All this time I assumed that there were hooded yobs rampaging through Londinium, looting left right and centre and terrorizing the populace.
But oh, the misinterpretation of aural inconsistencies!
The terror was the natural born terror of that infestation of ye Village Green known as Morris Dancers!
And far from looting, they were luting, causing much distress to the ole ear'ole with their preposterously shaped guitars and Hey Nonny Nonnying.
I suppose it's natural progression. Prior to all this lutical busking putting the wind up Woolwich, ye medieval Morrisers just banged stout sticks together and bopped each other on the bonce with a pig's bladder onna stout stick. William Kemp (out of Spandau Ballet) famously performed his 9 day wonder where he danced from Norwich To London, then got his lute out and performed An Ode To Ye Contentʃ Of Mine Purʃe - Dubloonʃ Of Gold (Gold!) Alwayʃ Believeth In Your ʃoul.
Look at this twangly plinky-plongly twankyarse rapscallion luter, all decked out in his thieved up JD Sportswear with his filched flagon of Cidre (not Cider).
Shudder at the evil menace in his eyes! Surely those are the shifty peepers of a shop window smasher intent on availing himself of a shellsuit. Damn you, ye evil Morris Dancing danger to society!
I just bet he's an untruthful lyre an' all!
They say you should hug a hoodie. Well, I'm not putting my arms around that mincing musical moron, thank you very much!
I'm perfectly happy, on the other hand, to get me arms round some ladylutist who's content to strum my banjo.
Or something.
