Dear Bushcraftuk,
Having attended Bushmoot 2013 for the first time with my son Max, I am moved to comment on the den of iniquity, insobriety and downright naughtiness that we found the the Naughty Corner to be.
Upon arrival on Saturday evening I gathered that the theme was Victorian and was pleased because as a responsible father I style myself on the Victorian model, i.e. children should be seen and then thrashed soundly before being packed off to bed. I was also looking forward to a night of the stiff upper lip, reservation of character and avoidance of conversation with anyone new, especially any johnny foreigners, Celtic heathens and (as a good old fashioned Yorkshireman) anyone from the wrong side of the Pennines. Sipping quietly from my small bottle of sarsaparilla and being completely ignored would be the order of the evening.
Not a bit of it! Imagine my dismay when we (along with said foreigners, Celts and wrong side of the Penniners) were welcomed in with open arms, befriended by all the regulars, seduced by some chap from Normandy expousing his saucy pinups including Bushcraft Betty, having bottle after bottle of dangerously alcoholic beverages pressed upon me and generally feeling very welcome indeed. On top of this, some big bloke with a bloody great kitchen insisted on feeding me all night. Yea Gods, what kind of a Victorian theme was this? Imagine my further dismay upon seeing my son, grinning like a Cheshire cat, standing next to some inebriated Mancunian belting out a very very bawdy song indeed. The Royal Engineers are a fine body of men, not to be ridiculed in song in this way. (If you could supply me with the words, I would be most grateful by the way, simply as an item of research you understand).
The evening continued round the camp fire, where more booze was passed round and it became impossible to leave, my son was under the bad influence of some very dodgy geezers (one of whom had a particularly bushy beard, rotund frame and a large number of pegs attached to his person). Some other chap who seemed to think he was a pirate kept passing a skull full of liquer of mysterious origin which made even more difficult to leave. It felt like I was a prisoner in this gaol of bonhomie and camaraderie, amongst a band of vagabonds, waifs and assorted crusty jugglers, CRUSTY JUGGLERS.
We finally broke free of the Naughty Corners shackles and were away to our beds.
I had to check (for the greater good, THE GREATER GOOD) the following evening and the evening after that and the evening after that, in fact every evening we were at the Moot, to see if this sort of welcome and friendliness was some kind of aberration but alas no, it seemed to be the norm.
I am now faced with the prospect of having to come back to Bushmoot 2014 to see if things will be returned to the correct way of being at the Naughty Corner, although I dont hold out much hope.
In order to attend in my capacity as an observer, and so as to infiltrate into the group, I now feel that I have to swot up on my references to Hot Fuzz (in fact any film with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost), Monty Python, Lord of the Rings, Sci-Fi and Fantasy in general and on the latest shoot em up console games, just to fit in. As you can see from the above text, I'm already in the habit of quoting a couple of select phrases from the aforementioned Pegg/Frost West Country cop romp and then repeating them in a louder voice to make it seem like I'm not the only one doing it.
I am feeling compelled to learn a few saucy ditties to share around the fire. Ive even grown a goatee beard for goodness sake! Next Ill have a silly hat. Doh! Too late! On top of this, my son is still pestering me for one more knife, regaling me with the muckiest parts of the songs remembered round the campfire and pegging me whenever the opportunity presents. I am now getting into hot water with my boss (Mrs JB) for feeling compelled to spend money on axes, spoon carving knives, draw knives, spoke shaves, hammocks and other sundry bushcrafty type items . And bottles of Kraken. And strong lager. And roll up fags.
Ill see you at the next Bushmoot, but you wont see me, you crusty Jugglers CRUSTY JUG OH FOR PETE'S SAKE! Ill be undercover, gathering my information and slowly pickling myself in Stella and spiced rum alongside my new best mate Smeagol.
Don't give me all that pining for the fjjords!
JB
Having attended Bushmoot 2013 for the first time with my son Max, I am moved to comment on the den of iniquity, insobriety and downright naughtiness that we found the the Naughty Corner to be.
Upon arrival on Saturday evening I gathered that the theme was Victorian and was pleased because as a responsible father I style myself on the Victorian model, i.e. children should be seen and then thrashed soundly before being packed off to bed. I was also looking forward to a night of the stiff upper lip, reservation of character and avoidance of conversation with anyone new, especially any johnny foreigners, Celtic heathens and (as a good old fashioned Yorkshireman) anyone from the wrong side of the Pennines. Sipping quietly from my small bottle of sarsaparilla and being completely ignored would be the order of the evening.
Not a bit of it! Imagine my dismay when we (along with said foreigners, Celts and wrong side of the Penniners) were welcomed in with open arms, befriended by all the regulars, seduced by some chap from Normandy expousing his saucy pinups including Bushcraft Betty, having bottle after bottle of dangerously alcoholic beverages pressed upon me and generally feeling very welcome indeed. On top of this, some big bloke with a bloody great kitchen insisted on feeding me all night. Yea Gods, what kind of a Victorian theme was this? Imagine my further dismay upon seeing my son, grinning like a Cheshire cat, standing next to some inebriated Mancunian belting out a very very bawdy song indeed. The Royal Engineers are a fine body of men, not to be ridiculed in song in this way. (If you could supply me with the words, I would be most grateful by the way, simply as an item of research you understand).
The evening continued round the camp fire, where more booze was passed round and it became impossible to leave, my son was under the bad influence of some very dodgy geezers (one of whom had a particularly bushy beard, rotund frame and a large number of pegs attached to his person). Some other chap who seemed to think he was a pirate kept passing a skull full of liquer of mysterious origin which made even more difficult to leave. It felt like I was a prisoner in this gaol of bonhomie and camaraderie, amongst a band of vagabonds, waifs and assorted crusty jugglers, CRUSTY JUGGLERS.
We finally broke free of the Naughty Corners shackles and were away to our beds.
I had to check (for the greater good, THE GREATER GOOD) the following evening and the evening after that and the evening after that, in fact every evening we were at the Moot, to see if this sort of welcome and friendliness was some kind of aberration but alas no, it seemed to be the norm.
I am now faced with the prospect of having to come back to Bushmoot 2014 to see if things will be returned to the correct way of being at the Naughty Corner, although I dont hold out much hope.
In order to attend in my capacity as an observer, and so as to infiltrate into the group, I now feel that I have to swot up on my references to Hot Fuzz (in fact any film with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost), Monty Python, Lord of the Rings, Sci-Fi and Fantasy in general and on the latest shoot em up console games, just to fit in. As you can see from the above text, I'm already in the habit of quoting a couple of select phrases from the aforementioned Pegg/Frost West Country cop romp and then repeating them in a louder voice to make it seem like I'm not the only one doing it.
I am feeling compelled to learn a few saucy ditties to share around the fire. Ive even grown a goatee beard for goodness sake! Next Ill have a silly hat. Doh! Too late! On top of this, my son is still pestering me for one more knife, regaling me with the muckiest parts of the songs remembered round the campfire and pegging me whenever the opportunity presents. I am now getting into hot water with my boss (Mrs JB) for feeling compelled to spend money on axes, spoon carving knives, draw knives, spoke shaves, hammocks and other sundry bushcrafty type items . And bottles of Kraken. And strong lager. And roll up fags.
Ill see you at the next Bushmoot, but you wont see me, you crusty Jugglers CRUSTY JUG OH FOR PETE'S SAKE! Ill be undercover, gathering my information and slowly pickling myself in Stella and spiced rum alongside my new best mate Smeagol.
Don't give me all that pining for the fjjords!
JB
