It is often said, that the English are eccentric, mad or silly and often dress in funny clothes such as dress coats, bowler hats, straw boaters and such like. Well in England, and in, particular, in the back woods of our pleasant, land there is a rare breed of people who meet all four criteria. Who are these weirdoes? They are no less than Morris Dancers. As we were passing Maidenhead Bridge, the Cabin Boy asked the Captain “What that going on over there “.The Captain pointed out to the Boy “That they are part of our ancient and mysterious past and they William, are Morris dancers”” Dancers they look more like prancers if you ask me said “,the Cabin Boy”.”But who are they? “, continued “The Cabin boy”. The First Mate interjected “ They are a gang of blokes who paint their faces with black paint, put hankies on their heads, wear women’s stockings and then dance around a Maypole and while doing so, they try to hit each other with sticks and they’re probably all arsehole bandits who like to shag their own family members of both sexes, and if not seen, family pets as well, provided that that they have four legs and can be safely tethered while they are having their wicked way with them.
“Apparently “said the Captain “, It’s some form of old English dance in which they dance to some weird music while mumming.””But” said Billy,” my mum passed away twenty years ago.”It’s nothing to do with mothers, mums or mummies” replied the Captain ,” It is a term that is used to describe actors who take part in a seasonal play,” “ I see “said the Cabin Boy”, A bit like the MPs’ when they are is session in The House of Commons.”Seems that when they get going it’s a state of Bedlam” added Billy.”And so right you are” said the Captain” This local group of Morris dancers are actually called Berkshire Bedlam Morris”.”You sure that this lot haven’t escaped from that loony bin. ?” “Don’t be a silly Billy, Billy,” That shut down years ago “added the Captain”” but Broadmoor just down the road hasn’t” said Billy.
The Captain continued, “Billy, you can’t call it a loony bin these days, it is a high-security psychiatric hospital. The patients in Broadmoor suffer from severe mental illness; and many of them also have personality disorders. Most have them have been convicted of serious crimes, or been found unfit to plead in a trial for such crimes. When people are admitted to Broadmoor they receive medical help in the form of therapy and drug regimes designed to help then come back into society and lead normal lives”.
“That’s your opinion,” argued the First Mate.” There are many cases of people who have been “cured “at Broadmoor and then just carried on in their old evil ways”.”Such as?” inquired the Captain.
”Well for starters” said the First Mate “There was that Graham Young who was released from the hospital after being fully cured who then went on to poison dozens of people, some of whom died excruciatingly painful deaths.
And ,of course there is that crazy, black bloke Peter Bryan, a modern day Hannibal Lecter, who ate his mate’s brain after murdering him , just a couple of months after being released.
But, worst of all was that sicko John Straffen who killed two innocent little girls, and some knobhead of a doctor convinced some high court judge that Straffen was mentally ill, and the even bigger knobhead of a judge said in court “In this country we do not try people who are insane. You might as well charge a baby in arms.”Moreover, guess what? This person who was unfit to plead, was that clever, that he jumped over the wall and within a couple of hours, had strangled another young girl. So don’t try and convince me that these people in Broadmoor get cured. And ,the same applies to prisons, I read in the papers that over 70 % of prisoners re-offend, prisons must be the only rent free, tax free and food shelters in the world, I’m sick and tired of paying taxes, I think I’ll go to prison and get a few tattoos and watch football instead.”.” I wouldn’t think about that First Mate, you go into prison as a straight person and come out as a rampant gay!”.
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