The woods can be a dark, mysterious and even foreboding place even to those of us well-versed and familiar with the doings and sounds of the countryside. A stroll through the Little Frigging woods on one of these cold, dark and damp mornings can make even the most experienced woodland perversions adept start at the odd sounds and rustles coming from the deeply shadowed undergrowth. Such things as the muttering of feral hairstylists as they whisper to each other of holidays and girls’ nights out, the eerie sound of wild lawyers preparing litigation against other unseen denizens of the night time and so on.
Then there are the nests of the folksingers.
We have spoken before about those brave and often foolhardy folksingers prepared to do battle on our behalf, wrestling with bestial accordions and attempting to tame the ferocious banjo. We have all heard their fearsome battle cries and the unearthly wailing as they battle these unholy creatures – often to the death, or even until well after closing time. We have even heard the rumours of Morris dancing – but it is best to draw a discrete veil over the habits and practices of folk singers. After all, we have seen the beards and we all know what they foretell.