Honk If you Love Morris Dancing!

Last year I drunkenly signed myself up for martial arts classes. I spent all of 2013 getting the shit kicked out of me every Tuesday evening.

And I loved it.

So I decided  that making rash decisions with little or no thought to my personal safety was the way forward.

This year I volunteered to take part in the Team Honk relay for Sports Relief. They were looking for bloggers to help carry the baton from John O’ Lands End to the other place.

That sounds fun I thought and if I play it right no one will kick me in the face.

I volunteered to Morris dance – because I figured it would be funny and would embarrass the children.

But I had forgotten one very basic fact:  Small children are impossible to embarrass. Any 3 year old will happily dress like they are about to do a charity relay every day of the week.

Anything normal adults consider embarrassing a 3 year old will thrive on – having a pee in a municipal flower bed shouting ‘Look at me!’, telling strangers daddy has a penis in his pants and – my personal favourite – stumbling through the town centre hunched over, clutching their stomach and moaning ‘I’m dying Mummy’ as they have been hit by imaginary ice powers (thank you Frozen!).

This is why  we don’t give children alcohol. They don’t need it.

I should explain I didn’t pick Morris dancing out of thin air just because it’s funny.

No siree.

Morris dancing and I go way back.

As a child my parents thought it would be a good idea to start a Morris side (note use of the correct term) because what could be more fun than spending every weekend prancing around town centres and folk festivals jangling with bells and hitting your best friends over the head with a big stick?

I’ll tell you what could be better. Pretty much anything. But let’s move on.

Rather cunningly  my leg of the relay fell on World Book Day so walking my daughter to nursery in fancy dress people just thought I was joining in. And let’s face it can you even think of a book that doesn’t have at least one character who Morris dances?

Anyway the World Book Day thing was a bit of a coup, or so I thought until I gave it some thought.

Then I realised it was a bad thing.

People must actually think I’m the type of person who dresses up for World Book Day even though I don’t have a child at school who is dressing up for World Book Day.

My neighbours clearly think I’m crackers. And they haven’t even read my blog.

It’s like the time I had laser surgery on my eyes and had to wear sunglasses to work for two weeks. Not one single person commented on the fact I was wearing sunglasses  at my desk.

For three whole days.

Eventually I got chatting to a colleague who said everyone just assumed  I had  a terrible hangover.

In the space of 6 years my public perception has gone from borderline alcoholic to over keen fancy dresser.

But hey at least no one kicked me in the face.

If you want to get out and raise money for Sport Relief find out how to join in here. But if you’d prefer to read about other people making tits of themselves you can just donate instead. Which let’s face it is the important bit. Follow this link.

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