The tale of the Urchin in Tatters…

Spotting the Bishop, The Urchin in Tatters gathered just enough courage.

“Your eminence;” he tremoured, “beggin’ your pardon Sir, but where’s your apprentice?”

An Apprentice Bishop was a new one on His Reverence, so, practicing good Christian values, cuffed the lad about the head.

“The Curate”, he hissed (not for effect – bad dentures), “is in the kitchen.”

Clutching his basket and newly acquired thick ear, the lad scurried, as he had been indicated, to the kitchen.

The Curate looked up when The Urchin entered. Recognising a Poor Person when he saw one, he opted merely for the raised eyebrow as an interrogator.

“May it please you Sir, me Da sent you this”

And with that, the lad presented the Curate with an egg, all round and shiny and warm.

The Curate had heard this one before.

“Is it a good one?” demanded the wannabe Priest.

The Urchin sniffed and shrugged.

“Da says it’s like ‘em all Sir; it’ll be good in parts”

And so, Gentle Reader, has been our week.

Be Welcome, and read on…[1]


little theatre cleadon

In fairness most of has been good or even better, with just the one grey cloud. Our long anticipated show at Lanchester was pulled at the last moment due to poor ticket sales. We did try to go ahead with the show, but to no avail.

Obviously it was disappointing – very bl**dy disappointing, but it turns out we are not alone. The last few things at the venue have suffered the same fate, so we will learn, duck and move on.

Shame though[2].


The rest of the week has been more standard fare.

We made the trek across this green and pleasant land to far-flung Cumbria to play a show at Torpenhow Village Hall. A great hall too; some of the villages have, by dint of diligent committee-ing secured goodly EU grants (please don’t tell Boris, he’d have a pink fit[3]) and built grand halls. This one was especially good, and proved to be a great venue. We had a brilliant night here, the village folk bought into the show whole-heartedly and we had a great time.


The return journey, now taking us across England’s deep and shadowy lands, proved that Carlisle Council has a sense of humour when it comes to road-work diversions. Leaving the gig we drove eight miles or so to the diversion sign.

Guess which way it took us?

And then, it decided that midnight is a great time for a tour of the Cumbrian hinterland, which to be fair, isn’t when the Lakes is at its best.


The rest of the week has been Care Home Shows and plenty of building up the big show and lots of FG admin – this rubbish doesn’t happen by itself you know…

We have a book just about ready – this will go alongside the Waters of Tyme show and has images and stories in it, as well as a CD of the full show – or at least, it will have when we get the new version of ‘Tommy on The Bridge’ recorded this week.

Next week is the Cleadon Theatre show (amongst other goodness), if I can get the wires sorted out, we will probably have a go at recording the show.

Suggestions for a title for our first live album are not welcome from you lot. We know you, and despite loving each and every pink little one of you[4], I wouldn’t trust you with anything sharp.


I read this week about a Folky, a quite well established act with several tours and festivals tucked firmly under his belt. It seems he contacted a Club and asked if the Chairman might be interested in making a booking.

The Chairman indicated that he had ‘never heard of him’, didn’t go to festivals and never went to any other clubs so, how could he have seen our poor folky, and therefore kindly, b*gg*r off.

Naturally I was shocked to read this.

I thought that Chairman Dave and The King’s Head and Washerwoman’s Legs Folk Club was but a figment of my imagination.

Then I remembered; although we’ve never been, we’ve been there a lot.


The Urchin in Tatters trailed miserably home. In addition to a sore head, he now also had some tricky explaining to do when the Doctor removed the egg.


And so, as the Urchin of Hope approaches the Bishop of Destiny and receives a Blessing of Great Benefice and 21 days to pay, I notice it is the end of this blog.

Until next time (and hope to see some of you at Cleadon Little Theatre),

Keep Strummin’











[1] …and that’s just the start. Oh, you’re in for it this week.

[2] Why should it be I wonder? Ticket price? Venue? Bar facilities? Us? Little Pink Fairies?

[3] Tell Him, Tell Him (tell him right now)

[4] Yes, even you, with your little Sandy Denny Onesie and well thumbed copy of ‘Folk Roundabout’. Even you.


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