I'm blogging off for a week. Tomorrow we head to England for a few days of R&R. We have quite a mixed itinerary: a little shopping, for those necessities of life that are proving harder and harder to find in Venice; a little sight-seeing - I'm taking Mr F to the Derbyshire Peaks. I think he'll like them; and catching up with family. Next Thursday I'm having lunch with ALL my children. But first, something completely different. This weekend the anniversary of the Battle of Bosworth will be commemorated, as it is every August in my old home territory of Leicestershire, and we'll be there to pay our respects to that most maligned of kings, Richard III.

Richard died on Bosworth Field in 1485, the last English monarch to die in battle. He was, even by his enemies lights, a most courageous warrior, but he left behind some loose ends that muddied his reputation - chiefly, if he didn't have the young Princes in the Tower murdered, who did? Every Dickophile has his own theory. For instance, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, where were you the night of July 31st 1483?

But the person who really did for Richard was William Shakespeare whose characterisation of him as a barely human scumbag is still accepted by the majority of the population. Well, I mean, by that dwindling rump of the population who have even heard of Richard III or could give a damn.

What did Richard's death bring us? It brought us a bunch of Welsh chancers called Tydder, not least of whom Henry VIII. Or as he is known in this house, That Fat Tudor Bastard.

Richard doesn't have a grave. He was given a burial by the Grey Friars of Leicester but when TFTB went after the monasteries with his wrecking ball the monks, the bones and all were lost. So Sunday we'll be at Sutton Cheney, at the nearest church to the battlefield, to say a prayer for the repose of a man more sinned against than sinning.

And afterwards, to the battlefield, for a nice cup of tea and a re-enactment of Richard's last charge. Men in tights? Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm kind of bracing myself for the day Mr F tells me he wants chainmail for Christmas.