Last night our morris dancing team went out & danced at a garden party put on by a well-respected charity, in a quite lavish location. I'm not 100% sure of the truth of it, but I get the impression that quite a lot of the people there were probably up for the day from their sprawling country estates, etc. So I was necessarily on my best behaviour.
A lady from the charity's governing council came over to thank us for our very well-received performance (we nailed that Upton-upon-Severn stick dance!), and in thanking them for their gracious invitation, she said “And I detect an antipodean accent there, do I? What on earth are you doing morris dancing?”.
So I launch into my answer concerning the fact that being part of morris dancing enables me to travel the country and see things most tourists wouldn't get access to, and meet all sorts of interesting characters – taking care all the while not to say any swearwords, because as far as I know this woman is the Queen's cousin and could have me beheaded. No sooner had I made my point, than she cut me off with her reply:
“Oh come on, that must be bullshit!”.
Fair enough. I guess rich people must get bullshat a lot.
Incidentally & irrelevantly, the morris dancing photos above come from the Flickr stream of Mr Simon Hepworth – they're not of the event in question, but in fact the Baker Street tour last week, and so aren't strictly relevant – but they were such nice photos I thought I'd post them.
While in a photo-sharing mood, a couple of weeks ago it was Housemate James's birthday (the big 2-9!), and when we converged on our local boozer to conclude celebrations, the landlord presented this delightful “cake”. Unfortunately my phone camera isn't sharp enough to give you any insight into what the photo is of, so I'll tell you – it's a packet of pork scratchings with a candle stuck in it. Good job the flame didn't get anywhere near that preserved pig byproduct or there'd have been quite the conflagration to deal with.
Finally, and probably least relevantly, my recruitment agent (identity obscured for career-prolongment purposes; his and mine) took a couple of us out for lunch today and among other topics of discussion was his newly discovered skill. Please don't attempt this at home, or indeed anywhere else – one false move could turn you into… well… a recruitment agent.
Yes, that is a real 4 inch nail.