Morrisology...

According to my friend J, all Morris Dancers should be banned as an illegal substance.

She says there is something about a group of men dancing with handkerchiefs and bells which is quite rude, and really really not right.

We are discussing this issue over a Chinese meal and a little Champagne in order to celebrate me passing my Basic Motorbike training today.

We have discussed other issues; such as lube and sticky bodies...which lube is washable, and which one may take at least three showers to remove...and we have discussed other phobias in general.

But Morris Dancers? Really?

She is quite adamant about it. Apparently she has a genuine phobia of them and the rest of this evening, we have according to J, all been a bit mean and completely insensitive to her irrational fear. We have treated her to an impromptu dance with the serviettes and an old stick from the garden and C's husband has youtubed a special clip of them for her...just watching her pain was laughter enough for us.

She really hates them. She feels what is the point of a Morris Dancer...what are they here for? She sees them as the devil incarnate, and said they are as bad as Al Queda...she thinks they are a cult, like Scientology. Therefore anyone involved in such a heinous act would be a Morrisologist.

Seems a bit harsh doesn't it?

Anyway, more importantly I have ticked off another thing on my list for my year of being forty. I was, as you can imagine, rather chuffed to have passed my Basic Motorbike Training today and I am looking forward to the next stage.

I am beginning to feel that my list will not see me through to my 41st birthday, and I will run out of things to achieve.

Perhaps I should add Morris Dancing to my list...alas I fear my friend J would disown me forever.