Fistful Of Stetsons, A

Gleetings ! Gravesend here, calling from Gravesend !

So, it is Wednesday again, and time for fine music. A deputation of sheriffs has come from Dartford (which is broken).

“We must have music !” they demand “Else we fade away !”

Sir Picanuper hears all, of course, whether by magic, spies or being in the right place at the right time, he is a good King.

“We also demand No Cliff Richard ! We must have loud guitar and sweaty people smoking fags. No mimsy flaccid lettuce stuff like Barry Manilow, either !”

“It shall be so !” cries Sir Picanuper.

Music doth soothe the soul. This means it is good for you; you do not have to dance to it, it is much better than chocolate, which you can’t dance to even if you were inclined to.

Doctor's Orders.

Walk Tall !