I like a good tradition. It speaks of culture, and of heritage, and of the ways of the elders and gives examples of how they lived their lives. For the elders had many lives in those far-off days.
Not a bad tradition, though. Bad traditions such as burning witches at the steak stake, and forcing children up chimneys (though some might say that former tradition has its merits even in C21st England – but only in England, because the gentle folk of Wales, Scotland and Nor-nIre are too cultured, obv).
But good traditions, yes, they have a place in our past and our present.
I once attend Obby Oss in Padstow. That was a nice tradition.
No witches were harmed, no Morrisses were actually danced on, and no children were shoved up the nearest chimney.
A safe, gentle English tradition.
Like cucumber sandwiches on a sunny Sunday afternoon, as the sound of Willow hitting Heather leather accompanies a polite ripple of applause from the pavilion.
Like the brass band in the park, perhaps on the same Sunday afternoon, oompahing its way through Cliff Richard’s Greatest Hit.
Yes, these are traditions to cherish, to nurture, and to be forever proud. Of. Except we don’t end sentences with a preposition, do we?
No we don’t.
Take two:
Yes, these are traditions to cherish, to nurture, and of which we should be forever proud.
And there is another gentle pursuit, in the Great British Box of Traditions, that deserves our love and respect.
It is, of course, Young Masher’s Annual February Blogathon.
Yay, I hear you cry. Or perhaps I just hear you cry?
Anyway, pull yourself together.
It is February the Firstest, and that means it is time to put childish games aside (games like Whose Brexit Is It Anyway? and I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Brexit), and embrace YMAFB.
As I shall (put childish games away). For it is an actual tradition.
Innit.
Word
*wanders away wondering if Young Masher will be fashionably late to his own tradition this year*
It IS a tradition. One that has taken the internets by storm(s).
Maybe.
And, late? No, no no. First post made this morning at about 3am, when I couldn’t sleep, due to sound of heavy snow falling.
What is the sound of heavy snow falling?
Even I stopped eating Maltesers long enough to get in on the act.
Hooray!