Mead, Mayhem & The Meat Grinder: A Day at the Loxwood Joust

A Day at the Loxwood Joust: Mead, Mayhem, and Medieval Madness

Every August, the sleepy Sussex countryside is temporarily invaded—not by Normans or marauding bandits, but by knights, jesters, falconers, and enough medieval enthusiasts to form a small but questionably organised army. This is the Loxwood Joust, a festival where history collides with hilarity, and where you can drink mead before noon without judgement.

This year, I donned my finest costume, packed my appetite for roasted meat, and ventured into the realm. Here’s how the day unfolded.

Arrival in Costume

You haven’t really arrived at Loxwood until you’ve seen a man dressed as a Viking queueing for a latte. Costumes are optional, but why settle for jeans when you could swan about in a velvet cloak? Besides, nothing says “weekend fun” like explaining to your neighbours why you’re loading a plastic broadsword into the boot of your car.

Inside the gates, it’s clear: the more ridiculous your outfit, the better. I passed a noble lady in full gown attempting to balance a Pret coffee cup, and a knight carrying a toddler on his shoulders as if she were a siege weapon.

Entry: Maps, Mead, and Medieval Wandering

The first thing you’re handed is a map—though most people immediately ignore it in favour of following the smell of roasting meat or the sound of bagpipes. The forest path opens into a buzzing medieval market, where merchants sell everything from hand-forged swords to fur cloaks (perfect if you’ve ever wanted to look like Jon Snow while shopping for fudge).

Of course, you’ll need something to drink, and here “something” means mead. Sweet, strong, and worryingly moreish, it’s the official fuel of the festival. By the second sip, you’ll be speaking in “thee” and “thou,” whether you want to or not.

The Executioner’s Talk

Ah, the Executioner. Part historian, part stand-up comedian, and part terrifying uncle you’d never want to babysit your children. His talk covers treason, torture, and beheadings—sprinkled with enough comedy that you laugh, then immediately wonder if you should feel bad about laughing.

Fun fact: if you heckle the Executioner, he will destroy you. With words, not an axe… probably.

Joust Bout 1 – Loxwood Boars vs Guildford Guillemots

Time for the main event: jousting. Forget polite golf claps—this is where you bellow like a medieval football hooligan.

The Loxwood Boars, our noble home team, thundered onto the field to raucous cheers. Facing them were the Guildford Guillemots (a name which, while very bird-like, is not particularly terrifying). Still, the knights in full armour looked anything but feathery.

The clash of lances, the splintering of wood, the cries of “HUZZAH!”—it’s everything you want in a medieval sport. And yes, the horses are majestic, though they clearly have a better sense of direction than their armoured riders.

Falconry Show

After the chaos of tilting knights, it’s time to gaze skyward. The falconry display is breathtaking, with hawks and eagles swooping inches above the crowd’s heads. Children shriek with delight; adults duck instinctively and pretend they weren’t scared.

At one point, an eagle fixed me with a glare that suggested he knew exactly which medieval pie I’d already eaten. Judgemental birds, those eagles.

Shopping the Medieval Market

The market is the perfect place to part with your gold coins (or, in modern parlance, your contactless card). Blacksmiths hammer away, leatherworkers show off belts fit for a barbarian, and you can buy a crown of flowers or a war axe depending on your mood.

I saw one man buy a drinking horn bigger than his head, which raised two important questions: how do you wash it, and why not just move into it and live there permanently?

Joust Bout 2 – Loxwood Boars vs Horsham Hornets

The Boars saddled up again, this time against the Horsham Hornets—a team that lived up to their name by charging like a swarm of angry wasps. The crowd split loyalties: Boars fans shouting support while Hornets fans hissed and buzzed (literally—some people really commit to the bit).

The jousts grew fiercer, the lances snapped louder, and the Boars gave as good as they got. You could practically feel the tension in the air—or maybe that was just the mead talking.

The MEAT GRINDER

If jousting is elegant violence, the MEAT GRINDER is absolute carnage. Dozens of armoured fighters pile into the arena for an all-out melee. Swords clang, shields crash, and somewhere in the middle, you realise you’re watching grown adults living their absolute best lives.

The rules? Unclear. The vibe? “Last one standing wins.” It’s as chaotic as it sounds—and about three minutes in, you’re cheering for everyone and no one all at once.

The Grand Finale Joust

As the sun begins to dip, the final joust of the day pulls everyone together. The stakes feel higher, the crowd louder, and every gallop across the tiltyard raises the hairs on your arms.

When the victor finally rides forth, the Queen of Loxwood hands over the Golden Pauldron, banners waving and children screaming with delight, you realise yes, it’s theatre, yes, it’s staged—but it’s also pure, glorious fun.

Final Thoughts

The Loxwood Joust isn’t a history lesson. It’s history with a sense of humour and a lot more mead. It’s a place where you can buy a sword, laugh at an executioner’s jokes, and scream yourself hoarse cheering for a knight you just met.

If you’ve ever wanted to live out your medieval fantasy—without the bother of plague, mud, or surprise conscription—the Loxwood Joust is the place. Just remember always back the Boars.

And for heaven’s sake, pace yourself on the mead.