Lest we forget, here's a little something for Hallowe'en (courtesy of the playlist of the lovely Liza Tarbuck on Radio 2 tonight):
The Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight,
In an upstairs aspidistra'd room that's lit by candlelight,
Where Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Practice every week unspeakable pagan rites.
Dressed in their Sunday coats and their flowerpot hats,
Respectable middle-aged ladies - running to fat, at that -
There's Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies,
Each with a Woolworth's broomstick and a tabby cat.
But they don't waste time with a ouija board or a seance now and again, no.
None of your wittering, twittering, petty poltergeists for them. No,
Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Prefer to be tickled by the whiskery chins of bogey men.
Their husbands potter at snooker down the club,
Unaware of the devilish jiggery-poke and rub-a-dub-dub,
While Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Are frantically dancing naked for Beelzebub.
And after the witches' picnic and the devil's grog,
After their savage pantings, their hysterical leap-frog, well,
Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Go back home for cocoa and the Epilogue.
So be careful how you go of a Saturday night:
If you see a little old lady passing by, it very well might be
Elizabeth Jones or Lily O'Grady
Or one of those Satanical ladies.
Their eyes are wild and bright, their cheekbones all alight.
Don't go where they invite,
Because the Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight.
In an upstairs aspidistra'd room that's lit by candlelight,
Where Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Practice every week unspeakable pagan rites.
Dressed in their Sunday coats and their flowerpot hats,
Respectable middle-aged ladies - running to fat, at that -
There's Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies,
Each with a Woolworth's broomstick and a tabby cat.
But they don't waste time with a ouija board or a seance now and again, no.
None of your wittering, twittering, petty poltergeists for them. No,
Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Prefer to be tickled by the whiskery chins of bogey men.
Their husbands potter at snooker down the club,
Unaware of the devilish jiggery-poke and rub-a-dub-dub,
While Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Are frantically dancing naked for Beelzebub.
And after the witches' picnic and the devil's grog,
After their savage pantings, their hysterical leap-frog, well,
Elizabeth Jones and Lily O'Grady
And three or four more married ladies
Go back home for cocoa and the Epilogue.
So be careful how you go of a Saturday night:
If you see a little old lady passing by, it very well might be
Elizabeth Jones or Lily O'Grady
Or one of those Satanical ladies.
Their eyes are wild and bright, their cheekbones all alight.
Don't go where they invite,
Because the Castleford Ladies' Magical Circle meets tonight.
Faboo!
That *was* Faboo!
ReplyDeleteAlthough, a real witch doesn't dance naked for anyone - never mind Beelzebub - in this weather.
Maybe in summer...?
Might it be worth it to be "tickled by the whiskery chins of bogeymen"? Jx
DeleteWhere ever did you find a picture of my neighborhood bitches?!?!?!?!
ReplyDeleteMy worst nightmare is stepping out my door one day and seeing them all like this. Ewwwww. I just hope it isn't the same day though one of their husbands isn't "visiting"
Which one's Miss Moorecock? Jx
DeleteFab !
ReplyDeleteThree cheers for Liza Tarbuck.
She is nothing if not unpredictable, well Bonkers actually.
Almost as bonkers as Jake Thackray, indeed. Jx
DeleteA broomstick from B&Q just isn't the same as one from Woolworth's. It's a crying shame.
ReplyDeleteSx
P.S I did watch Theatre of Death last night - it was fab! So seventies! But not as scary as when I first watched it at the age of 10.
Can't rely on B&Q for all your Wiccan accoutrements, that's true... Jx
DeletePS The whole reason we love Theatre of Blood is for its campery rather than any genuine sense of fear - although some of the deaths are quite horrifying, the fact that the victims and protagonists are playing everything to such an over-the-top level makes it a work of genius.