socks