Morris Dancers in London

You may think as we Cornish folk be a bit thick.

Denzil Penhalligon an me growed up down Port Wen. One Sat day us went up the smoke for a bit of a spree . We went up on the train to Paddington which is as near London as the train gets. We bought they saver tickets about a month afore so’s we could afford it.

We knew the streets weren’t paved with gold but we had at least expected some tarmac not pot holes held together with more pot holes and us ant realised how much they rip off bastards charged for everything.

Anyway us went up the West End, Us wanted to see a show. Us went to the Box office for Les Miz as we wanted to see some girl on girl, but they wanted an arm an a leg to get in an didn’t have no tickets till November!

So we went down the Pub, They wanted three quid for a glass of water, and the beer was like weasel piss. Warm weasel piss. Warm draft weasel piss freshly pissed by a weasel, not that I drink weasel piss or know what it tastes like but it tasted like I reckon weasel piss would taste if I tasted it.

Still it weren’t all bad as poor old Denzil pulled. It were a bit of a shock as he’s so ugly that we don’t need no bird scarer when he be around but this bird, she were a bit tarty but I wouldn’t have said no, obviously took a shine to he.

Anyroad round her went with her and told I to wait for he and next thing after a bit of hows yer father she said as he owed her an hundred quid. Bloody ton for a bit of a fumble. E ant got an hundred quid, E ardly ad a tenner so these dark fellers laid into him summat savage.

Poor old Denzil he come back looking a bit second hand, blood pouring from his head.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Just about,” he said, “You should have seen the other bloke.”

“Why, laughing were he.” I asked.

“Hope his fist hurts as much as my head.” he replied

Now I ent no more vindictive than the next bugger but beating me mate up ent the best way to get on me good side.

We slept on a bench in Hide Park and went back home the next day, “Bloody bitch tried to charge I to fuck her,” Denzil explained.

“You ought to try that our Demelzer,” his dad suggested to Denzil’s sister, “You’d make a bloody fortune.”

“I just wants three kids by three different blokes so I can get a Council House and three lots of maintenance like me mam done.” she replied.

“So what happened to thee head?” he asked.

“Bloody darkies beat me up when I wouldn’t pay.” he muttered.

“Well better reform the Morris Men I suppose,” his dad suggested.

“What fucking goods that?” I asked, “Poncing about with bells on yer knees carrying bloody sticks?, every bugger will laugh at yer.”

“Till they gets a whack from the stick they will,” he laughed. Bggers be still laughing when they hits the deck with a busted jaw, “All together in the Floral Dance,” he sang “Whack they all fall down.”

“So how do we find the blokes?” I asked.

“Well you know the pub?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“So look it up on Google Street view yer lummox,” he suggested, “Now I’ll get the lads together.”

We found pub on Google earth, Denzil’s dad rang the Landlord.

“Port Wen Morris Men yer, us thought us would drop by next Sat day, give thee a bit of a turn,” he suggested. There was some mufled laughter in the background.

“Nah mate not nuch call for Morris Men round here.” the slimy cocky cockney muttered.

“Well just make sure you have some pasties warming and some cider cooling,” Denzil’s Dad advised , “And it will be two hundred and fifty quid pus free booze, good evening.”

He put the phone down.

Denzil’s Dad, he were called Denzil same as his dad and his dad’s dad afore him, had all the old gang rounded up by Thursday night.

He had the costumes out the loft and there we stood like a right load of prats.