So I’ve been binging this documentary about knights and castles last week, right? Made me wonder—what were kings actually like behind the crown? Like, not just the shiny armor and fancy paintings. So I grabbed my laptop, headed to the library, and dug around for two straight days. Here’s how it went down.
My Messy Start
First, I hit the history section at the library. Dusty books everywhere! I flipped through these huge, crumbling things that smelled like grandma’s attic. Found out most “king facts” were written by monks or royal suck-ups. Total spin doctors. Like, one book said King John was a villain, but turns out he kinda just inherited a dumpster fire from his bro Richard. Made me think: history’s written by winners, huh?
Weird Experiments
Next, I tried living king-style for a day. Sounds dumb, but hear me out:
- Made “royal bread” using a medieval recipe—hard as rocks. Broke a tooth trying to bite it.
- Carried a fake scepter (a broomstick) around my apartment. My back hurt after an hour.
- Sat on my couch-throne (cushions stacked high) holding “court” while my cat ignored me. Realized being king meant mostly listening to nobles whine.
Felt exhausting and lonely. Kings probably needed way more naps than paintings show.
The Juice I Uncovered
After cross-checking sources (and spilling coffee on three library books), here’s what blew my mind:
- No toilet privacy: Kings pooped in public with servants wiping their butts. Yeah. Called the “Groom of the Stool.” Awkward job interview.
- War = marketing: Big battles? Half the time, kings just wanted to look tough so nobles wouldn’t rebel. It was all PR.
- Food nightmares: Ate swan or peacock covered in gold leaf. Sounds fancy till you learn they preserved meat with salt so thick it burned their tongues.
Biggest shock? Royal life sucked. Fancy castles were drafty, smelly, and swarming with lice. Crowns gave headaches. Honestly, kings were just dudes stressed about taxes and backstabbers.
What Now?
Kinda glad I live now with comfy chairs and pizza. Those kings? Total respect for surviving without Advil or Netflix. My takeaway? Power’s overrated—gimme sweatpants and Wi-Fi any day.
