Archdruid: My dear old things!
All: My dear old thing!
Litany of Crickety Happiness
Archdruid: The red bus winds past the gasometer.
All: A pigeon flutters at mid-on.
Archdruid: A bright orange plane whose company we are not allowed to mention...
All: Flits towards the west
Archdruid: And there's another one.
All: And another one.
Archdruid: Puffy clouds bubble up over Pimlico
All: And there's someone dressed as a womble!
Archdruid: Ali Cook, like some Greek tragic actor
All: Ponders the inequities of fate.
Archdruid: His shadow, maybe like his best days,
All: Behind him.
Archdruid: And the voice of Geoffrey is heard in the land.
All: I think I'll have some cake.
Archdruid: Does anybody know what the score is?
All: Oh I say!
Archdruid: Wasn't that Jonners?
All: Our grannies could have written a better liturgy with a stick of rhubarb.