THIS week I visited the set of the marvelous sitcom Game of Thrones.
Normally, these obligations are utterly tedious but this has been a fascinating visit which has netted me a remarkable booty.
Meeting the cast was a jolly treat. My favourite was Oberyn, the swarthy Prince of Dorn. Island sun and an oil rich diet has bestowed he and I with the same enviable snake-hipped grace. What am I doing in this stuffy suit when I could be showcasing my svelte angles in one of his remarkable tunics? I have my man pocket it when the Dornishman’s back is turned.
Next, a Valerian steel sword. A splendid blade if ever I saw one. My valet uses a Dr Scholl pumice stone but it might as well be a buttered crumpet for all the good it does. I direct him to the armory and give him the nod.
Then, we received a little presentation from set designers which did go on somewhat. Half way through my ears pricked up and I piped in “Oh! I’ve got one of them! Never travel without it!” I drew the object from my inside pocket and waved it around, but only a couple of them clapped.
“Oh, my mistake – you said three eyed raven. I thought you said charred ear of a Scotchman. Blasted hearing loop!” Everybody laughed. A splendid bunch of chaps.
I wait until they’re talking to my wife then smuggle the feathered triclops into my coat. Raven has always been a bit gamey for me but this fine fellow could be just what I need to centre up my multiple bird roast.
By the end of the tour the cabinets were almost empty and the props people were looking a little fidgety. The trick in these situations is just to walk out with confidence, smile broadly at the chap on the door, and no one will stop you. I have loved today – officially my jolliest outing since the Koh-i-Noor in 1850.
