Day of Dance in Looe

As advertised on these very pages, Saturday saw several morris teams descending upon the unsuspecting fishing port of Looe to celebrate the Plymouth Morris Men's 40th birthday.

And most of them don't look a day over 80.

The dancing began at The Globe Inn at the foot of Shutta, but the Millbrooker Towers contingent missed that bit on account of enjoying an enormous cooked breakfast before setting off. We had a good excuse: Anal and Sandybum arrived at 0930 after motoring all the way from Westbury having clambered into their little toy car at stupid-o'clock-in-the-a.m.

The High Lord of Southwick was staying with us, too - so we made a merry throng as we joined up with the ladies and gentlemen of the morris. This is (L-R) The High Lord, Anal and me heading towards town; Sandybum was on camera duties and Mrs The Millbrooker was attempting the very difficult feat of finding somewhere to park in Looe on a sunny Saturday.

The first set of dances that we indulged in (or watched from the safety of a nearby café in some cases) took place outside the tourist information office in the centre of town.

This dance is called Poppleton Stick, a jolly little number involving the usual mixture of skipping and stick related violence.

Thanks to the Anal for the video.

We moved on to the seafront, a great morris venue - good sized crowds and plenty of space.

Mrs The Millbrooker had to leave the  party early to continue her studies at home so we fare-ye-well'ed overlooking Looe Bay...

...and almost immediately repaired to the Admiral Boscarn's sunny and soon-to-be-morris-filled garden. Here are Anal, Sandybum and yours truly enjoying the first ale of the day. Anal probably wins the Unflattering Photo of the Day Award for this admirable effort.

After a liquid lunch (our breakfast was still very much keeping us going and no solids were deemed necessary), Anal got a quick lesson in how a melodeon works from Richard Wrecker.

After being told how much the thing in his hands cost, it was quickly and VERY carefully returned to its rightful owner.

My old friend and ex-boss Helen made the trip to meet up with us for the first time in a couple of years. She was staying in St Germans with a bunch of utter reprobates who laughingly refer to themselves as a "cricket team on tour" from their native Bristol. Helen is the only person under whom I've worked that I still speak to. Or, indeed, vice-versa (none of my other previous bosses want to speak to me any more than I want to speak to them) which in itself tells how admirably patient with my general overall bolshiness young Helen was. Helen's in centre shot next to Sandybum who is sporting some ultra-cool shades.

My old muckers all wanted to see me actually dance; I think they liked the idea of me suffering some bodily injury. The Wreckers were happy to oblige and I skipped along in braille, pretending to know how to dance "Much Wenlock", to the general merriment of all-comers.

We danced again in the town centre. This is the Newton Bushel team in action by the tourist information office.

Then we did Morris exhaustion at The Globe Inn...

...but we did manage another few dances and a bit more playing as well.

And finally, the day's activities done with, we all let the train take the strain back up the Looe Valley Line to Liskeard for the journeys homeward.

A great day out, loads of fun and silliness - plenty of ale as well! Huzzah!

Thank you to the Plymouth Morris Men for inviting us to join their party and thank you to the High Lord of Southwick, Anal and Sandybum for providing the photos.