The weather was truly grim, but that did not deter 10 of our regular participants from braving the elements.
Angela shared this wisdom: "Ginger tea is uplifting."
Somebody responded, for no apparent reason, with the phrase, "Intergalactic laxative."
Paul wished he was a mole.
Lynda was a cabin boy on a vessel like this ...
|... and I used to sleep standing on my feet.|
Bill sang about fox hunting.
That is - the fox was hunting geese.
The fox won.
The death-count for the evening was considerable as Angela and Bill competed to sing the longest ballad.
There was one suicide, at least two murdered wives, fratricide ... and incest!
Then ... a voice came from the deep ...
|... my breath is earthy strong.|
In contrast to these tragedies, our moods were elevated by yodelling and whistling ...
|It must have been the effects|
of this beverage!
So, we all said, "Thank you, Mr. Paul," before clearing up and rolling home in the rain feeling particularly warmed.
PS. Dogsbody got it wrong: Sydney Carter, the writer of John Ball, died in 2004.
(That's THIS century, Nigel!)
His best known work was Lord of the Dance which he put to the Appalachian tune, Simple Gifts.
Now, we haven't heard that for a while ...