Today we saw and ever so early the brightly shining (now seven years grown) eyes of our eldest. Young Catnip a child given much to the teasing of imps - as well it must be said, vegetables - is but of course a treasure. As with many treasures she is precious, rare and particularly muddy. And this muddy sprout because she likes the taste, we took to a show.
Tolly Maw is not we learned best placed for shows. There is and universal to need a scout hut. There is no scout movement but movements instead made by many ladies all and exactly ten years older than you. And today and by fortune instead of jumble sale, beetle drive or cat skinning there was and with cheer a show. Travelling players indeed, or as close as one might expect which was more exactly three ladies fresh from dramatic study. The story was of a mole, upon which there fell a poo. There was singing, waving of hands and much well trained movement. Of the hands. Student pantomime of the very best, which means in the manner of entertainment quite the very worst. Yet if Catnip was moderately pleased then Yet Younger Bosswell feathered her basket with delight. For as already described the show was about poo. Bosswell being but barely four thinks there nothing funnier than poo.
So then and as Scratchwood will surely say and doubtless impressed to be so wry, a show about poo? And was it?
In Tolly Maw they have a tradition of strangers, and we all have fresh sausage.