Morimondo!!

You're probably thinking 'never heard of it', but Morimondo, a 12th century abbey outside Milan, is the stuff of legend amongst Company of Chivalry folk. In the 14th century, Italy was a nation of city states - incredibly wealthy, cultured, and locked in bitter rivalry. Usually headed by a single family (the Viscontis, and later the Sforzas, in Milan, the Borghas in Rome), and all wrapped up in both papal and secular intrigue (it being the time of the Avignon popes).

Into this vipers' nest in the 1360s rode thousands of English mercenaries, mostly former soldiers who found themselves out of work when France and England signed a truce that temporarily halted the Hundred Years' War. These swords for hire were bought time again by the highest bidder and were a major factor in numerous battles. The one commemorated at Morimondo had the English fighting on the side of the hated Viscontis (yes, the family name later gave us the term 'viscount'). And they lost. But our Company is invited back year after year to be part of the show, so in the long run, the English are the winners, really.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to beat a multiperiod, international event. Tewkesbury, Trakai,(Lithuania), Trelleborg, and that grandaddy of them all, Hastings, have given me some of my happiest re-enactment memories. Now I have Morimondo, made all the more poignant by our forthcoming move.

Like most such events on the Continent, there's a tournament involved - our noble representatives, John and Hannah, coped amazingly in their full wool kit despite the 28oC heat, and even managed to score points, even though all the instructions were in italian.

When the rest of us weren't cheering them on, we had time to check out the encampment (this is less than half of it), and the occasional bit of mooching (or recovering from the 1 euro glasses of wine, and 2 euro beers at the tavern the night before). And checking out the gelati at the local cafe. Morimondo only has about 500 residents, but the gelateria does a roaring trade in passers by. Including us.

Various clubs put on displays of their finest skills, from pottery and scraffito decoration to swordplay. For us, it was our bill line, for which the English alone are famous, but our favourite was probably the Genoese bowmen... My personal domain was here - minding hearth and home and dreaming up new ways to cook the provisions which came down from the abbey twice a day (the pork shins were a challenge - try cooking up 31 of those babies, at half a kilo each, in time for lunch! Thank the gods for Danny the farmhand, who turned out to be a dab hand at butchery!). It was hot, smoky and smelly, and I was secretly glad when we'd scrubbed out our last pot. But mainly just so I could flirt with a certain tall blond handsome soldier....