A dance outside Lawrence Batley Theatre.
Our friend Jo - a member of the Morris side, has gone to Portugal. Since she is not working and her old dog Georgie Roberts passed away a few months ago, she has been free to do something. Like leave the house for more than 5 hours. Back in January, I told Jo about WWOOF - World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and was very surprised she had never heard of it, being an organic, spiritual, hippy person, I was very glad to get her into something to change her year. She began to look into WWOOFing on a farm in Portugal - I think she has about 4 places to go and work at in about 2 months. She might even go back and do more later in the year. Back in May, she even thanked me in a private message on FB -
' :)
big hugs you pointed me in a good direction. thank you'
my reply...
':D
we each of us meet those in our lives who lead us somewhere good for our soul'
So I was glad I gave her something to do, something worthwhile, she's been stuck working in schools which does not satisfy her anymore and made her stressed and ill, her daughter was getting in her way and depending on her, and Georgie was like a child, constantly desiring her attention day AND night. I think she needed to get her hands in some organic dirt and do something else worthwhile. Something knowingly organic and environmentally good for the soul. We had little time left with Jo before she goes away for 2 months, so we were happy to do a dance out for her.
Jo decided to do a play this year, one about the Luddites, called 'Re-Volt,' (acting being something she has not really done before)and it was on at the Lawrence Batley Theatre in Huddersfield (where Vic works) on the final weekend of June. She was to leave England for sunny Portugal a week later, and she asked us Thieving Magpie Morris to dance outside at the theatre before the matinee and evening show. It rained three times that day, and dried up in between those times. The newish flagstones outside the theatre were EXCELLENT and grippy to dance on, and the surrounding buildings gave such good accoustics, we loved yelling and bashing our sticks. Most of us even got to see the matinee show and it was very good. I was with SJ, Chris and the 3 boys - twins George and Jack, and 2 year old James. I had James on my lap in the theatre, and he was very good for a 2 year old - watching with fascination at every movement and barely making a sound. Pretty good for a play that had mostly talking in it and was barely understood by adults let alone a 2 and 3 1/2 year olds. The little mites even clapped at the end. After that we even made our way around Hudds to celebrate Angie's birthday - eating at Lloyds and then drinking at some pub where I talked to 15 year old Brittany about J.W.Waterhouse artwork, and quoting Tennyson... Later we went to the Grove till about midnight...
Here's Terry's detailed post...
Lawrence Batley Theatre 30th June 2012-07-02
Off to Lawrence Batley Theatre, where Jo is now an amateur Thespian in the play Re: Volt - about the Luddites. (Where is Thespis anyway? Or is it Thespia? Answers on a postcard please to URconfusing mewithsomeonewhogivesashit)
The motley crew were in attendance to frighten people into the theatre by dancing and shouting at them. Nice to see Cara again..., who had brought a bonny small person who looked a lot like her. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were related. Brittany had on her brand spanking new tatters to go with her bell pads, bedecked with white ribbons, and very nice she looked. Paddy was “The Crow” on stilts, but thinking back, he didn’t have his crow head on. Funny I didn’t notice at the time. Perhaps he doesn’t need it to look like a crow. Shamus, Angie’s - what shall we say - er - gentleman friend -had kindly come to play at 90 mph and mix up the A’s and B’s, just to test our dancing skills. And at last I got to meet Angie’s daughter Rachel, who said she was familiar with my car seat. (No - I don’t know either). Dancing commenced -it’s a brilliant place for dancing - flat paving and yelling amplified by the buildings. We did the usual - Effing Cuckoo’s Nest (now to be abbreviated to just “Effing”), Ladies White Arse - “Bum”, Sir John - “Sir John”, and Spiral - “Spiral”. You may notice the abbreviations for the last two are somewhat disappointing. We may have done something else, but I can’t remember, as I’m typing this 2 days later. As people who know me will know, I can remember what I did when I was two, but not yestreen. Brain cell decay. Luckily I had a lot to start with. Yestreen? Good word innit? Yesterday evening - from a folk song called - er - something or other by - er - somebody folky. Of course it pissed down with rain and of course we danced in it because that’s what we do.
Having frightened everyone inside (Mr & Mrs Bracegirdle from Pye Nest - unfortunately their Slow Loris, Sydney, wasn’t allowed in), we queued up for tickets. They knocked a couple of quid off for us, so I bought a programme too, which I didn’t read because it was stolen by that Geordie lass, Esther (another one you wouldn’t argue with. If you want to keep all your teeth). I suppose it’s in Newcastle now. I can’t say anything rude about Newcastle because of Smiley Chris, another Geordie you wouldn’t argue with. Pint - size, but can bring down a full grown buffalo with one blow of her nose. Anyway, in we went and sat quietly steaming to watch the performance. It was very good, with some nice ideas. Jo was great as a Cockney plumber. Is there no end to her talents? The play finished, we prepared to leave. I should mention here that SJ had her entourage of small people with her - George, Jack, and James who were really very good all through the play. She’d probably threatened them with a look up Mark’s kilt. Or, being small people they had probably inadvertently looked up it already and were still in shock. (Come to think of it - what happened to TMB Zara? Wasn’t she coming?)
It being Ange’s birthday, I had brought a cake, but I couldn’t carry it and being parked miles away Shamus kindly offered to give me a lift in his van. We conned the staff into letting us park in the LBT car park, so they gave us a key affixed to a manhole cover frame just in case you tried to put it in your pocket. Cake collected and secreted in Shamus’ accordian case.
So - off into Huddersfield to get some food. SJ took her mini tribe home to return later for a good time - and she knows how to. It was the usual - hanging about waiting for Angie. Angie knows everybody in the world. No matter where you are, she will see somebody she knows. She has 6,502 facebook friends. You know when you’re little and your mam meets somebody in the street and you hang on her arm bored stiff for hours while she chatters away? That’s Angie. I may of course be wrong, and it was quite another reason, e.g trousers falling down due to weight loss, but the outcome was the same. We ended up at Lloyds. Strangely, all the bankers had effed off (I’m all in favour of that) and the place converted into a food and drink emporium. The diners were obviously taken aback by our bold and confident bearing as we strode in, face painted and tatters flying. Normals. I don’t know about you, but when I go for a meal, I have a drink first, which I did. Turns out that a drink is included with the price of the meal. But I’ve already got a drink - can’t you knock that off the meal price - sharp intake of breath - ooh no but I can give you another drink - but I’ve already got one you daft bat - well all I can do is put on your receipt that we owe you a drink and you can have one later. I was not very gruntled. In fact I was completely Dis.
So we gathered round a table. Managed to sneak Angie’s birthday card around without her seeing. Dawn got on with her gigolo booking, Mark with his bloody phone, and eventually our food turned up. I say food. Some of them had bowls of grass and garden rubbish. Then SJ turned up saying she’d been on the beer train blacked and tattered, no mean feat for a fair unescorted damsel. Those of you who are following this (my condolences if you are, you must get a life) may have noticed an anomaly. No - not one of those wobbly things where you get a faceful of prehistoric reptile which you have to subdue with a dart and wrap it up in a tarpaulin and drag it back through, yes you do - the one with the little blonde one and the one with the dark hair and cheeky grin who’s a brilliant scientist. No, not that one. The one where SJ has taken 3 kids to Marsden by train and returned in 10 minutes. Either I’ve got the timing wrong, or she beamed up with Paul. Anyway, she arrived back in time to use my receipt to get a free drink, so all’s well that ends. Well, having finished hied we back to the theatre for the evening punter scaring. It was during this dancing that I felt something cold on my right knee. On investigation I found that all me change had fallen out of a hole in me pocket, gone down me leg, and lodged on me bell pad strap. On undoing this, me money either went down me boot or rolled away. After retrieving it dancing continued (and noticing I didn’t have to shout “lines once, because they were quite good. If only they could step properly we might have a chance) I sneaked in to get the cake and tried to put the tichy candles in their little holders and light them before Angie noticed. Lost me lighter - had reception got one - yes but you can’t light them in here - Health and safety etc - tried to light them in the porch - wind blowing - futile - why don’t you light them in the bar? Why is it alright to light them in the bar, but not in the foyer? Don’t know - did it - gave it to Ange - Happy Birthday to you. Cake eaten, we decided where to go next. Having done all the dances with the usual 10 second break in between I was, to use a dancing term, bolloxed. But who wanted to carry on dancing? - I’ll give you an A……………. .
So we went to the Parish pub I think it was which already had music so we couldn’t sing and there was nowhere to dance (Hooray!). Had a drink. Watched the Normals. Discussed who was weird. I think it was us. Posed for photos with a couple. Then on to
The Grove. A proper pub. To be fair, we did muscle in a bit. When you see a rough looking bugger walk in playing an accordion, you do not complain. Especially when there is also a big bugger in a skirt who obviously doesn’t give a shit. And a little pint size bugger who can bring down a buffalo. With a blow of her nose. We went out and had a dance in the roadworks. Beardy Chris was not there to do a risk assessment, so we jumped over the trench and got on with it. To be fair, it didn’t last long. There were more biting insects than in the Amazon rainforest. Back to the pub, where Shamus’ playing gradually drove out enough people so we all got a seat. Under two giant portraits of a big woman with her knockers out. See photo. (You will notice that art appreciation is not my strong suit. Having read the cards accompanying the exhibits at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park my reaction was “what a load of pretentious shite”). An evening of playing and song then ensued, getting louder as we got more pissed. A couple sitting near asked to join us. Turned out she was from Norfolk, so she and Mark had a big discussion about webbed feet or somesuch. I then felt a cold something on my left knee. Shit - a hole in the other pocket! Remembering the last time, and not wanting to chase me money all over the pub, I tried to retrieve the change by sticking my hand down me trousers, your honour. It did look as if I was clutching my willy and looking at the big woman with her knockers out, and Mark sportingly gave me his support by taking a photo. Soon the natives were getting restless, and a Tinner’s Rabbit was forced on the clientele, which they took in good part. Continued singing, SJ trying not to get caught raving on camera, until throwing out time. It did seem that people had enjoyed it. Into carpark - group hug - here’s to the Magpies etc. Home.
