The bad dream of Little Musgrave ...

I awoke in a sweat this morning.
At least, I hope I awoke.

I had experienced one of those rare dreams that you remember clearly, wondering if it really happened.
You know: those ones in Technicolor where all your teeth fall out, and you seem to be in a state of embarrassing undress.
(Oh, don’t you have those?)

I had set up the Guide Hall, as usual, for our Friday gathering.
The tables were dressed, the toilet signs had been blue-tacked and festive lights correctly suspended.
All was well, except …
                               nobody else had arrived.

“They all know we begin at 8.00pm!” I am thinking.
I tune my guitar.
8.10pm: still nobody, so I play a scale on the concertina.
“Who’s MC, anyway?”
I sing a few strains of a song that I am trying to recall.

Then, OMG ...
People arrive.
I recognise no one.
They are all dressed in theatrical costume.
In a welcoming manner I approach one who appears like Lady Macbeth.








She's quite pretty.

“Out, damned spot!” she cries at me.
I retreat in embarrassment to look in the mirror.
Oh, she's noticed I've got a cold-sore!
Well, I suppose that we have now been introduced.

At 8.30pm I decide I'd better MC.
I adopt an assertive posture and begin: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen …”

This is rudely interrupted by a man wearing a wooly hat and bearing a human skull in his hand.
He soliloquises at length ... 

Alas, poor Yorick ...

I adopt an upright posture again to emphasise authority.
I interrupt indignantly: “Don’t you know that this is a folk music club?”
“We’ve tolerated poetry, but am-dram has to be way beyond our remit!”

A Scottish nobleman approaches.
He contrives a malevolent countenance as he threateningly snatches up the bell tree.




“Is this a dagger which I see before me?” quoth he.

errr. no, but ...

This could do significant damage.
It seems inadvisable to contradict him.
In considerable fear, I hastily withdraw.


A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

… in [my] hurry to carry the news [I] bared [my] breast and ran,
… and when [I] came to the broad mill stream, [I] took off [my] shoes and [I] swam.

Then little Musgrave awakes to discover that it’s only Monday morning after all!