Cleckheaton Folk Festival; 6th & 7th July – Birth of the Unintended Comedy Routine Well! Cleckheaton comes around again! I have found that, between the event, and me getting round to writing the blog, Al Simers has usually been round with his eraser and wiped my memory. So this time, I took a notebook with a picture of Lincoln Minster on the front. The fact that it has Lincoln Minster on the front has no relevance whatever, except the question of why I have had it for 25 years and not used it before, but also it provides a useful tangent I am about to go off on. Lincoln Minster is an imposing edifice standing on the top of the scarp known as Lincoln Edge. It comes from a time that people thought they could get round God by putting up big buildings to his glory. The facts that it was destroyed by fire in 1141, demolished by an earthquake in 1185, had its central spire destroyed by lightning in 1549 when it was the tallest building in the world and was again struck by lightning causing a serious fire in 1984 seems to suggest God doesn’t really care. It is most famous for the Lincoln Imp, an evil little bastard standing on one leg incorporated into the vaulting. With a tatter jacket on he would fit into the side admirably. Of course, a notebook is no use without a pen, and mine had inscribed on the side “Gomersal Park Hotel”. Gomersal Park Hotel is an unimposing building………..what?........you’ve had enough? OK then. So – notes I had made. When I read them however, 75% of them still mean nothing to me, so that was a waste of time. One of them says “Button fell off. We didn’t notice”. Although this must have been effing hilarious at the time, without the context it’s about as funny as the 99th time you heard Rawtenstall Annual Fair. (All right, all right – I only put that in to upset the people from the County Where Everyone Matters) So – Cleckheaton – not as crap as you’d think. (They still haven’t adopted my slogan, and are still using a picture of the Aakash Indian Restaurant on the town sign. This is reputed to be the biggest Indian restaurant in the world. This is because it is sited in what once was one of the biggest Methodist chapels in the world. The irony that Christianity is so much on the wane it’s flogging off its buildings to non-Christian businesses seems to have escaped them. (Aakash means “sky”, they say. I think it just means “Ah! Cash!) Anyway, the festival started with the parade, this year beginning at the elf centre, because the council has reached that time of year for roadworks to be started simultaneously all over the area to try to bring traffic to a standstill, and had dug up the road from the fire station. I need to insert a rant here. I’ve just been for a snack and noticed Helen had bought the local paper. There’s an article about the festival with photos, one of them being “Thieving Magpie’s Pup Lane”. Pup? His name is Pip, you dickheads! Last week we were described as “Feed Magpies” in the Bradford paper. The week before they’d got the captions on the pictures arse about face. Why are local papers so shite? Think of the times you’ve seen an article on something you have knowledge of. Now think of the mistakes they made in it. And that’s just what YOU know. There’s no reason to believe they’re not effing up the articles you don’t know about. The whole paper is probably 50% shite. And you can stop pointing at me. I write shite on purpose. (Have you finished? – Ed) So – off we went – sun blazing down. Me at the front with the banner, because I made it, all right Helen did too. They made another attempt to drop back leaving a big gap between me and them, like last year, but I don’t think their heart was in it. Through the cheering crowds (Mr. and Mrs Lifeboats, and their daughter, Mandy, Mr. and Mrs Arconnected-Toodethighbone and their daughter Denise) (Are you sure people will understand these –Ed) and across the town hall, finishing outside that shop beloved of us folkies, The Music Room. From the dance programme I noticed we were down as Thieving Magpies. Wrong. We are Thieving Mag-effing-PIE! Singular! Like the Borg in Star Trek! One entity! And while I’m up here, please remember we are from THE WEST RIDING! West Yorkshire is an administrative area cooked up by faceless twats and DOES NOT AFFECT THE HISTORICAL COUNTIES!. (Quick nurse – the screens –he’s having one of his attacks…) To the first venue – Savoy Square – where we kicked off with our new Effin, which is the same as the old Effin, but in pairs, an idea which was brought back from Freaks in the Peaks by me and Singing Jenny (woof). The advantage of this is, as you are not in lines, you do not look half as shite. We alternated with Medusa, a small group of cool hippy chicks. I can’t remember any major disasters. With us, not them. I think it was Too Cotswold John the Hatter, to give him his full title, who described one of our dances as “poetry in motion”. If the motion he’s referring to is connected to bowel movements, I would concur. We did a Sir John with Spooky SJ playing flute, but some tiny person knocked over her music stand, so we had to “da-da” until it was put to rights. We were followed by the Yorkshire Imperial Brass Band. Imperial? Bloody hell! I know Yorkshire is God’s Own County, has the oldest horse race, first football club, birthplace of rugby league, came 12th in the Olympics, has its own archbishop etc etc., but an empire? Aren’t we big enough already? I noticed Singing Jenny (woof) had got her tum out. Well. I am dad to five children ranging from 38 to 8 years old. One of the only advantages of having kids is that you can blow raspberries on their tums and hear them chuckle, which I used to do fairly regularly. Unfortunately the youngest now no longer sees fit to allow any labial/abdominal contact so I have been bereft of this small pleasure for some time, but on enquiry, I was surprised to be granted permission by Jenny to have a go on her, if you’ll pardon the expression! Fill yer boots time! Not only is there more to go at, but you find yourself in the shade, for reasons I will explain later. She doesn’t chuckle as much though. Off to the Rubber Tunnel, with Wayzgoose and Hornbeam Molly. The Rubber Tunnel is an arcade, which used to have rubber floor tiles, now long gone. I like folk names. E.g. Liverpool Cathedral – the Paddy’s Wigwam; Brierley Hill Interchange – Spaghetti Junction; David Cameron – Upper Class Twat. It was a stinky hot sun trap, but we all danced and didn’t pass out. For the first time, Cleckheaton had nominated shops to “champion” dance sides. In practice, this meant they put some photos of you in the window, and you visited them and had the craic. Ours was “Design 24”. Nice people. Funny verb though, “champion”. Makes me think of wonder horses. Down to the craft fair playground with Hornbeam Molly. There is never a big audience here, so we tend to use it as a practice venue. We set it up for a Triple Spiral, and pissed about trying to get it to work. Eventually Hornbeam Molly, who we had totally forgotten about, came over and said “Oi-we want to dance!” Fair enough. So – turn about – no disasters – no burgers left either – up to the Wickham for the competition. We won it on our first attempt when we had attitude. We are now, in my opinion, far too jolly, don’t give it enough welly, and don’t shout enough. We gave it our best shot – Arse – well danced- - probably would have been better with the BBMQ dancing, as we end by intimidating other couples. You don’t intimidate well when you’re a short-arse. I forgot to mention that in the absence of Paul, the BBMQ was the mainstay musically. With the help of Spooky SJ. The Long Firmer had decided to have his wedding do today, so was not available. To give credit where it’s due, the BBMQ is not half as shite as he used to be. When he goes wrong, he can still keep the rhythm going while we fill in the missing bits by “da-da –ing” them. Anyway, at the end, while votes were being counted or whatever they do, we filled in with a Tinner’s which was well received. We didn’t win. Came second. Wayzgoose won it again. We didn’t see their performance, but fair do’s – they do give it lots of welly and yelling. Well done guys! So – the end of the first day’s dancing. This year was different in that, instead of going to concerts/sing arounds, we were off to the Holme Valley to The Long Firmer’s Wedding Fuddle. It was a good do, with tons of food and a Ceilidh. The Long Firmer had married Sal, who plays for Boggart’s Breakfast, a huge side from Sheffield who sport intricate blue face paint and have young people and dance properly. I had the craic with Elmo, who led at Freaks in the Peaks last time, who I didn’t realise was a Boggart. Anyway, Boggarts Breakfast did a couple of fancy dances involving advanced stick movements and leaping about. I observed Too Cotswold John watching, mesmerised. He is good at leaping about, too. He was watching so intensely I thought he was going to have an orgasm. I had to point out that, as we have dancers who find it an effort to get even one foot off the floor, and require all their powers of concentration to actually keep hold of a stick, never mind throw it about, the chances of Magpie dancing like that are less than nil. We can only dream. We presented the happy couple with our specially engraved logo pewter goblet, with which they were delighted. Things coming to an end, we helped clear up and left with half a ton of left-overs. Excellent do. Sunday. Mid-day at Savoy Square with Cricket on the Hearth. They are an Appalachian dance side, and carry their own wooden dance floor with them. Presumably to give them a better sound and even surface. Do dance sides in the Appalachian Mountains carry flooring about? I think we should be told. Won’t catch on with Border sides. 3 x 2 foot concrete paving slabs are too heavy. They are excellent dancers and gave a great performance. Some guy came over and asked if we could come back later and help him with playing plastic tubes so we said yes. It sounded barmy enough to be interesting. Back to the Rubber Tunnel. This was to be the birthplace of our first comedy routine. Angie, in her crusade to include everybody in the world in our side whether they can dance or not, including passing cripples, amputees, loonies and Long John Silver impersonators, had picked a side to do Double Spiral which did not include any experienced dancers. I therefore feel she must bear total responsibility for the result. It didn’t even start well. It’s done in two sets of four, and in the chorus, two of each set spiral off to join the other set. On the very first chorus, three dancers peeled off from one set and the complete f**k up began. The everlasting memory for me was Pip sprinting (not stepping) a sort of relay between each set shouting “Oh shit!”. You’ve heard of Fred Karno’s Army? Well they were effing mustard at the side of this lot. Of all the shite dances we have ever done anywhere ever including practice this was without a doubt the absolute nadir of shiteness. Luckily, it was so shite it was funny. I think people thought, “It must be rehearsed! No side could ever produce a performance of that depth of shiteness without practice!” So we got away with it. I would not like to see it again. Incidentally, if you are a cripple, amputee, loony, or Long John Silver impersonator, no offence, unless of course, you are already a member of our side, in which case feel free to take it. Back to Savoy Square, where a few of us were given plastic pipes of different lengths to bash, making sorts of pipey rhymic patterns. They tried very hard, but to be a success, enough people need to be arsed, and there was a deficit on the arse front. Off to the Wickham where we danced with Cricket on the Hearth and their flooring again. While visiting the bar I happened upon a sing around, and while waiting to be served, there was a lull in proceedings, so I gave ‘em “Yellow Girls”, a mildly racist sea shanty. Better out than in. We sat on the grass and ate the food from The Long Firmer’s do. The programme says “Final Dance” at the Wickham where all sides did a dance. Ours was so good I don’t remember it at all. Probably Stomp. Dashed off to see Maddy Prior at the town hall, then back to the Wickham for a sing around. I think there was a Groo Pug in there somewhere. Now it’s time to remember who was there. Just a minute………going to find Helen……….right! She says: Queen Ange, The Grey Tezza, Helen Orderly, Little Sweebs, The Beardikris, Tiny Smiley, Spooky SJ, Approximate ‘Arry, The BBMQ, Penny Graceful, Paddy Longlegs, Squeaky Wilfred, Brittany Bright, Red Dawn, Linda Thesp, Thelma Drum, Singing Jenny, Too Cotswold John, Dr.Sarah, Lovecraft Alan, Little Jo Read-lots, Little Thomas Silent, Little Independent George, Little Happy Jack, Little James Wonderment, Little Tilda Smiles. Oh! I promised to tell you why you were in the shade when blowing raspberries on Singing Jenny’s tum. Well it’s because she’s got enormous…….(I’m afraid the draft becomes illegible at this point. Sorry) Shit! I forgot.she’s on Facebook now…………..
Posted on: Wed, 17 Jul 2013 13:56:18 +0000
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