A gardener was at his labours in his master's garden when Death appeared to him...
The horrified gardener ran to his master and said...
"Master, master I have seen Death in your garden. Give me a horse that I might escape his cold clutches..."
"Why certainly you may take a horse, but where will you ride...?" Asked the master...
"I will ride to the city of Chichester and hide myself up within it's strong walls..." Replied the frightened wretch...
Away went the gardener on his master's horse cutting the whip deep...
The master then took a turn about his garden and he to meet Death...
With anger fuelled courage the master strode up to Death and demanded to know why he had scared his gardener so...
"To be honest" said Death "I was quite taken aback to meet a man I have an appointment with tonight at the City Folk Club in Chichester..."
Over to Jimmy Saville O.B.E....
"Now then, now then boys and gals what did the lovely people sing this week...?"
Chutney On My Spats: David
Stonewalling: Mave
Factory Girl: Adrian
Till The Stars Fall From The Sky: Yvonne/Mike
You Are My Heroine: Mike
The King Of Rome: John
Try A Little Tenderness: George
The Mary Ellen Carter: Ken/Mave
Silver Dagger: Anne
O Sole Mio (Parody Version): Gerry
Parody of Famous Folk Song: Jenny/Gerry
All My Love: Bill 2
Winchester Cathedral: Brenda/Berry
Whispering: Berry
Wild Mountain Thyme: Jane/Dave
The Rose: Lynda
Bold General Wolfe: Colin
Multiplication: Paul
Fare Thee Well Dearest Nancy: David
Sea Cruise: Ken/Berry
A Rovin': (Naughty) Mave
House Carpenter: Adrian
Whiskery Bob: Yvonne/Mike
The Fields of Athenry: ?
Goodbye My Nancy O: John
It's Only A Paper Moon: George
Where Are You Tonight: Anne
?: Gerry
?: Jenny/Gerry
Today I Killed A Man: Bill 2
Travellin' Light: Berry
"Uh-ooo-uh-ooo-uh_ooo thanks very much to the lovely Ladies and Gentlemen..."
Finally...
Word Of The Week:
Ken...!
A chronicle of 'doings' for posterity... and other things of little consequence!
1 comment:
I have a problem with parody.
If I witness such desecration of my favourite song again, I intend to mount an intrepid pilgrimage to the grave of Padraic Collum somewhere in Donegal.
The Irish Sea crossing will be undertaken 'all upon the bare breast' of a passing and otherwise-unemployed 'mermaid with a glass in her hand'.
The final furlong approaching Padraic's grave must be travelled barefoot and on hands and knees. If that isn't painful enough, self-flagellation will be imposed. Observers will doubtless be overcome with considerable 'grief and woe' as demonstrated by synchronized hand-wringing and hair-tearing.
A pure maiden, if one is to be found (who cares?) will be sacrificed.
Thereafter, having recited the Lord’s Prayer backwards, I will invoke ancient Druidic rites to secure Paddy’s resurrection. He will be appraised of the blasphemy committed!
Having consumed vast quantities of hemlock, clutching a poisonous viper to my breast, I shall occupy the space vacated by said Paddy. I will die in faith that the aforementioned woman of dubious virginity (do I care?) will accompany my soul, and in full assurance that our bodies will be immaculately restored as we take our places for the wedding feast in that great folk club beyond the stars.
As for the 'pure maiden', why stop at one? We'll have 'Seven Virgins'!
Or, how about an entire 'band of angels'?
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