Songs from the musical Mr Punch

When I was about 7 or 8 I was involved in a performance of a musical based on the life of Mr Punch. I have no idea why - it wasn't through school, but seemed to be something to do with local theatre as rehearsals (and presumably the performance which I can't remember) took place in the theatre of the local public school where I ended up going in the sixth form. There are a few things which I remember in vivid detail - a girl called Claudia was the character of Scaramouche (or whoever it was that played the fiddle) and one of my roles as an extra was to pretend to sell something. I picked embroidery thread as my grandmother had a lot of it, and I was very pleased to be able to take a beautifully coloured array of silks with me every day to play with when I wasn't needed. I have been completely unable to locate any information about the musical or any of the songs, but this is another topic on which I will be grilling my mother for any further snippets of insight she might be able to provide. All I remember are solitary verses of a couple of the songs: The Arm of the Law The arm of the law is very very very very long The arm of the law is very very very very strong The arm of the law Is never never wrong And quite infallible I play on my Fiddle (Scaramouche?) I play on my fiddle La la la, la la la, la la la la la la, la la My song is a riddle La la la, la la la, la la la la la la, la la I do not play high I do not play low I don't need a string And I don't need a bow I play on my fiddle La la la, la la la, la la la la la la la, la la I asked the Mother about this and she has a very vague recollection of the whole thing, which (once I had finished remonstrating with her over the cruel way in which she has cast what would have been a fine performance from me out of her memory) I took to be an encouraging sign - no doubt she will now share this feat of memory with all the other village people and hopefully someone will come up with something a little more tangible to go on than my half remembered lyrics and brightly coloured embroidery silk.

Songs I thought everyone knew

There are quite a lot of songs that I thought everyone knew, and have only been disabused of the notion by the consistently blank look on the Boy Wonder's face whenever I sing them. A lot of them have specific religious overtones which I put down to the fact that they were taught to me by my Mum, the primary school music teacher, but I still like them, mostly because they include such odd concepts. These include: The Rain Song On Monday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t go to school today,” he said “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” Chorus: Antonio! Antonio! it’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Tuesday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t play football today,” he said. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Wednesday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t go shopping today,” he said, “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Thursday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t go swimming today,” he said, “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Friday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t paint the house today,” he said, “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Saturday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t sweep the floor today,” he said, “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” On Sunday morning he got up. “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” “I can’t cook the dinner today,” he said, “It’s raining, it’s raining again!” (by John Parry apparently) Any Time You Need a Calypso Any time you need a calypso here is what you must to do first of all you need a rhythm so shake a little, shake a little, shake a little shaker and you bang a drum and you sing and strum and then there's a calypso for you The inexplicable voting song Vote, vote, vote for Bloggle In comes Boy Wonder at the door Boy Wonder is the one that we all like best So we don't need Bloggle any more, shut the door. What Will You Do Today What will you do today to keep the classroom tidy Come along surprise me - what'll you do today I'll sweep up the pencil sharpenings and I'll put them in the bin And I'll put it very tidily away Have You Seen the Pussycat? Have you seen the pussycat sitting on the wall? Have you heard his beautiful purr? (Prrrr) Have you seen the lion walking through the xxx? Have you heard his terrible roar? (ROAR!) One so big, one so small Our heavenly father cares for them all One so big, one so small Our heavenly father cares Have you seen the children coming home from school? Have you heard them shout 'Hooray'? (Hooray!) Have you see the grown-ups coming home from work? Saying 'What a horrible day' (What a horrible day) The Butterfly Song If I was a butterfly I'd thank you Lord for giving me wings If I was a Robin in a tree, I'd thank you Lord that I could sing If I was a fish in the sea, I'd wiggle my tail and I'd giggle with glee, But I just thank you Father for making me me. Chorus: Well you gave me a heart And you gave me a smile You gave me Jesus and made me your child So I just thank you Father for making me me. If I was an elephant, I'd thank you Lord by raising my trunk If I was a kangaroo, You know I'd hop right up to you If I was an octopus, I'd thank you Father for my good looks But I just thank you Father for making me me If I was a fuzzy wuzzy bear, I'd thank you Lord for my fuzzy wuzzy hair. If I was a wiggly worm, I'd thank you Lord that I could squirm If I was a crocodile, I'd thank you Lord for my big smile But I just thank you Father for making me me I Cannot Come (this one has so many opportunities for hilarity, I'm surprised anyone ever actually put it into a book of songs for schools) A certain man held a feast On his fine estate in town He laid a festive table He wore a wedding gown He sent invitations To his neighbours far and wide But when the meal was ready, Each of them replied: I cannot come, I cannot come to the banquet, Don't trouble me now I have married a wife, I have bought me a cow, I have fields and commitments That cost a pretty sum Pray, hold me excused, I cannot come! The master rose up in anger, Called his servants by name Said: "Go into the town, Fetch the blind and the lame Fetch the peasant and pauper For this I have willed My banquet must be crowded And my table must be filled." I cannot come, I cannot come to the banquet, Don't trouble me now I have married a wife, I have bought me a cow, I have fields and commitments That cost a pretty sum Pray, hold me excused, I cannot come! When all the poor had assembled, There were still rooms to spare So the master demanded: "Go search everywhere To the highways and the byways And force them to come in My table must be filled before The banquet can begin!" I cannot come, I cannot come to the banquet, Don't trouble me now I have married a wife, I have bought me a cow, I have fields and commitments That cost a pretty sum Pray, hold me excused, I cannot come! Now God has written a lesson For the rest of mankind: If we are slow in responding He may leave us behind. He is preparing a banquet For that great and glorious day, When the Lord and Master calls Us be careful not to say: I cannot come, I cannot come to the banquet, Don't trouble me now I have married a wife, I have bought me a cow, I have fields and commitments That cost a pretty sum Pray, hold me excused, I cannot come! The Good Samaritan (from memory - this one had an incongruously jaunty tune and made use of some pretty tired rhymes. I will try and find more lyrics when I go back to the rentals for Christmas) Once a man set out to go Down the road to Jericho On the way he was attacked By some thieves who hurt his back Something something something i Left him lying there to die Everybody's Building All over the world, Everywhere, where the sun shines And where the white snow gleams In the green green forests and by the streams Hands are busy, plans are made And slowly, slowly, somewhere somebody's house is made Everybody's building, everybody's building, everybody's building day by day Everybody's building everybody's building, everybody's building in a diiiiiiiiifferent way It's the Springs up in the Mountains (from Come and Praise?) It's the springs up in the mountains That make rivers for the plains That do xxxxx in the cities till they reach the sea again And the rivers make the oceans and the oceans make the rain And we all have to live in one world Now the Green Blade Riseth Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain, Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain; Love lives again, that with the dead has been: Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green. In the grave they laid him, love whom men had slain, Thinking that never he would wake again. Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen: Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green, Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain, He that for three days in the grave had lain. Quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen: Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green. When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain, Thy touch can call us back to life again; Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been: Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green This is just a snippet which me and my brother used to sing in a manner which was probably a lot less holy and respectful than was intended (or maybe not!) Bright dawned the morning on Gethsemane's cave? Mary Magdalene came to weep at the grave What did she find when she came full of care The stone rolled away and her saviour not there! Mary, Mary weeping at the tomb Along came Jesus and he took away her gloom ETA - After a brief grilling from me last night, my Mum has promised to try and find sources for some of these songs, so hopefully I will be reunited with the correct words soon!

All the bands I've seen

I thought it would be interesting (for me alone of course) to list all the bands/artists I have seen so that when I'm old and senile, assuming I can remember my log in to this blog, I will be able to reminisce about all the fun times I assume I had. I'm only including bands I have paid or chosen to see as the number of bands I have seen through no fault of my own is probably much larger and more worrying than those I actually chose to listen to. BB King Dr John and the Lower 911 Gov't Mule Metallica Megadeth The Rolling Stones Robert Cray Fun Lovin' Criminals John Otway John Martyn Soundgarden The North Mississippi Allstars The Suweto Gospel Choir Buddy Guy Guy Clarke Tony Joe White Mavis Staples (and the Mussle Shoals Rythm Section) Jon Cleary and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen Albert Lee Buena Vista Social Club REM Blur Sparks Humphrey Lyttleton Kings of Leon The Suweto Gospel Choir

Papa Grows Funk

The Black Crowes

The Alman Brothers

Dumpsterphunk

Alan Toussaint

Buckwheat Zydeco

Earth, Wind and Fire

My campaign to teach men how lucky they are to be able to wee standing up

Last week I gave a very impassioned presentation to the Gift, the subject of which was how he should never take his ability to wee standing up for granted. The claim that started this (which in fairness was perfectly understandable) was that as he rarely avails himself of the ability to wee outside, he doesn't feel he really benefits from his manly plumbing. This was my cue to expound on this topic, and explain how outdoor weeing is only a very minor benefit of the whole male-centric plumbing arrangement. Because the Gift and I have been to festivals together, I was able to draw on our mutual experience of skanky toilets (and a rather graphically elaborate mime which I suspect may have scared him a little bit!) to demonstrate the level of physical contact that one must endure when standing is not an option. I mentioned the enourmous pressure of trying to hover over a rancid hole whilst hitching up your trousers so that the bottoms don't dangle in anything revolting, the awkwardness of trying to detatch toilet roll (should there even be any!) with one hand whilst trying to trouser hitch and balance and the Sophie's Choice style decision between a toilet with a light, one with a seat and one with toilet roll. We touched briefly on the perils of weeing in a bush (everyone knows someone who's really good at it, but I have never managed it without weeing on my feet), and at that point I relented and ersted my case. I genuinely think that men's blase attitude towards their physical advantages is one of the things that annoys me most about the horrors of female toilet arrangements - I might be doing battle against an encroaching tide of effluent, but the thing that annoys me most is that I know the men next door aren't giving a second thought to whether they need to take emergency tissues into the loo with them. If we have sons, I will bring them up to be evangelical about their luck, which will probably make their weird names seem like a secondary source of bullying material eventually.

Office Shredder

It seems to be a truth universally recognised that an office shredder is like the opposite of a tardis - no matter how big it looks from the outside, its innards will barely have the capacity needed to contain a single sheet of shredded A4. There is also a ratio between frequency of shredder use and ability to unblock/empty the shredder which means that the poor unfortunate who shreds one sheet of paper a month will inevitably end up with the top half sticking out, a grinding whirring noise coming from within and the opportunity to do severe damage to their fingers trying to rectify the situation, whilst regular shredders will claim not to know how to empty it and will flee at the first sign of trouble to either abuse an alternative shredder or resort to scissors in an attempt to cover-up their hopelessness.

Why is UK country so lame?

Blues music in this country has traditionally failed to live up to the standards of the original black blues singers, which is understandable because we don't have that heritage over here. However, country music has always been the preserve of red neck white guys living in isolated rural areas, so why can't we replicate that in the UK? In particular, why is the festival featured on Ceol Country on BBC Alba so unfailingly poor? I know it's only a small Scottish festival, but even the members of the bands looked like they wouldn't pay to see their performance, and the liveliest thing we saw over the entire series was the octagenarian line dance troupe who stamped away with a graceless vigour that suggested the music was secondary to the fact that there was something to do in their remote part of Scotland which they would not miss come hell or high water. Good on them I say - the views of the audience make that show.

Hot shit

Why is hot shit better than cold shit? I can't think of any situation where the temperature of the shit would have a significant impact on my response to it. I suppose if I was buried up to my neck in shit, my preferences for the shit's temperature might vary depending on the weather, but it would be of minimal concern compared to how I might extricate myself from said shit itself. I suppose it's one of those phrases that has evolved without people giving it much thought, but now I have, I will be more careful about my useage in future.

How to create a fun vacuum

Simply take: 50 people that you spend time with only because you are paid to Your boss Free alcohol Ice skating mix vigorously and try to avoid getting either fired or so depressed that you throw yourself onto the ice in an attempt to commit chilly suicide at the feet of a colleague. I was quite happy to hear the anticipatory chatter as everyone got excited about the free drink (as though some acidic wine and weak beer were going to bestow magical properties upon an evening's entertainment) but the morning after is awash with tales of vomit on the bus, German sausage and the peculiar belief that I would be regretting my decision not to come. I have tried to keep to myself the fact that I would rather be rolled in squid and fed to carnivorous sea-beasts to preserve some element of conviviality with my colleagues, but it's only a matter of time before I make free with the shittily decorated chocolate logs and choke someone to death with plastic holly.

If I was starting a band...

I would use one, many or all of these band names and alter egos: Spatchcock Fuck Sticks and the Stinky Poles Widdershins and the Jazz Hands

The New Boy thinks the Boy Wonder's Weird

As a freelancer, the Boy Wonder has had occasion to return to the company he used to work for, and whilst they seem to be systematically making everyone who knows how to do anything redundant, they have taken on a new boy. The Boy Wonder has reported to me that the New Boy thinks he's weird, although he's not sure why. On a separate note, Dan confirmed Ben's theory that the TV looks weird when he's blowing a raspberry.