English as tuppence, changing yet changeless as canal water, nestling in green nowhere, armoured and effete, bold flag-bearer, lotus fed, Miss Havershambling opsimath and eremite, feudal still, reactionary Rawlinson End.As I was browsing the dearly departed Ivor Cutler's works on Amazon, I couldn't help but notice a ubiquitous "customers who bought this item also bought: Sir Henry at Rawlinson End; Audio CD ~ Vivian Stanshall". Cutler's wikipedia entry also acknowledges a kinship: "see also Vivian Stanshall" it advises.
Listening again last night to the Ginger Geezer's masterpiece I couldn't help but wonder if my obsessive squirreling of nuggets to feed the blog is not in danger of turning me into Reg Smeeton, Rawlinson End's resident pub know-it-all: 'Did you know there is no proper name for the back of the knee?'
Reg Smeeton, floccose red wig like a kipper nailed to his bonce, nodded with ill-feigned interest; but the butterfly flexions of his face muscles argued the mental tumult within - urging fervid facts chattering in Stockhausen tongues.Another stray thought, is Beachcomber's Lord Shortcake perhaps the missing link between Sir Henry and Wodehouse's Blandings Castle?
"Drawing from my vast, though admittedly unresolved catalogue of general know-it-all, facts of interest etcetera, corroborated, corroboree: a sacred or warlike assembly of aboriginals, may I remind you of ........"