...Announcing a one-off special Woldean party to be held this coming week: commencing somewhen in mid-afternoon of Wednesday (the moment we are finally rid of T. Blair) and ending on the stroke of midnight on the Saturday when this country loses one of its last precious freedoms - that of smoking in public places.
As befits a celebration of liberty and liberation, persons attending must feel free to choose their own repertoire from the events to hand. H and cohort are promising a fine theatrical feast, loosely based on a Sixties Summer of Love theme, that will appear and disappear as the mood takes. George and Patrick at the Dragon will be providing a punk themed booze-up. (Licensing hours and rules are to be forgotten for the time, so please don't nark if you are not the liberal minded Englishman or woman you should be.)
Several local groups - Fred's Fly Fishing Folk for example - are to pose tastefully nude for next year's calendars. For oneself one has decided Roy Harper is a suitably madcap role model and, therefore, there will be renditions of 'Stormcock' and 'Come Out Fighting Genghis Smith' on street corners throughout the village.
Bro. George - the last and best of all libertarians - will be hunting cardboard foxes through lanes and dells, and there will finally be a 'Lady Godiva Rides The Wolds' competition open to adult male as well as female riders to be judged by Bishop Tom himself no less.
How all this quite squares with the impending parochial inspection I do not know - nor indeed at this hour at all care. It is entirely possible that Father Bill will take a complete dim view of all that we propose and do, but if so then all the more shall I be better pleased.
Vive Wolds Libre! That shall be our deserved rejoicing note. Better to fall down laughing than to live on our knees. That our motto of the days.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment