• Clarke Wallace


Ever have an evenings when you’re going out on the town and it turns out to be something you didn’t expect?

Several weeks ago we signed up for dinner and entertainment at Medieval Times. Held on the Toronto Exhibition grounds near Lake Ontario.

Step inside an 11th Century medieval-style venue with colorful warriors seemingly having flown in from the distant past for an evening of raucous rivalry: jousting, sword fights.


Watching over the fireworks is the boisterous Queen Maria Isabella dressed in her over-sized finery shouting orders from a leafy platform above the crowd. With a mic.

There are special white Andalusian horses, known as dancing horses, and their dressage movements. And the beloved quarter horses (cowboys ride 'em in modern times) who outrace most other horses over a quarter-mile.

These are the work horses carrying armored knights competing in sword fights and jousting. These warriors don’t fool around. The sword fights real, judging by the sparks that fly from their clashing swords.

You have those who battle each other right there before us. Knocking each about, fighting to the death in honor of their individual clans.

In all this bedlam we are served wines from the goblet: garlic bread, tomato bisque soup from the bowl, rich roasted chicken with no cutlery in sight. Use your finger or starve to death.

Author’s comment: It was one heck of an evening. All of us in the audience thumping the floor with feet, clapping our hands and shouting when the bad guys beat up the upright good guys.

5 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I’ve been asked on numerous occasions how to write a book or screenplay. I’ve answered it several times here and my response is the same: Sit down and do it. Let’s take working on a manuscript for a b

I’m lucky enough to have floor-to-ceiling double doors in my home office. I look out on a small forest of trees. Just beyond the deck. Bluebirds, robins,

There was this little ant crawling across the living room on the oak floor. It seemed to be minding its own business when I gently brought a finger close yet not touching it. He/she, whatever, knew so