Morris Dancing: it’s not big, and it’s certainly not clever

I had a near miss this weekend. My day job (i.e. the one that tends to keep most of the bills at bay) is at the rather splendid Quarryman pub, just outside Wadebridge in the People’s Republic of North Cornwall. I normally do the daytime shift on a Saturday, and would have been cheerfully welcoming the first serious visitor rush of the season for the Bank Holiday weekend, but a previous engagement dragged me away for the morning. Fortuitously, as it happens.

For this was the day the morris dancers came. I should state at the outset that the particular group of morris dancers who come to our pub a couple of times a year are an especially polite, friendly bunch who do their business swiftly, enjoy a quick pint and then amble off to their next destination without leaving too much mess behind. In short, they are absolutely no trouble to anyone. Except me.

I have an irrational fear of morris dancers. It must in some way be related to coulrophobia, the fear of clowns, but I haven’t found the correct term for it yet. I can’t exactly put my finger on what the problem is (apart from the obvious grand scale lunacy of the whole thing, of course) but there is definitely something about the stick-wielding, bladder-swinging, foliage-adorned extravaganza that causes the nightmares and the cold sweats. It may be the bells, it may be the beards – either way, I’m nowhere near my comfort zone.

Is it worse than my persistent Gideophobia? (Probably not, but put George Osborne into a morris dancing troupe and I may end up with a whole bunch of issues previously unknown to medical science.) Perhaps I should embrace my fears, sign up to the local morris dancing group and dive in headlong, pewter ale pot attached to my waist like a holster. Then again, perhaps not.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me really. I just thought I’d share all that nonsense with you…



  1. What’s this then? It was only yesterday that I was thinking what a lazy blogger you were, and how I looked productive in comparison. It has been my understanding that you have not posted since the aftermath of the election. I was somewhat suprised, and somewhat excited, to see a link from Twitter to this post.

    Now, obviously there are many more posts that have been written in the past few weeks that I have missed, despite the fact that I only checked your site this morning. There can be only one possibly explaination for this, the link I have for you is wrong; obviously I’ve linked to one post as opposed to your front page. I feel like a bufoon.

    I’m on my phone at the minute but rest assured I will fix this rouge link A.S.A.P.

  2. Did you know that Sarah Palin is animatronic and commanded by remote control by a secretive dwarf who hides behind the curtains……………..and she lost her butt-plug (which was found to also have traces of feline DNA) the last time she went shooting bears from a helicopter !

  3. I have an even greater fear of Morris Dancing clowns who support Donald trump…………allegedly, apart from the golden shower stuff, the Russians have evidence that his hair contraption thing is harvested from the scalps of little blonde children, who are donated by the parents of the NRA….their sacrifice is regarded as a great honour and there’s a secret memorial shrine in Iowa.

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